The Lyon’s Dilemma

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Spotlight on The Lyon’s Dilemma – published this coming Wednesday

She shattered his heart—now she’s his perfect match.

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party. But the matchmaker Mrs. Dove Lyon has promised him that his perfect match will be there, and Felix yearns for a wife.

He is horrified to find that the woman who meets the matchmaker’s description is Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel.

The one woman on God’s earth he will never marry. Not after what she did last time they were betrothed.

Published July 30th

Excerpt

Felix did not go back to the house. More than ever, he needed to be alone. He needed to think. He took a path that led further out into the park. His mind was reeling.

In his country seat, Felix had a miniature of himself as a child of nine or ten. Melody Beverley could be that child’s twin, green eyes and all. It was easy to tell where her name had come from, for Adaline had once told him that her mother’s name was Melody.

Felix remembered everything she had told him in the brief few weeks of their romance. Everything she said and did, though his memories were colored by what came after.

He should have expected her to be a wanton. She was, after all, the baseborn child of Arthur Fairbanks and his mistress, even if she was raised in the Fairbanks house with the legitimate daughter. She had been honest with him about that even from the first.

He had admired her for it, he remembered, had said that he was a duke and could do anything he pleased short of treason, had said she would be a duchess and—even if people did find out about her tarnished birth—it wouldn’t matter, because she would be ranked above all but the queen and the royal princesses, and a score or so of other duchesses.

Even when she came to his bed, he didn’t despise her for it. They had made promises to one another, after all. He had thought only that she loved him too much to wait, or to make him wait, for them to repeat those vows in a church.

He had, at the time, believed her to be a virgin, though he had doubted that later. Whether or not it was true, he could no longer doubt that the child—of whose existence he had so recently learned—who went by the surname of Beverley was conceived on that night.

She was his daughter, and Adaline had kept her from him.

Felix was, he realized, being a little unfair. She had visited him at his townhouse and been turned away. She had written to him twice, and he had ordered the letters returned, refusing even to touch them.

He did not feel like being fair. He did not know how he felt, in fact. His mind, heart—his soul even—echoed with the beat of the repeated words. I have a daughter.

A daughter who was four months past her ninth birthday, if she was born nine months or so after the night that Felix and Adaline spent together. Felix had missed more than nine years of her life. It hurt more than he could bear, like an ache over his entire being. He felt as if he had missed her all his life, though two days ago, he had not even known she existed. “Adaline will not keep me out of my daughter’s life anymore,” he swore.

Melody. She seemed a nice child. She spoke politely and curtseyed beautifully, and there was obvious affection between her and her mother.

But was Adaline a fit person to raise a child? A daughter? If he did not intervene, would he not be condemning his own child to the kind of life Adaline must have lived? Condemning some poor fool to the kind of betrayal he had experienced?

He could take Melody from Adaline, citing her immoral conduct as a reason. The legal ground would be shaky, but he had no doubt he could succeed. Wealthy dukes had few limits. But was it the right thing to do?

No child deserved to lose a loving, even if unfit, . Felix did not remember his own mother, but he had seen his sister-in-law Dorcas with his nephew Stephen and her new baby. The impersonal attention of servants was no replacement for maternal affection.

No matter how far he walked, he could not make up his mind. “Felix, you need more facts,” he decided, as he made his way back towards the house. “Talk to Mrs. Stillwater. Talk to others who know Adaline. Talk to Adaline herself, as distasteful as that may be, to Melody. You are no longer a cub, still wet behind the ears. You won’t be taken in again.”

Felix was not altogether confident about the last point. Even with everything he knew about her, he still felt the tug in Adaline’s direction. But he was a man in his thirties, a respected peer, and a gentleman. He could trust himself to resist Adaline’s wiles and to do the right thing.

Couldn’t he?

 

 

 

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Backlist Spotlight on The Talons of a Lyon


With my next Lyon’s Den book, The Lyon’s Dilemma, out on July 30th, I thought it was time to remind you where it all began.
The death of Lady Frogmore’s neglectful and disloyal husband should have been a relief. But then her nasty brother-in-law seizes her three children and turns her out, telling the whole of Society that she is a crude, vulgar, loose woman. Without allies or friends, Serafina, Lady Frogmore, turns to Mrs. Dove Lyon, also known as the Black Widow of Whitehall for help, paying her with a promise to grant whatever favor Mrs Dove Lyon asks.

Lord Lancelot Versey has always tried to be a perfect gentleman, and a gentleman honors his debts, even when an unwise wager obliges him to escort a notorious widow into Society. But Lady Frogmore is not what he expects, and helping her becomes a quest worthy of the knight for whom he was named.

Except Mrs. Dove Lyon calls in Seraphina’s promise. The favor she asks might destroy all they have found together.

https://amzn.to/3YVLvPt

https://books2read.com/TToaL

This book is inspired by The Frog Prince. My Frog Princess needs someone to sponsor her into the ton.

Meet Lord Lancelot Versey

It was out of character for him to drink so much that he ended up wagering when he shouldn’t, but a night of celebration left him in debt to Mrs Dove Lyons. His forfeit? To do her a favour when she asked. And that favour was to help Serafina.

