Page 29 of The Lyon Rampant

Chapter Thirteen

Piers’s first inclination was to leave everything in the capable hands of his theater manager and depart London for his lead mine on Dartmoor. He could bury himself in the practicalities of mining and forget the disaster that had befallen him—at least for a while. In deepest Devon, there’d be no risk of running into Miss Bellamy or Roland Chetwynd, or anyone else associated with that dreadful night in St. Giles.

No—leaving Town was the coward’s way, a path he’d sworn never to take. He must stay in London and see what could be done, put everything in place to bridge the chasm that now lay between him and his son. Then, and only then, would he feel free to head out of London, visit the mine, and pay a long overdue visit to Papa and Maman.

True to his promise to Chetwynd, he did, however, request an audience with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

“A pleasure to see you as always, Mr. Darvill. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“The honor is all mine.” Indeed, it was because the owner of the Lyon’s Den preferred to keep herself to herself. He had met her a few times, but only for light conversation, not for anything serious. It was a struggle to converse with someone whose face one could not see. Perhaps one day, the world would know what Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon was hiding. But for now, there was only speculation.

“Pray, take a seat. Shall I have refreshments brought?”

As he settled himself down, he remembered the conversation he’d had with the big man on Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff—Starveling, wasn’t it? Had he resolved his issues with the lady he’d spoken of? Piers rather hoped he had—it would be good if somebody of his acquaintance had managed to find happiness. Later, he would seek out Starveling. Best not to mention anything about it to Mrs. Dove-Lyon—she probably disapproved of her staff having relationships with the clientele.

“Only if you wish for refreshments yourself, ma’am. I don’t need anything, and I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time.”

She tilted her head, and he imagined piercing eyes behind the veil, regarding him searchingly.

“Then let us not beat about the bush, sir. What is it you wish to discuss?”

“I’ve come to plead on behalf of a friend.” A friend? Not exactly—Roland Chetwynd was just an acquaintance. But he’d begun to feel sympathy for the man, now that he understood what he must put up with at home.

“I’m here to ask if Mr. Roland Chetwynd can be reinstated as a member of the Lyon’s Den. He has done me a great service, and I’m indebted to him.”

“He was banned for attempting to deceive my staff by smuggling a woman into a card game meant for gentlemen. You know what the House rules are, Mr. Darvill, as does he.”

“I’m certain Mr. Chetwynd has learned his lesson and won’t trespass again. As has the lady in question—well, almost. Miss Bellamy has been atoning for her crime in your kitchens.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded. “She has proved to be an excellent cook.”

He had to agree—a woman who made such excellent partridge stew couldn’t be entirely evil.

“She has worked diligently and . . . fairly reliably. I no longer consider that she owes me anything. I don’t know that Mr. Chetwynd has been sufficiently punished—he has only been banished for a couple of weeks, after all. But that is by-the-by. May I ask what manner of service he performed for you?”

Piers hesitated. One did not want to put too much information into this wily woman’s hands. “The favor touched on a personal matter requiring both subtlety and discretion. I’m pleased to say that the gentleman did what I asked and showed both of those admirable traits. Between you and me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I think it fair to say he’s learned his lesson and is ready to put his youthful follies behind him.”

“Subtlety and discretion, eh? Both the qualities of an excellent spy.”

Piers’s eyebrows shot up. That was exactly what he’d used Roland for. Did Mrs. Dove-Lyon know everything?

“Miss Bellamy has a similar ability to weasel out information.” And how he wished she didn’t!

“A promising young lady. One only needs to give Miss Bellamy the benefit of the doubt, I believe, and one will find her friendship rewarding. She’s been shaped by difficulties in her past, but, like Mr. Chetwynd, she has accepted that those things cannot be undone. It’s vital to let go of the past and move forward in life. There are some rough edges to remove, I know, but in time, mark my words, Miss Bellamy will be a diamond of the first water.”

Piers resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Belinda Bellamy, a diamond? The woman was a nightmare! But he wasn’t here to argue about Belinda. He’d rather not think about her at all.

“It sounds as if it would be in my interest to welcome Mr. Chetwynd back into the fold. I shall be certain to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get involved in any further high jinks. I know I allow a certain amount of latitude here—encourage it even—but there are limits.”

“That is most kind of you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I’ll keep an eye on him too, and when the earl returns to Town, perhaps we can discuss ways of keeping Roland out of trouble.”

His hostess got to her feet, so Piers stood too, and gave her a deep bow, then realized she was holding out a gloved hand to him. They shook on their arrangement, after which she rang for him to be seen out.

It was Mr. Starveling who hobbled forth to escort him from the premises. He was proving to be an intriguing character—Mrs. Dove-Lyon must make a habit of collecting them.

“Good day to you, sir,” the man said brightly as Piers shouldered himself into his coat and collected his hat and cane.

Starveling paused with his hand on the doorknob.