Page 6 of The Lyon and the Lamb

“Discretion is our watchword. There’s no need to tell me any more than is necessary, of course. I don’t wish you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I have urgent need of a child. If I don’t deliver an heir to the Lamb estates in the next twelve months, they’ll pass to my husband’s cousin, Thomas Bilson. I know—you’re asking yourself how I can produce an heir when my husband’s dead, but the circumstances are peculiar. The lawyer’s wording requires an heir of Lord Lamb’s body or of mine. It ought to have said, ‘of his body and mine,’ but it doesn’t. So, if I conceive a child of my own, the estate will pass to me in trust and to them when they come of age.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sniffed and raised her head. “I do not deal in male prostitution here, Lady Lamb. This is not some kind of human stud farm, whatever you may have heard.”

Araminta flushed. “I wasn’t thinking of that.” She hadn’t been, had she? “I’ve come to put the facts before you and be guided by you. I understand you’re in a position to help women who find themselves in . . . difficulty. I don’t seek your assistance only for myself. My sister, who is but seventeen, has reaped the rewards of a foolish infatuation. The resulting child was born too early and was lost, and even though we’ve thus far avoided a scandal, she’s not been herself since. To keep her out of the asylum, I’ll do anything. But I cannot secure her future without an heir—it’s the only way to keep a roof over both Belinda’s head and mine.”

“There are well-established methods for adopting children. But I don’t know how your plan could work. You could adopt a child and pretend it was your own, but with a young baby, there’s no way of knowing what it will look like when grown. If you were unlucky, it would look not the least bit like yourself. Your ploy would soon be exposed.”

“I know.” She’d chewed over that problem during many a sleepless night. “In any case, I met an obstacle on my very first attempt to adopt a child.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon lifted her head. “Do you have no finances at your disposal? Did your husband give you no allowance? I’m sure you needn’t have given up at the first hurdle.”

Araminta hung her head. “The problem was not a financial one—I have enough funds at present.” Just. “I was not allowed to adopt because I wouldn’t reveal my true identity. That is unacceptable, it seems.”

“Hmm. You mean that you could not reveal yourself as Lady Lamb because your family is too well-known. It would be too late to pretend any child is your husband’s. Were you thinking of vanishing for a while and returning with a young baby?”

Araminta nodded. She could go away again, and pretend on her return to have had an affair that resulted in the birth of a child. But there would be questions asked and investigations made, especially since she’d produced no heir during Horatio’s lifetime.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued, “The general consensus in your husband’s family is doubtless that you’re barren. You could still lose everything, including your reputation, if you try, and fail, to hoodwink them. I dread to think what might happen to your sister then.”

Put that way, Araminta’s scheme sounded desperate indeed. She’d come to Mrs. Dove-Lyon for help, but all the woman was doing was pouring cold water on everything. She rose.

“I’m wasting my time here.”

“No.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon gestured her back to her seat. “I’m not easily defeated, as you will discover. I have an alternative suggestion to your adoption plan—something that will stand up to scrutiny.”

Araminta’s heart sped up. There was still hope? She sat.

“I broker marriages here at the Lyon’s Den. It is clear to me that that would be the best solution for you.”

“Oh, no—”

“Pray, hear me out. I’m renowned for making matches that last. If I find you a suitable husband, you can expect him to be all you could wish for. If he fails to get you with child within the first couple of months of your union, you can still carry out your subterfuge. You can appear to be increasing, invent a health issue that requires you to go away somewhere quiet, then return with a newborn that you’ve secretly adopted. Everyone will then assume that, whereas your first husband was impotent, your second husband is not. And if that ruse should fail, you will still have a husband to protect both you and your sister. How does that sound?”

It made sense, but it would be the last resort. The idea of spending a single day more under the suffocating control of a husband was anathema. Araminta had barely begun to make use of her newfound freedom, and now that she’d tasted it, she had no intention of giving it up.

But maybe she should go along with Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s plan for the time being since it was all she had. It would, at least, give her some thinking time, and she needn’t go through with the marriage if she found a better solution. Would she still be forced to hand over Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s reputedly eye-watering fee if she changed her mind?

The French gilt clock over the mantelpiece seemed to tick more loudly, and the coal burning in the hearth sputtered and flared. The room was closing in on her and she wished that she could hide behind her veil so that Mrs. Dove-Lyon would not see how very desperate she was, how very much she needed this.

“I . . . I’m not sure it’s what I want.”

“I will find you the perfect husband, Lady Lamb. That is my forte. But he’ll want something in return. Can you keep a husband who may have no more than a modest income? When your heir comes of age and receives full powers over the estate, will he—or she—provide for the pair of you and your sister?”

She sincerely hoped so, but that outcome was out of her hands. “We can live comfortably enough while I administer the estate. The trust will provide an annual allowance to cover running costs and the upkeep of the townhouse, plus expenses. My new husband won’t be marrying into a fortune, but he’ll be able to enjoy its proceeds.”

She bit her lip. There was one further stipulation in the will, one which she hadn’t disclosed to anyone. It meant she could not control or influence the heir or be absolutely certain that said heir would provide for her in her dotage. Horatio had decreed that the child would be snatched from her before she’d had time to build a bond with it and fostered out. Araminta was not to be given the opportunity to love and nurture her own child.

What husband, what father would agree to such terms? She’d despise anyone who did—not a good basis for wedlock.

She could feel Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s eyes boring into her from behind her veil, and prayed it wasn’t obvious that she was hiding something.

After a moment, the woman nodded. “Very well. You can leave this matter in my hands—I already have some candidates in mind. I’ll send you my fee in due course—I won’t have an exact figure until I’ve finalized the details. I must advise you, Lady Lamb, that you may have to sacrifice a great deal to achieve your ends, and I don’t just mean money. Once you’ve accepted my terms, you’ll be bound by them. I’ll have a legal contract written up.” She waved one hand dismissively. “Don’t worry—I’ll be discreet. No one need know of our arrangement unless you decide to renege.”

Araminta sucked in a breath. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was going to help her! But could she trust the woman? Horatio had crushed her spirit, making it almost impossible to trust anyone.

But the word was that the Lyon’s Den delivered what it promised—if that were untrue, the establishment would never have prospered, and nor would its owner.