Meet Serafina, Lady Frogmore

She has lost her children to her deceased husband’s brother and faces a sea of rumours put about by that villain. She approaches Mrs Dove Lyons for help to put the rumours to rest so she can succeed in gaining access to her babies.

 

 

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Fated meetings on WIP Wednesday

 

I have a preorder link for A Lyon’s Dilemma! So I thought I’d share an excerpt, since it will stop counting as a Work-In-Progress in a little over three weeks, on July 30th.

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The half-sisters had never been friends, though only a few months separated them in age, and they had been raised in the same nursery. Adaline supposed she could not blame her father’s wife for being resentful, but it was not Adaline’s fault her father kept a mistress, nor that he brought his love child into his own house after her mother died giving birth to Adaline.

Emmeline’s resentment was copied from her own mother, and had been given further force because Adaline and Emmeline resembled one another so much. Emmeline, even though she was the younger by four months, had held a childish belief that Adaline had copied Emmeline’s looks to spite her. According to Emmeline, that justified wearing Adaline’s clothes to play naughty tricks on the governess and other servants.

Adaline had suffered many punishments for things she hadn’t done, and for lying about her guilt. And then Emmeline was caught in the act, and Adaline was sent away to school. “For your own sake,” her father had said. Adaline had enjoyed school well enough. But it was an exile, nonetheless.

Her own childhood experiences made her all the more determined to ensure that Melody never had cause to doubt that she was loved. Sad to say, that goal had been aided by Richard Beverley’s death. He had been a poor choice as a husband, as it turned out, though better in the circumstances than none at all. He had been shaping up to be a miserable father, and none at all was definitely preferable.

“Are any of the gentlemen going to be my new father?” Melody asked. The schoolroom party was taking advantage of today’s fine weather to walk to the pond to feed the ducks, and Adaline had elected to join them. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard the question, but Melody and Adaline had dropped behind the rest.

“I do not think so, darling,” Adaline said. “But remember I told you I have seen a matchmaker who will be looking for a husband for me.” Not Kempbury. Damn Kempbury, for invading her mind and setting her pulse beating just for him, as it had once before, long ago.

Melody frowned, thoughtfully. “I do not think I would want someone else to choose me a husband,” she said.

Adaline had certainly not done very well on her own, but she kept that thought to herself.

Ah! Here was the pond. Oh dear. And here was Kempbury. He had obviously come here for some privacy and solitude. He had a propensity for going off on his own—Adaline remembered that about him. She almost giggled at the thought of his dismay when his refuge was invaded by ten children of assorted ages, four nursemaids, two governesses and Adaline.

He nodded to her with distant courtesy, and then turned his gaze on Melody. All thought of laughter fled. But no. He would not guess. Melody was only a child. And even if he wondered, he could not be certain.

Besides, what could he do? Melody was legally a Beverley, and Adaline was her mother.

He narrowed his green eyes, while Melody stared back at him, her head to one side, her own very similar green eyes alight with curiosity.

“Might you be Miss Beverley?” he asked.

“Melody, make your curtsey to the Duke of Kempbury,” Adaline prompted. Melody, her most winning smile to the fore, curtseyed. “I am Melody Beverley, sir,” she said, “and this is my Mama.”

His expression, which had warmed while observing her daughter, chilled again as he looked at Adaline. “Mrs. Beverley and I were acquainted a long time ago,” he said.

“A very long time ago,” Adaline agreed. “Before you were born, Melody. Look, Miss Winchard has bread for the ducks. Get in line for your share, my dearest.”

Melody bobbed another curtsey, briefer than the first and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” then rushed off before he could reply.

 

 

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Old acquaintance in WIP Wednesday

I’ve just received the preorder link for The Lyon’s Dilemma. It’ll be published at the end of next month, so I’m celebrating with a work-in-progress excerpt.

***

Felix arrived at Viscount Stillwater’s country manor in time to change for dinner, or so said his hostess. In fact, from the looks on the faces of the guests waiting in the parlor, dinner had been held back to allow him time to wash and change.

He looked around the room. Knowing that Mr. and Mrs. Stillwater were attempting to find husbands for their two daughters, he had expected the flock of maidens who looked as if they had only recently learned to walk creditably with their skirts down. He would not find his duchess among them.

Despite his dislike of social events, he could not avoid them all, and Mrs. Stillwater was a notable hostess. He recognized many of the guests, and knew which were married and which were widows with roving eyes. No duchesses there, either.

“You will be able to recognize your prospective wife,” Mrs. Dove Lyon had insisted. “Mrs. Beverley will be one of the maturer young ladies—she will be thirty years of age at her next birthday. She was widowed seven years ago and has been living a quiet life with her daughter. Her husband left few funds, and she has been supporting herself. I shall let her tell you the details.”

There were three possibilities. Perhaps four, but the fourth lady was turned away from him, so he was only judging by her back. As Mrs. Stillwater gave the signal to go in to dinner, she turned around, and Kempbury knew her immediately.

No! It can’t be.

It was, though, and if he had had any doubts at all, they would have been put to rest when she saw him, paled, thenflushed bright red, and turned determinedly away.

