Chapter One
London, England
Autumn 1819
“Iam ata loss of what to do with my recalcitrant daughter.” The Duchess of Lancaster sat across from Mrs. Dove-Lyon and sighed in apparent disgust. Catherine sat beside her mother, who quickly pinned her with a disapproving look in those dark, squinty eyes, which Catherine thoroughly ignored with a roll of her own. “I am at my wit’s end and now that she has found herself in aprecariousposition”—she stared pointedly at Catherine’s slightly burgeoning midsection—“she is in dire need of a husband. And sooner rather than later.” Sitting up a bit straighter, Her Grace added, “As you know, my family line descends from the Duke of Cornwall, the oldest duchy in England. Now this rebellious gel has decided to bear the child of a common stablehand!”
The duchess immediately began to fish in her reticule, obviously overset. Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s head noticeably shifted beneath her veil toward Catherine and the duke’s daughter lifted a brow in silent challenge. She had heard the matchmaking skills of the Lyon’s Den owner were legendary. Although Catherine had no intention of following through on any sort of marriage, she was allowing thiscircus because it was entertaining watching her mother act as though she were without any sort of blame. Catherine had long known the duchess to have her share of lovers, as did Catherine’s father, but when she attempted to do the same, she was raked over the coals for her actions. It wasn’t as though she loved David and would be tempted to marry him at a moment’s notice. She was just having a bit of fun, exploring the pleasure that her body could provide.
Really, she thought her mother was overreacting. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t offer the child up to an orphanage when it was born. She could stay in the country in seclusion during her lying-in and then return to London to enjoy the spring season, thetonnone the wiser. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, and yet her mother was insisting that she marry a man to “save” her reputation. What a load of poppycock. She knew the truth. This urgency hadnothingto do with saving Catherine, but everything to do with protecting the precious family name.
Catherine looked down to inspect a fingernail. “Better a handsome stablehand than a portly earl,” she grumbled.
The proprietress of the Lyon’s Den must have made a sudden decision because she turned back to the duchess and said evenly, “I assume a handsome dowry is still an option, Your Grace?”
Catherine’s mother nodded. “Yes. We had already planned a tidy sum in the event of Catherine’s marriage, but with the latest…complicationsthat have arisen, we will certainly discuss a larger sum for discretion, of course.”
“Naturally.”
Catherine had to admit that Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, a widow and shrewd woman of business, made quite an impression. Not only did she seem adamant about the role she had assigned to herself as a matchmaker, she looked the part with jewelry glittering handsomely anywhere it was visible. Combined with her direct stare, tidy salt-and-pepper chignon and fashionable clothes, it was easy to see how she hadearned her reputation. Although Catherine didn’t believe the lady was truly as infamous as she had always been portrayed, she had come along on this journey to spare her ears any more of her mother’s tirade.
As the owner of the gaming hell rose to her feet, it was apparent they were being dismissed. That must have stuck in Catherine’s mother’s craw because she was generally the one making the decision to end a conversation. “I have someone in mind. I will be in touch as soon as I have secured all the details.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. You are truly our saving grace.”
As the duchess glared at her daughter, Catherine refrained from rolling her eyes as she turned back to the lady who would soon decide her fate. Or rather, the one who believed she held the power to manipulate others’ lives. The idea that purported arranged marriages were still thriving because of this woman did not set well. And if she believed she would set her up with some deprived old earl who was looking to keep her as a brood mare, the lady would be sadly mistaken. Catherine had long ago learned to live by her own rules. She had never let her parents’ demands or society’s expectations intimidate her.
The same would be said for Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Catherine had heard the tales, the whispers, of the lady’s power, had understood that most of her machinations resulted in matches that ended quite happily. But she had no desire to be part of that number, whether living the rest of her days in wedded bliss or not. She wanted to be her own woman and do what she pleased. It wasn’t fair that men got to enjoy whatever they wanted while women had to curtsy and act with perfect decorum. From the manner of their speech to their actions, one wrong move could have dire consequences for a lady of theton.
As in Catherine’s case, for example.
It wasn’t as though she’d set out to be with child. That was just theend result when one engaged in a tawdry affair. David was a new groom and she had found him immediately attractive. With his broad smile and impressive, physical build, she had spent more time with the horses than she ever had. One thing had led to another and before long, they’d been lovers. It had been devious and rebellious and she’d loved every second of it. Every time they had lain together in the loft among the sweet-smelling hay, Catherine had imagined the horrified look on her mother’s face if she were to discover them.
Of course, when it became known she was increasing, the maids reporting back to her mother that she hadn’t had her courses for two months, Catherine had been thoroughly questioned. She had refused to give the name of the father, but David was the one who’d come forward when gossip from the household staff had reached him. He had been dismissed immediately and with a fond farewell, he’d walked out of her life.
They had both known what their union might bring, but Catherine had been careless; she hadn’t eventriedto find some preventative way to ensure her appearance of chastity. She was defiant enough to want her parents to know what she’d done.
They would never cast her out because of the taint such an action might bring to the family, so instead, her mother had begged for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s assistance.
Catherine sat in the well-sprung coach, and as it traveled over the uneven, London cobblestone roads, she began to plot her next move.
“You haven’t beento the tables in a while, Lord Fontaine.”
Benjamin Fontaine, the 3rd Baron Fontaine, gave a snort of derision and sat down at the faro table. As he looked to the man who hadspoken, the aged Earl of Markum, he said, “I have been using my resources for better opportunities rather than hovels like this one.”
The earl chuckled and it made Benjamin’s fist clench at his side. “That’s not what I heard. I was under the impression that you are in debt. Again. Even after Laird Garrison paid all your markers—”
With a growl, Benjamin turned to the man and grasped his cravat. Pulling the material until the man was gasping and his eyes bugged from the lack of air, he set his face next to his and snapped, “I will not hear that man’s name spoken in my presence. Do you understand me?” There was a bobbing nod of acquiescence before he was released with a fling of Benjamin’s hand. “Get out of my sight, you worthless bastard.”
Though the earl outranked the baron in both title and age, Benjamin’s opponent quickly scurried to another gaming table. Left to his own devises, Benjamin pulled some bills from his pocket and would have tossed them down on the green baize, but there was a small tap at his shoulder.
He was damned tired of interruptions when all he wanted to do was drown his sorrows in whisky and attempt to regain what little dignity he still had left. “What now?”
He was prepared to glower at the intruder, but when he turned in his seat, he saw a man he recognized, someone who worked for the Black Widow, Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon. He was tall with a dour expression, as if he did not have much to smile about. “My mistress has a proposition for you, Lord Fontaine.” He handed him a card with the address of the Lyon’s Den. “If you are interested, she asks you to call on her this evening at ten o’clock.”
With that, he swept back through the crowd like some sort of apparition. Benjamin looked at the card still in his grasp and considered tossing the thing aside, but then when he considered the ramifications of his actions if he did so, he found himself hesitating.
