“You shall think otherwise once you are inside,” Lady Annalise warned.
“Quite colorful,” Lady Emma said with a chuckle.
“Pink and gold everywhere,” Miss Whitchurch warned.
“Come along, ladies. We do not wish to be viewed loitering upon the walkway before the Lyon’s Den.”
As Freya glanced around, all she could see were brownstones, each trimmed in white. She did not know if the buildings were residences or businesses. She did not imagine many would wish to live in close proximity to a place as infamous as the Lyon’s Den, though she was impressed with howordinarythe building appeared from the outside. The most extraordinary thing about it was its pale-blue paint.
“Not many about,” she murmured, as they crossed the open space leading to the house, as a group.
“Most who work within sleep during the day,” Lady Emma said with authority. Freya decided such spoke of Her Ladyship, whether the woman was ordering tea or instructing servants or leading a tour of a grand museum on the Continent.
“The house has a welcoming look about it,” Freya remarked with a bit of trepidation, wondering if she should call off this scheme. She started towards the front door while wondering if the Lyon’s Den employed a butler.
“This way,” Lady Emma and Miss Whitchurch said together and caught Freya’s arm to tug her off to the right just as a handsome man, of some years, stepped out to greet them.
He bowed politely. “Lady Orson. Lady Beaufort. Miss Whitchurch. Have you business at the Lyon’s Den today?”
Lady Emma continued to speak for them. “We hoped to speak to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, Titan. Our Lady Freya is interested in a match with our dear Lord Graham.”
The man’s eyebrow rose in interest. “Is your Lord Graham aware of the lady’s aspirations?”
Freya did not approve of the word “aspirations” nor did she think Lady Emma openly discussing Freya’s situation with astranger acceptable, though, she supposed, there was not much she could do to stop the wheel from rolling along without her, now that it had been set in motion.
“Lord Graham is interested,” Lady Annalise declared.
“Then you will find Hermia in place at the other door,” the man said with what appeared to be a nod of approval. “Best wishes, Lady Freya,” he said with a proper bow.
“This way,” Lady Emma ordered.
As they walked away, the man asked Miss Whitchurch, “Is the boy doing well, Miss?”
“Growing too quickly for my liking,” Miss Whitchurch declared with a smile. “Our Ethan spends his afternoons with Lord Thompson and a book of Shakespeare. He will soon be the smartest one-year-old in London.”
“Tell Lord Thompson I send my regards.”
“I shall,” Miss Whitchurch declared as she scurried to catch up with them.
“Watch your step,” Lady Emma warned as they climbed a flight of stairs towards another entryway on the upper story. That door was also guarded, but this time by a woman, who was oddly dressed in men’s clothing.
“Lady Orson,” the woman said with an awkward curtsey. “Miss Whitchurch? Do you have an appointment?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, as she looked first to Lady Annalise and then to Freya.
“I apologize for not sending word ahead,” Lady Orson repeated both politely and with authority. “Our friend Lady Freya requires Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s assistance.”
The woman known as Hermia eyed Freya oddly. “And the lady can afford Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services?”
Freya fidgeted. She had not considered how the woman would charge a fee.
“The lady wishes a match with our Lord Graham. His Lordship has Duncan and four brothers who will gladly pay the lady’s fees to see Graham well settled,” Lady Emma declared. “If you recall, it was Lord Graham who gladly paid Mrs. Dove-Lyon extra for the use of the ladies’ dining room when Duncan was shot. Lord Graham will be quite generous.”
Hermia glanced behind her. “This way, my ladies.”
Freya walked arm in arm with Miss Whitchurch as they followed the others along a dim hallway. Though her friends had warned Freya of the decor, she still knew surprise at the preponderance of pink-and-gold-gilt paper upon the walls, only to be brought up short by a rather lurid painting displayed on a less ornate wall.
Lady Emma chuckled. “Leda and the Swan,” Her Ladyship said smartly. “Obviously not the original.”
“Obviously,” Freya murmured in stunned disbelief as Miss Whitchurch tugged on Freya to keep up with the others.