Somehow, he managed to offer his arm to his hostess, lead her into dinner, and even carry on something of a conversation with her. All the while his mind was reeling and his heart was a pit of despair. Adaline Fairbanks.

Surely, Mrs. Dove Lyon did not think to match him with that lying jade. She had said “Mrs. Beverley,” but that was not reassuring. In a decade, Adaline might well have married, had a child, and been widowed.

He needed to find out, so he did something he usually found too difficult to contemplate. He engaged his hostess in conversation, asking about each of the guests with whom he was not personally acquainted.

He retained enough self-possession to ask about both men and women, but he doubted that small amount of camouflage fooled Mrs. Stillwater for a moment. She was much more informative about the ladies than the gentlemen.

One by one, her mini-biographies eliminated each of the ladies he’d marked as possibles. One was married. One betrothed. One was a devoted social butterfly committed to life in London, which would not suit Felix. Besides, she had turned down every proposal she had received in her eight years on the Marriage Market. “She has a private fortune,” said Mrs. Stillwater. “She declares she has no intention of marrying.” She shook her head at the thought.

“Then we come to Mrs. Beverley, who is a widow, Kempbury. She is attending with her daughter, who must be ten years old, or close to it. Our governess says she is a delightful child. That’s Mrs. Beverley sitting between Baron Thornwick and Mr. Thompson. I understand she has been a widow for seven years, and that she runs a business, which is very enterprising of her. I do not know much more about her. I sent her an invitation at the request of a friend, but have found her to be a very pleasant guest.”

Mrs. Beverley. Adaline Fairchild. One and the same person. Did she really have a child of ten? If so, the child must have been a baby when they were betrothed, so that had been something else she had hidden from him all those years ago.

There was no point in him being here, but it was too late now. He would not insult John Stillwater, his charming wife, and the viscount his father by cutting his attendance short. Still, he would write to Mrs. Dove Lyon tonight and tell her that Mrs. Beverley was not a possibility.

***

The Lyon’s Dilemma

Felix Seward, Duke of Kempbury, does not want to be at a house party. Any house party, particularly one attended by her. Adaline Beverley. His nemesis. His Achilles heel. The one woman put on God’s earth to lure him from his duty. But Kempbury’s purpose is strong. Nothing she can offer will tempt him from his chosen path.

 

 

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Dukes don’t wait on WIP Wednesday

The Lyon’s Dilemma, my next Lyon’s Den Connected World book, has just gone back to the publisher after I went through the developmental edits. Have I mentioned that I love Cynthia, my editor? The Lyon’s Dilemma gives the Duke of Kempbury the happy ending the poor man needs. You may remember him from Thrown to the Lyon.

Dukes don’t wait. Dukes keep other people waiting, but they are never left kicking their heels in the absence of the person on whom they have condescended to call—after making an appointment, mind you.

Felix Seward, the Duke of Kempbury, was tempted to get up and leave, but coming here once was hard enough. Leaving and then returning was unthinkable. And nothing else he had tried had worked.

He sat on the uncomfortable chair to which he had been directed. It was at least, a private parlor, but he could not forget that the establishment was a gambling den, and one in which light-heeled ladies—or prostitutes, if one wished to avoid polite euphemisms—prosecuted their trade.

Felix had been here once before, and he had been at a disadvantage that time, too.

That previous time, it had been his own fault. Mrs. Dove Lyon, the proprietress of this gambling den, had been rightly protective of her guest, and rightly reluctant to allow him to see her.

He had been operating on false information—believing what he had been told about his half-brother’s widow by his other half-brother and step-mother. He should have known they were lying—he should have investigated for himself.

It had all turned out well. The widow had married nine months ago, becoming the Countess of Somerford. Felix saw the Somerfords often—her, her doting husband, and their delightful son Stephen, who was the son of her first husband, and therefore, his nephew and currently, his heir.

Indirectly, Dorcas Somerford and her son had sent him here. Stephen Seward was a delightful boy, and made him long for a son of his own. Dorcas and Ben had that rarest of things, a happy marriage, and Felix wanted one, too.

Which was why he had come to the Lyon’s Den, after weeks—no, months—of indecision. Mrs. Dove Lyon was a highly successful matchmaker. Dorcas and Ben had married as a result of her machinations, and Felix knew of at least twenty other marriages that, from his observations, were credits to her work.

The truth of the matter was he needed a matchmaker. Felix had had no success in finding a wife. A duchess? That would have been easy. Almost any woman in the ton would be delighted to take on the role. But wife? Felix didn’t know how to out a lady’s true character. Nor did he know how to make himself agreeable to a lady in a way that would lead her to look on him with favor. Him. Felix the man, rather than Kempbury, the duke. In his mind’s eye, he could see them, the women who slavered over him when he was forced to make an appearance at a social event. As they looked up to him with adoring eyes, they did not see the man at all. For them, he was simply his title, the words obscuring him entirely—words that were capitalized, perhaps in gilded letters and possibly shedding gold dust: The Duke. Gilded title or not, Felix wanted to be simply a man to his wife, if to nobody else.