Freya sipped the drink, as did Lady Annalise, but Her Ladyship’s excuse was the child she carried, not a case of the nerves. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had served them a dark, rich wine. The vintage was drier than Freya generally preferred, though she was assuredly no connoisseur. “Should I simply tell Mrs. Dove-Lyon what I hope she will agree to do?”
Miss Whitchurch assured, “Mrs. Dove-Lyon will direct the conversation. The lady is very plain spoken so you must not be offended nor offer a pretense. The Lyon’s Den is no London ballroom. Be honest and all will go well.”
Freya glanced down at her glass and realized her wine had magically disappeared, for she assuredly had not consumed it, or had she? She casually set the crystal on the low table. What would she do if her father discovered she had come to such a place? He would likely beat her to death for shaming him, and no one would dare to stop him. Such was why she held Lord Graham in such esteem. His Lordship did not fear her father.
The door opened suddenly and a figure all in black stood in the opening. Together, she and her friends stood. Though the woman was the owner of a gaming hell, it was best to present her some respect, especially as they were on a mission to seek her assistance. “My ladies,” the woman said with authority. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. If you hold no objections, we shall conduct our business in this room. Titan is using my office while he handles another matter.”
Freya would have preferred to look upon the woman’s features. Though the others had warned her that Mrs. Dove-Lyon never removed the veil she wore in remembrance of her late husband, nevertheless, Freya would have enjoyed viewing the woman’s expression. The woman’s voice spoke of acceptance, but could not Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s face say otherwise? That was the way of conversation.
“We should have asked for an appointment,” Lady Annalise said in apologetic tones, “but we all leave for Kent in another week.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon turned to Miss Whitchurch. “I have heard of your plans, Miss Whitchurch. Titan tells me he immediately recognized Lord Thompson’s interest in you when you called about your sister. I was sorry to hear of her demise, but the child is safely with you and His Lordship, I understand.”
“Our Ethan is doing quite well, ma’am. We would not have known where to search for my sister without your kind confirmation of the woman to whom Titan had previously offered assistance. We are in your debt, ma’am.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded her acceptance of the compliment. “Let us all sit,” the woman instructed. A man carried in an extra chair for his mistress and exited quickly. When they were settled again, Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “How is Lord Orson, my lady?”
Lady Emma reported, “My husband remains quite spectacular. He has taken on additional duties to the Prime Minister.”
“I read about His Lordship’s role in the capture of those following John Yates,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said before turning to Lady Annalise. “We at the Lyon’s Den learned much from Lord Beaufort on how to prevent uttered bank notes from crossing our tables in the gaming room. Is he well, my lady?”
Lady Emma responded before Lady Annalise could form an answer, “Beaufort is more than well, ma’am. He is to be a father by midsummer.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon touched her heart with her hand. “Well done, my lady. Gentlemen of Lord Beaufort’s nature require something tangible to lead them to the success they were always meant to know. I pray I shall soon be in a position to congratulate him personally. And your brother and Lady Theodora?”
“Have only just arrived in London after that business in York,” Lady Annalise said without additional information, and Freya wondered what that meant. She had yet to take the acquaintance of Lord Duncan’s daughter, though she knew the young woman on sight. “We all hope to see them soon.”
“Then that brings us to you, miss,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon switched her position and obvious attention onto Freya. “I assumed Lord Duncan’s new ‘daughters’ were not the subject of today’s visit to the Lyon’s Den.”
Freya swallowed hard. “You are correct, ma’am.” Freya swallowed a second time. “Where should we begin?”
“As I do not recognize you, perhaps we begin with your name,” the woman suggested.
“Should we wait outside?” Lady Emma asked softly.
“No!” Freya was quick to say. “I shall require your guidance, as no one I know will assist in this matter.” She sucked in a steadying breath, and to the woman in black said, “I am Lady Freya Cunningham, and I seek a match with Lord Aaran Graham.”
Mrs. Dove-Love remained silent for several elongated seconds before she cleared her throat. “I cannot imagine Lord Graham would object to such a match. Your accent says you are Scottish. You are dressed as a lady. Your speech indicates you are educated.”
“He would not,” Lady Annalise declared. “You should simply view how our dear Lord Graham looks upon Lady Freya when he thinks no one is paying attention.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon paused before asking, “Then who stands in objection?”
“My father is Lord Iain Cunningham,” Freya explained. “He would not agree to a match with Lord Aaran Graham.”
“What of Lord Boyde Graham, Lord Pitcairn?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked unexpectedly. “Is it all the Grahams or only the elder one to whom your father objects?”
Freya knew her mouth hung open in surprise, and so she snapped it closed. She had never considered the question of whether it was all the Grahams to whom her father objected or just the one. “The younger Graham would be a perfectly acceptable gentleman, I suppose, for I have never heard my father speak against Lord Pitcairn, though I cannot say with assurance he even knows the young lord. Lord Pitcairn would be a better choice in some ways than the groom my father has chosen for me, Sir Patrick Hodge.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon did not comment on this new information, instead she remarked, “But the younger Graham is not as rich as his elder brother?”
“No!” Freya said as she shoved to her feet. “If I must know a marriage like the ones both my mother and sister have, then it does not matter whether my husband is Sir Patrick or the younger Lord Graham. In fact, I would prefer Sir Patrick, for, at least, in that marriage, I would not be required regularly to look upon Lord Aaran Graham with another woman at his side and wonder what might have been.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon remained silent for longer than Freya would like, and so she sat again. “When will you reach your majority, my lady?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked at last.
“In March,” Freya said quietly, but her heart felt as if it might burst from her chest. She attempted to keep her composure, for Lady Emma had warned Freya that Mrs. Dove-Lyon held no compassion for a woman who was too compliant nor too demanding.
“You are prepared to follow my instructions?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon questioned.
