“That about concludesour business, Miss Page. As you can see, your father took great care in ensuring your financial security. There is, however, just one more thing.” Cecil Lovall, solicitor, bent to open his desk drawer. “I was instructed to give you this if you were, upon his passing, still unwed. I confess, I have no idea what it is.”
Still unwed?
Lydia blinked and took the envelope, staring at it for a moment as she attempted to clear her foggy mind. It had been a telling week, plentiful in anguish while lacking in sleep and appetite. “Should I open it here?” she asked, the question aimed at herself as much as the solicitor.
“That is entirely up to you, my dear,” the man replied. “I suspect, however, it is meant to be read privately. Your father would not have sealed it otherwise.”
Lydia nodded. “Right. Yes, of course. Is that all, then, Mr. Lovall?”
“It is. Unless you have some additional questions for me.”
“None I can think of.” Lydia rose to her feet and extended her hand. “You have been most thorough, Mr. Lovall. Most efficient, indeed. I trust your fees have been settled?”
“Fully, Miss Page.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood and shook her hand. “The receipt is included in the papers I gave you. However, if there is anything else I can do for you, anything at all, do not hesitate to contact me.”
A while later,relieved to be home, Lydia stepped into the hallway, set her packet of papers on the nearby bombé chest, and pulled off her gloves.
“Miss Lydia.” Doyle, Lydia’s maid, hurried along the hallway, a shawl clasped in her hand. “How did it go?”
“As well as might be expected.” Lydia untied her bonnet, handed it to Doyle, and then wriggled out of her redingote. “At least, I’m assured everything is in order. No surprises.” Her gaze flicked to the packet of papers. Then again, maybe therewasa surprise waiting for her.
“Glad to hear it.” Doyle swapped Lydia’s redingote for the shawl. “Tea, miss? You look chilled. You must be tired as well.”
“Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Doyle.” Lydia wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and picked up the papers. “I’ll be in Papa’s study.”
There, suppressing a shiver and clutching the envelope, Lydia sank into the large armchair by the fireplace, thankful for the bright blaze in the hearth. For a few moments, she simply stared at the envelope and specifically her name, written in her father’s familiar hand. The envelope had some bulk to it, as if something lay within, the mystery of it at once intriguing and unsettling. Taking a breath, Lydia snapped the seal and unfolded the paper. To her surprise, another sealed envelope tumbledonto her lap, this one addressed to someone else. Lydia picked it up. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, The Lyon’s Den, Cleveland Row, London.” She frowned. “The Lyon’s Den? What is that?”
Setting the sealed envelope aside, Lydia shifted her focus to what her father had written:
My dear Lydia,
Before I get to the point of this letter, I must first say how proud I am of the woman you’ve become. My only child, my daughter, beautiful inside and out, intelligent, kind, and well-read. The earthly representation of your mother, in fact, who is beside me in eternity even as you’re reading this.
However, as your father, I am obliged to set sentiment aside and speak frankly on another matter. You are of age, my dear, wealthy and unmarried. You are also without protection. I was hoping you might find a suitable match before I went to your mother, but it was not to be. That being so, you must now heed me well.
Be assured, daughter, your situation, while fortunate, is also a tempting lure to the deceptive and the fraudulent. A man may be charming while being manipulative and persuasive. He may make false promises and leave you with nothing of worth. Worse, he may become violent and abusive upon entering the sanctity of marriage. May Heaven forbid. I cannot bear to think of you with such a man!
My hope is, of course, that you will find someone who will love and protect you. Someone who will see your worth without equating it to your wealth. To that end, I urge you to place your marital future in the hands of someone who, I am certain, will protect your interests and find you a good and decent husband. That someoneis Bessie Dove-Lyon, a widow who runs a gambling establishment called the Lyon’s Den.
Ah, I can guess what you might be thinking at this moment! No, my dear, I have not lost my mind. I have known Mrs. Dove-Lyon for many years and trust her completely. Please do not be deterred by her business dealings. She is, at heart, a fine lady, one to be admired. Go to her when you are ready to consider marriage. She will make sure the fellow you marry is the one meant for you. Simply give her the enclosed letter as an introduction. That is all you need to do. She will do the rest, I promise.
One last thing I must beg of you, Lydia. Please do not mourn me for long. I would much prefer you set sorrow aside and seek happiness. Be brave, take chances, and live your life, for it is a gift to be savored.
Till we meet again in Paradise, my beloved child,
Your father,
Reginald Baldwin Page
Lydia squirmed in her seat, blinked away tears, and read the letter again, still not quite able to make sense of it. Who was this Dove-Lyon woman, the owner of the Lyon’s Den? The mere name of the place implied something other than propriety. Agamblingestablishment? Lydia was certain her father had never frequented such places. So, how come he knew of this woman? What was the connection?
“Your tea, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia, her mind still in a whirl, looked up at the maid. “What?”
“Your tea.” Doyle put the tray on the small side table and gave Lydia a concerned look. “Is everything all right, miss?”
“I’m not sure.” Lydia drew breath, picked up the sealed envelope, and read the address again. “Tell me, Doyle, have you ever heard of a place called the Lyon’s Den on Cleveland Row?”
