“I understand, of course.” Lydia rose as well. “There’s no great hurry after all, although remaining calm might prove to be a bit of a challenge.”
“My advice, Miss Page? Keep busy.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon headed toward the door and opened it. “Indulge in those things you said give you pleasure. Play your harp. Read a favorite book. Keep a journal, if you don’t already.”
“I will do all of those things.” Lydia paused on the threshold and gazed at the veil, wishing she could see the face hidden behind it. “Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“It has been a sincere pleasure, my dear. And if, in the meantime, you have need of me for any other reason, do not hesitate to seek me out.”
Lydia smiled, nodded, and stepped into the hallway, pausing a moment as the black door closed gently behind her. She drew a slow breath and released it.
“All done?” a man’s voice said, startling her. “Oh, my apologies, miss. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Lydia turned and regarded the man, the same one she’d seen outside, and who’d poked his head into Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s parlor a short while ago.
Viscount Eskdale, supposedly living in married bliss with Lady Eskdale and their recently born twins.
“Apology accepted, sir,” Lydia replied, with more grace than she felt, although it was difficult not to smile at the fellow. He was, she silently admitted, incredibly handsome, with a charming, boyish twinkle in his eyes. But the earlier question arose in her mind. What was he doing at the Lyon’s Den? Then again, he was probably thinking the exact same thing about her. Lydia set her unfounded suppositions aside and surrendered to a smile.
“I take it you left the Black Widow in a good mood?” he asked, returning the smile.
Unfamiliar with the epithet, Lydia widened her eyes briefly and then chuckled. “I believe I did, sir, yes.”
“Then you have my gratitude, miss,” he said, and approached the door. “Still, I believe I’d feel better if you wished me luck.”
Lydia laughed again. “I’m sure it’s not necessary, sir, but if you insist, then good luck.”
“Thank you. That should do it,” he replied and landed several solid raps on the black door.
Lydia left him to his fortune and, minutes later, stepped out into the street and headed to where Owens awaited with the carriage.
“All is well, miss?” he asked, a look of concern on his face. Or was it, perhaps, disapproval?
Lydia paused at the carriage door and threw a quick glance at the Lyon’s Den, not quite able to imagine what kind of a suitor Mrs. Dove-Lyon might deem appropriate. Her stomach fluttered. Then Owens extended his hand and she took it, lifting her skirts with the other as she climbed into the carriage. “All is well, Owens, thank you,” she replied, settling onto the seat.
“Home, then, miss?”
“Home, yes.”
The door to the carriage closed, leaving Lydia in a hushed, veiled half-light. She took a calming breath. There was a certain peace to be found in shadows, she thought, and wondered, vaguely, if that was the reason for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s choice of attire.
Chapter Five
“Come.”
Edward had, at first, ignored the Black Widow’s response to his knock. His attention had instead been snared by the attractive young woman who’d just left Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office. As he watched her walk away his mind placed her elsewhere, in a completely different scenario. And she seemed to fit.
Perfectly.
Not that Edward would ever admit it out loud, but he was of the opinion that life wasn’t necessarily unmapped. There were times when one’s path seemed to have been purposely laid out. Planned. Fated. And he spoke, albeit silently, from experience.
The door opened and a familiar female voice snapped out a remark. “Well, Lord Eskdale? Are you coming in or not?”
Edward turned to Bessie Dove-Lyon and gave her his best smile. “Yes, indeed I am, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” he said, as he entered her office. “Thank you for seeing me. The young lady who just left assured me you were in a congenial mood.”
There followed a moment of silence, then, “Did you win at the tables, my lord?”
Edward winced. “No, sadly, I did not.”
“Then the young lady was correct. I am in an excellent mood.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon went to stand behind her desk and gestured to the empty chair facing her. “Please sit, my lord. May I offer you some refreshment? A cognac, perhaps?”
