Page 7 of The Lyon’s Paw

“Have you any other choice, Diana?” Aunt Frances’s face was grim. “Are you certain there’s no younger gentleman of your acquaintance who might agree to marry you?

“No, there’s not.” That, in a nutshell, was the problem. Diana didn’t know many young men, save her cousins who she wouldn’t marry on a bet. And none of the young gentlemen she’d met at the few entertainments she’d attended during the Season would likely be willing to tie themselves to basically a ruined woman. Also, it was a huge risk for her to take, on marriage to a young man that might last thirty or even forty years.

But a marriage that couldn’t last nearly that long might, indeed, be the answer.

“Could I meet with Sir Harry, Mrs. Dove-Lyons?” Diana had to steel herself to ask the question, but meeting the gentleman didn’t constitute accepting his proposal. Perhaps he would be kindly, as her uncle had been. Older gentlemen needn’t be unpleasant companions.

“I believe I could arrange that.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons drew a piece of foolscap from one of the random piles, produced a pen and ink, and began to write. “Let me send a message asking him to attend you here. That way you can see for yourself if you think you would suit.”

“I think you are making a wise decision, my dear.” Aunt Frances sighed and sat back in her chair.

“As you said, aunt, what other choice do I have?” Diana slumped. It was a bad situation, true, but many a woman had made worse decisions. And if she did agree to marry Sir Harry, she assuredly would not be married for long. What her acceptance now would hinge on was whether or not Sir Harry would agree to the settlement she and her aunt had discussed on the way to The Lyon’s Den. A settlement that would leave her inheritance virtually intact and set aside for her own purposes. If Sir Harry were desperate enough for an heir, perhaps he would agree. If he did not, then Diana didn’t know what she was going to do.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon finished her note, folded and sealed the missive, and rang for a footman, who immediately appeared. “To Sir Harry Bowles. Wait for an answer.”

The man nodded and withdrew. There was a flurry of thuds as he raced down the stairs and Diana turned back to Mrs. Dove-Lyons. “You are certain there are no other gentlemen looking for a wife? A very rich wife.”

The figure in black shrugged. “These things run in cycles, my dear. Next week I may have a dozen men, young and old, seeking a wife and no partners to be found for them.”

“A precarious business at best, I suppose.” Diana’s nerves were stretched so thin, she didn’t care that the head beneath the veil had tilted at a rather perturbed angle while her aunt plucked at her sleeve trying to hush her. If she’d spoken too sharply, she was sorry, but what did they expect? In less than two hours she’d been granted a fortune, only to be told she must marry to obtain it, then had been informed that her one hope for a bridegroom had one foot in the grave. If she wasn’t as polite as usual, it should be excused this one time, surely.

A faint chuckle from the black garbed woman gave Diana the feeling Mrs. Dove-Lyons had forgiven her any social faux pas. “My fortunes rise and fall as though I were caught in a perpetual squall, Miss Edgerton. I weather the storm as best I can.” She sat back in her tall, leather chair. “Do you have a contingency plan, in the event Sir Harry is unwilling to meet your terms? Your aunt tells me you require your future bridegroom to relinquish all rights to your substantial fortune. There’s not many who would do that.”

“I hope to entice the gentleman with a wedding gift of cash or property, whichever he prefers. That will be all he receives of my fortune, but I intend to be generous.” Diana shot a look at her aunt. She hadn’t divulged that little part to anyone until now. “That way he will be compensated and hopefully not expect more money over the course of the marriage.”

“Depending on the gentleman, there may be other compensations he would be happy to accept as well.”

Although Diana couldn’t see the woman’s face, she imagined a leer of epic proportions on Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s lips and her cheeks flushed. “With the possible exception of Sir Harry, with any other gentleman such ‘compensations’ will be non-negotiable.”

“That may break the deal quicker than withholding the funds.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s chuckled again. “Most gentlemen I deal with at the very least will need an heir at some point in their lives. My very best wishes for your success, Miss Edgerton, if it comes to that. Hopefully, Sir Harry will be—”

A knock at the door and the same footman entered. He sent a furtive glance at Diana, then turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyons and bent down to whisper in her ear.

Unable to help herself, Diana leaned forward, trying to be inconspicuous, but needing to know what the servant was saying. That sly look had piqued her interest immensely.

“Eavesdropping in plain sight is particularly rude, Diana.” Speaking sotto voce, her aunt pulled her backward until she was sitting properly once more. “And rarely gains the results you wish for. Mrs. Dove-Lyons will tell us the news shortly in any case.”

The conversation continued between the footman and the proprietress, carrying on longer than Diana had expected. What did the man need to say other than Sir Harry was on the way or not coming at all? She sent a puzzled look to Aunt Frances, who shrugged and continued to wait peaceably. How her aunt could do so was beyond Diana. Of course, her aunt’s future and fortune were not at stake as her own were. Diana clutched the purse-strings of her reticule and redoubled her efforts to remain calm.

Suddenly, the footman straightened and sped out of the room.

Diana turned her attention to Mrs. Dove-Lyons, hoping for an explanation and even more importantly an answer.

Instead, the lady rose, said only, “Excuse me,” and followed the footman out the door.

Diana turned to her aunt. “What in God’s name is happening?”

Aunt Frances shook her head. “Mrs. Dove-Lyons will tell us in her own time. That’s her way. You simply must accept it.” She patted Diana’s hand. “And trust her. After all this time as a matchmaker, she knows what she’s doing.”

Releasing a sigh, Diana sent up a prayer that that at least was true.

Not quite half an hour later—Diana knew the time because she’d taken her pocket watch out to check every two minutes—the door opened and Mrs. Dove-Lyons bustled into the room. “I have news for you, Miss Edgerton.”

Diana caught the fact the lady did not say “good” news. Likely then Sir Harry, while needing an heir, also wished for more money than she was willing to give. “And that is…?”

“There is a prospective bridegroom on his way up the stairs as we speak.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons’ voice sounded peculiar. Not the crowing tone Diana would have expected, but more of a smugly triumphant trill.

“Excellent, my dear.” Aunt Frances grasped Diana’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I told you Mrs. Dove-Lyons would save you.”