“We will follow the wall around to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office. Stay close to it and to me. Ignore the other patrons. If any of the men approach you, do not speak to them. If they persist, I will take care of it. Do you understand?”
Eyes wide, they both nodded. The door opened, and the noise burst through at a volume Elspeth had not heard since her father had taken her to see the fireworks at Madame Saqui’s tightrope walk at Vauxhall six years ago. She froze, the clamor overwhelming her. Then Sinclair nudged her from behind, and Elspeth lunged forward, scurrying to keep up with Helena’s long strides, even as she cast scant glances at the room.
Some of the men—red faced, shouting, and obviously intoxicated—lunged from game to game, waving money and calling to the dealers. Some of the games were lively and raucous; others focused and almost serene. Liveried footmen weaved among tables and patrons, carrying trays filled with glasses of wine and champagne, along with small plates of treats. A light-blue smoke hung near the ceiling, and the scents of tobacco, ale, sweat, and fried meat hung heavy in the air. Over the top of called bets, threats, and dares, an exquisite melody wafted through the room, and Elspeth caught aglimpse of a gallery at the end of the hall, one filled with musicians who seemed to play on, no matter what occurred on the main floor.
And there was plenty to watch. At one table they passed, three men suddenly shot to their feet, one grabbing a chair and brandishing it over his head as calls of “Cheater!” and “Shark!” bounced among the players. Two men snatched at nonexistent pistols, looking startled when their hands did not find weapons. Three broad men, dressed in a similar fashion to Helena, rushed at the table.
“What in the world—”
Helena looked around at her. “Hazard. People get worked up about it. That’s why no firearms are allowed on the floor. Do not fret. The wolves will take care of it.”
“Wolves?”
Helena nodded at the broad men. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff who maintains the peace.”
As Elspeth looked back, the table had, in fact, settled some, with two of the men escorting the one with the chair away. She glanced at Sinclair, who watched them go.
“I think I feel safer,” the maid uttered, then crossed her arms over her chest.
They followed one wall into the corner, then turned toward a wall that bowed out into the room slightly. They passed two closed doors, then Helena rapped sharply on a third one. She motioned for Elspeth and Sinclair to go inside. Helena announced them, then stepped outside, closing the door.
Elspeth’s breath caught at the sudden silence. It felt like the first time she had seen a production ofHamlet, that breadth of time between the end of the play and audience’s realization that it had reached its conclusion. Everyone had been so stunned by what they had seen, it took a moment for the uproar of applause to begin. Just a moment of pure, awed silence.
Then the woman behind the desk spoke. “I understand, LadyElspeth, that you are in need of a husband.”
Elspeth stared, unable to speak, at the woman before her. Her face was shielded by a veil, and a cup of tea sat near one hand. A sole oil lamp on one edge of the desk gave off a steady glow, although some light seeped into the room from the windows near the door, which looked out on the gaming floor. On the other side of the desktop sat a silver tray with a small teapot. And unlike the main room, this place smelled of the lilies that sat in a vase on a nearby table, as well as hints of jasmine and mint.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon held out one hand. “Both of you, please sit.”
Elspeth eased into one of the two cabriolet armchairs in front of the desk, while Sinclair perched on a straight-backed chair near the wall. Elspeth smoothed her skirt, then clutched her reticule in her lap, her knuckles white. “Thank you, um, Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
“I am.” She took a sip of tea.
Elspeth’s eyes widened as she stared at the cup and saucer. “Cyclamen coum!”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat a little straighter. “You recognize the pattern?”
“Oh, yes! Round-leav’d Cyclamen. From Curtis’s botanical publication. Is that Spode 1678?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice held a hint of amusement and admiration. “It is, although I am surprised you recognized it. Not many ladies know the formal names of plants.”
Elspeth could not contain her excitement. “Of course, I do! It is one of my mother’s favorite flowers. And we have studied the Curtis magazines for ages. We grow cyclamen in our conservatory, and Mother was thrilled when Spode released that pattern a few years ago. Of course, we could not af—” Elspeth broke off, her manners finally catching up with her enthusiasm. She slumped in her chair. “My apologies.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon set down the cup. “Do not apologize, ever, for enthusiasm over a particular topic. It speaks well of you. But perhaps Ishould tell you what I know about you and your family, then we can proceed with the reasons for your visit.”
Elspeth hesitated, then nodded. “I suspect that would move things along much quicker. I know what it is I wish, but I am not entirely certain what you can do about it, even if you can.”
“You wrote me in haste.”
Elspeth sighed. “I did. I felt . . . desperate.”
“My dear, you are still stunned about this morning’s announcement, are you not?”
Elspeth’s lips parted. She did not quite know what to say.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon gave a slight wave. “Please understand. I may say more than a few things that will startle you. I know most of what goes on in London, especially among the Beau Monde. Eventually you will get past the surprise of hearing about items I know that were supposed to be some highly kept secret. In my experience, no secret is kept for long. People love to share such things far too much and will do so with very little incentive.”
She opened a drawer and took out several sheets of foolscap, including Elspeth’s missive and Ella’s invitation. She slid the invitation across the desk. “I am returning this to you. You may use it one more time, if needed. I hope you will not have to, once we have concluded our business. Lady Eleanor is a lovely woman. You must have been exceptional friends for her to share it.”
