The Lyon’s Den

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A bold move in WIP Wednesday

I do like a bold lady–one who decides what she wants and goes for it. That’s Laurel, my heroine in Hook, Lyon and Sinker, which I’m currently writing for publication next year. Not that she has always stood up for herself. She had allowed first her betrothed, then her father, then her mother to talk her into maintaining her betrothal, despite the number of times the man who promised to marry her changes his mind about the date. No more! She has given him the shove and is about to arrange her own marriage.

Mrs Dove Lyon was not as Laurel had imagined her. Laurel had expected someone garishly painted and indiscreetly clad in gaudy colours. After all, she ran a gambling establishment which also offered other sorts of entertainment of the most scandalous kind.

The person who joined Laurel was clothed all in black and veiled. Her garb would not have looked out of place on the most dignified of Society’s fashionable matrons, and was far less revealing than many gowns worn by such august ladies. Her language and carriage too, as she invited Laurel to sit and asked her preference for beverage, were those of a lady.

The knowledge comforted Laurel. Perhaps this desperate scheme might work after all.

Once Laurel had her tea, Mrs Dove Lyon came directly to the point, without any polite roundabation. “Why have you asked to see me, my lady? Do you wish for me to find you a husband?”

Blunt and to the point. Also surprising, for Laurel had agreed to Benjamin’s request that the broken betrothal should not be made public just yet. Laurel thought he wanted to give Tiber time to talk Laurel into reversing her decision, as she had last time, but it suited her to keep the gossips at bay for a week or so.

Her hostess must have guessed at her thoughts, because she said, “Lord Tiberius was here last night, and he is indiscreet when in his cups. Most of the gentlemen present will now be spreading the news that you have jilted him. Mind you, this is to your advantage, for he was bemoaning his own stupidity in putting off the wedding once again. And making it clear that his chiefest regret was losing your dowry.”

She deepened her voice and spoke again in a tone so reminiscent of Tiber’s that Laurel would have guessed she was quoting the dastard even if she hadn’t heard words very like them the previous afternoon.

“It’s not that I’m not fond of the lady. She is pretty enough and good company. I just never wanted to be married. If her dowry wasn’t so attractive, I’d never have proposed, and I’ve never needed her money enough to actually go through with the wedding. If only she was a placid biddable little thing. I could have planted my babe in her belly and then ignored her. But Laurel is too strong-minded for my tastes. Chaste, too. Never would let me steal more than a kiss, dammit. If she had, I could force her to have me. Still. I am going to miss her dowry.”

“Tiber has done me a favour, then,” Laurel realised. “He is wrong that I would marry him under any circumstances whatsoever, but at least he has made it clear that I am not…”

The other lady nodded. “Not used goods? Exactly. So your errand to me may be unnecessary, Lady Laureline. You can take your time and choose a husband in the usual way, since Lord Tiberius had taken all the blame to himself and by the end of the week all of Society will know that the pair of you did not avail yourself of the license usually extended to a betrothed couple.”

Not much license. Not when Tiber had been away from London on military duties for much of their betrothal and spent as little time with Laurel as he could when he was in London. Not when her father had insisted on her being as closely chaperoned after the betrothal agreement as she was before. Not, furthermore, when she had had doubts about the relationship for the past three years.

“You are free to go,” Mrs Dove Lyons insisted, “if that is what you wish.”

Laurel shook her head. “No,” she said. “It is not.”

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Allies, friends, and fellow travellers on WIP Wednesday

The Talons of a Lyon, my first Lyon’s Den connected world book, is out on the 26th April. Just enough time for a WIP excerpt, this one about an alliance with the Black Widow of Whitehall herself.

Mrs. Dove Lyon did not keep her waiting long. Seraphina stood when she entered, and curtsied. That was probably incorrect, since a baroness, even a disgraced widow, surely outranked the owner of a gambling den, but Mrs. Dove Lyon had a presence that transcended considerations of rank.

Mrs. Dove Lyon nodded briefly and took a seat behind her desk, saying nothing, but simply facing Seraphina. Studying her, Seraphina assumed. Seraphina had swept her veil back over her bonnet, but Mrs. Dove Lyon wore a thicker one that completely obscured her features.

“Lady Frogmore,” she said at last. “How may I be of service?”

Seraphina took a deep, brief breath. She had prepared and practiced her speech. “If you know who I am,” she said, “you know I am rumored to be a wicked wanton, and a bad wife.” Moriah had said that Mrs. Dove Lyon knew everything.

Mrs. Dove Lyon inclined her head.

“The rumors are untrue,” Seraphina declared. “They were spread by my husband’s family, who want to keep me from my children.”

Mrs. Dove Lyon said nothing.

Seraphina continued. “I know few people in Society and few of them know me. I come from a merchant family and my husband kept me at home. The Frogmores want me out of my children’s lives because they wish to control the fortune my father left to my children, and my son’s estates—estates saved by the fortune I brought into the marriage as my dowry.”

She had another fear. Only the person of that son, born after Henry’s death, stood between Marcus Frogmore and the title. But surely, he was not such a monster as to kill his own nephew?

She would not mention that to Mrs. Dove Lyon lest the woman think her crazed.

“Marcus Frogmore took a case to court to gain custody of the children. I knew nothing about it until after the case was decided. I have sought another hearing, but my solicitor says that, as things stand, I cannot hope to win without the support of some of those in the ton who can then stand as character witnesses. To do that, I need to move among them, to allow them to get to know me.”

Mrs. Dove Lyon spoke. “So, you want me to find you a husband.”

Seraphina spoke with all the horror she felt. “Dear Heavens! No! Never again.”

Mrs. Dove Lyon stilled. Without seeing her face, Seraphina could not be sure, but she thought the Black Widow was surprised.

Her voice had no inflexion, though, when she said, “No.” Then, “I see. Or, rather, I do not see. I can understand why a widow would not wish to marry again, but I do not understand what you want from me.”