Mrs. Dove-Lyon presented him with what could only be called “a cat caught the mouse” smile. “Miss Whitchurch accompanied Ladies Orson and Beaufort to my door only yesterday.”
Aaran knew surprise at the woman’s words. “What, pray tell, brought those three ladies to your door, ma’am?” His mind raced to determine an excuse for such a call upon the Lyon’s Den, but it kept coming back to one key point, or rather person. He was well aware all three ladies carried about a desire to see all their friends and loved ones happy, but how might Mrs. Dove-Lyon fit into the equation? Had they joined forces to find Duncan a new wife? They had each been brought into the family as part of the aftermath of Duncan’s shooting.
“In fact, my lord,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with a chuckle, “the women are set on finding you a wife. They sought my matchmaking skills.”
“Me!” Aaran gasped. “I hope you told them I am capable of discovering my own wife.”
“One would think I would, would he not?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with a soft chuckle. “However, after I viewed Lady Freya Cunningham’s interest in your person, I…”
“Lady Freya?” Aaran asked. Like it or not, the idea stole his breath away again. “What… what does Lady Freya have to do with this craziness?”
“I have a feeling the lady would readily welcome your attentions.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sipped her drink. “In fact, I am confident Her Ladyship maneuvered her new friends into accompanying her here, though the idea could have come from Lady Orson. Orson’s wife is the one who brought Lady Theodora to my door.”
“Even if I wished to pursue the woman, her father despises me,” Aaran argued.
“Now there’s the rub,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with another chuckle. “The girl has managed to recruit two of your brothers’ wives and one soon-to-be wife to assist her. She may be smarter than you present her credit, but do not forget this lesson if you do decide to marry her, for Lady Freya may lead you on a merry dance. A bit of a quandary, I admit, but what a lovely way to go.”
“But…” Aaran began, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon cut him off.
“The lady’s parents will be away for a fortnight in Norfolk, enjoying the wedding of Lord Pittboro’s son.”
“She cannot…” he attempted, but was again silenced with a flick of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s wrist.
“In her parents’ absence, Lady Freya has arranged to visit her mother’s sister and the woman’s husband, who happens to be a vicar on the other side of the village outside of Thompson’sestate. You know, the one belonging to Lord Rayland.” The woman’s shoulders vibrated in a chuckle. “Is not the baron one of Thompson’s neighbors in Kent?”
“Did Lady Freya know this connection ahead of time?” Aaran demanded. He favored the girl but would not be pleased with such outright manipulations.
“I do not believe so. After all, I doubt even the future Lady Thompson knows much of those who reside in the area. I was quite happy to point the coincidence out to the ladies with my copy ofDebrett’s Peerage. It is my understanding Lady Freya was only hoping to encounter you in Kent. Imagine an encounter in such a large shire.”
Aaran Graham’s brain knew how to process and solve a mystery, noting the least details until they all fell in place. He knew how to defend himself with a variety of weapons. He was an expert and often taught others such lessons. However, when it came to affairs of the heart, he was a complete novice. Lady Freya Cunningham was the biggest mystery to cross his path in a long while. Did she wish to play him for a fool? Was she acting on her father’s orders—something nefarious concocted by Cunningham to discredit Aaran? As much as he was attracted to the woman, dare he respond?
“Even if I wished to pursue Lady Freya,” he reasoned aloud, “her father would never agree to the marriage,” he countered.
“The girl will be one and twenty soon,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon teased. “Which is likely why Cunningham means officially to promise her to Sir Patrick Hodge in late March, with a late June or early July wedding. The baronet means to start courting her soon. March seems to be an important month for a number of those for whom you care deeply, do you not agree?”
Aaran ignored the lady’s last remark. Instead, he said, “I have heard rumors of the marriage arrangement,” Aaran admittedreluctantly. When it came to his notice, the pain it left in his heart was nearly unbearable.
“When do you leave for Kent?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.
“I have another venture to complete for Duncan,” he admitted, “before I can leave.”
Thankfully, Mrs. Dove-Lyon did not ask of his assignment. Instead, she said, “Once her parents depart for Norfolk, Lady Freya plans to take the late evening public coach to her uncle’s house. She might welcome your interference in her travel plans.”
“Please tell me you did not guarantee my rescuing her,” Aaran demanded. “And why would she take a public coach? That could be dangerous for a young lady unaccustomed to traveling thusly. Why did not either her father or her mother make arrangements for her to travel with a servant in one of their coaches?”
“I am only the messenger,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon declared as she downed the last of her drink. “I do not believe His Lordship is cognizant of where his daughter might be found in his absence, and Lady Cunningham, from what little I know of the woman, is afraid of her own shadow. I doubt she thought that far ahead. Perhaps they think the Turners will send a carriage for her. Who is to say? However, from what was decided in my office yesterday, Lady Freya Cunningham is taking a late-evening public coach from London to Kent. From there, it must be you who carves out his own future.” She stood to end their conversation. “Now what was it you were saying of the younger Graham’s debt to me?”
Freya had beenhiding in a nearby lending library when her parents departed for Norfolk earlier today. She had kissed each of them but had privately promised to give her mother’s regardsto Her Ladyship’s younger sister. “Uncle Philip will send his small coach for me later today,” she had assured. As was typical, her father had not asked of the arrangements, for such was “woman’s work to tend the children.” Such spoke volumes to the fact that he essentially would forget about her in his absence. Perhaps he thought his word was the law, and she would be afraid to thwart any of his plans. She was quite exhausted, as the past week had been a nightmare of keeping her story straight and making certain no one spoiled her plans.
Now, as she crept down the back steps to where the remainder of her small trunks awaited her, anxiety lifted its head in fear. Two days prior, she had hired a hackney driver to retrieve her at nine on the clock and deliver her to The George in Southwark, about eight miles east of London proper where she would then catch a carriage that would carry her to the village near her uncle’s vicarage. How she was to manage all her trunks, Freya did not know, but as Miss Whitchurch had invited Freya to some of the festivities, she would be called upon to dress properly.
The hackney was waiting at the corner when she carried the first of her trunks around to the curb. “I have one more plus a small bag,” she told the man as he climbed down to place the trunk inside the carriage. “Thank you for being a man of your word, sir.” She slipped another small bag of coins into his palm as she returned to the house.
A little over an hour later, Lady Freya stood alone in the courtyard of The George, where she watched four skittish horses being harnessed to a coach heading east towards Kent proper. Without making a conscious decision, she edged closer to the few respectable looking members with whom she would be traveling. “Have I made a rash decision again?” her mind queried.
Meanwhile in amuch different part of London, Aaran grumbled, “Demme it, Bankstone, in my messages to both you and Duncan I told you that I needed to be released by midday so I could travel to Kent.” Aaran had thought to remain one more day in the cells, but he read a bit in the newsprints used as paper to wipe one’s buttocks when using the necessary and the facilities, of the upcoming marriage of Lord Pittboro’s son and knew Lady Freya would leave for Kent this very evening.
“I apologize, my lord, there be an incident on the other side of London. Thought we found the man who killed young Mr. Betts on Putney Heath, but it led nowhere.”
