Amelia patted Blakewood’s arm. “He has good intentions. It will keep his mind occupied. Sam is an excellent tutor in manysubjects, from French to calligraphy, though his penmanship is terrible. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Patience is the key, and the quill,” Sam said. “It must be perfectly cut.”
“I’m only concerned that Alston isn’t always as circumspect as you’re used to,” her brother said to her.
Daisy nodded, not wanting to admit how little experience she had with men to begin with. “He’s been a perfect gentleman so far.”
Amelia snorted.
“See, Blakewood? I’m perfect,” Alston said. He turned another sunny smile toward Daisy, and she had to dip her head to hide her grin.
Once the cake arrived, Miss Smith departed again, giving them privacy. Daisy hoped they’d speak more of Mr. Chase, but instead Alston suggested they teach Daisy how to play whist. Amelia and Sam played with a cunning style that Daisy could not comprehend. She lost every round, but so did her brother.
“Don’t feel inadequate,” Blakewood said. “They’re playing in a league of their own.”
“Alston is a renowned card player all over London but mostly known for his best playing at the Lyon’s Den,” Amelia said.
Merry had mentioned the Lyon’s Den before and now having met the mysterious Mr. Chase she was burning with curiosity. “What’s the Lyon’s Den?” Daisy asked.
“Well, it’s—” Amelia started.
Blakewood cleared his throat and shook his head. Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.
“It’s a gaming club,” Amelia said. “That’s all.”
“I’ve heard of those. Aren’t they rather degenerate?”
“I’ve been there,” Amelia said. “It has a ladies’ area that’s quite elegant and perfectly safe.”
“Not for her,” Alston said.
Daisy turned to him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t it be safe for me?”
“You’re too meek, Daisy,” her brother said.
“I—” She cut herself off. Shewasmeek. She hated that about herself. Confrontation made her stomach turn. “I have no intention of going to such a place,” Daisy said. “I have no money to gamble with anyway, and clearly cards are not a talent of mine.”
“Play with me, and you’ll soon be as sharp as Amelia and I are,” Alston said. “But in this, I agree with your brother. The men at the Lyon’s Den would eat you alive, and the widow—” He halted, his gaze darkening as he looked away.
Daisy swallowed. He looked angry.
“Don’t frighten her,” Amelia said. “It’s not nearly as exciting as that. Though it is a unique place. Patrons also perform strange contests and arrange extravagant bets.”
“Like what?” Daisy asked, pulling her gaze away from Alston.
“Things an innocent young lady shouldn’t be privy to,” her brother said.
“Don’t treat me like a child. Who is the widow?”
“The owner of the Lyon’s Den,” Amelia said. “Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon.”
“A woman?” Daisy said with delight.
“She’s known as the Black Widow of Whitehall,” Amelia said, wiggling her fingers spookily.
Her brother rolled his eyes. “She’s a widow. Period. Nothing strange. She inherited the residence from her husband and turned it into a gaming club for her own amusement.”
“And matchmaking,” Alston said gruffly.
