Page 24 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

L ucretia folded her hands in her lap, trying to keep the fear that had her by the throat at bay. Poor Mr. Jackson. She could not believe he’d been knifed because of her. And Greeves might have been too, had he not noticed the fire and shouted the warning.

Between Gavin and Mr. Tremayne, they had stopped Mr. Bancroft and his sons from doing more damage to their building. Would they have let it burn to the ground in order to keep their scheme from being uncovered? Dear Lord, please let me find Montfort’s papers!

As the carriage began to slow down, she hoped Mrs. Riddleton had not absconded with the key to Montfort’s dressing room and his desk.

When the coach rocked to a stop, she scooted to the door.

It opened, and Weston’s worried expression went right to her heart.

She could always count on him. “Mr. King will be arriving in an hour or two. He had business to take care of.”

Weston’s eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing beneath his hairline. “At this hour of the morning? What happened—forgive my asking, your ladyship, but was your carriage parked near a fire? The smell of smoke is quite strong.”

“Er… Yes, actually, there was a fire nearby.” She had no intention of telling him all that had occurred without King’s being present, unsure what, or if, she should say anything.

“You appear to have soot on your chin. Let me have water heated and a hot bath prepared for you.”

He offered his hand to help her down. “Thank you, Weston. There’s been a bit of a situation, and I need you to find the keys to his lordship’s dressing room…and his private desk.”

Weston frowned. “That will lead to a confrontation, but it will be my pleasure to handle it for you.”

“Weston?” Thompson called.

The butler looked over his shoulder. “Mr. Thompson. Mr. Greeves. I take it you are here to watch over her ladyship on Mr. King’s orders.”

“We are,” Greeves replied.

Thompson added, “There are legal documents Lady Montfort and Mr. King require before they stand before the vicar later today.”

“Is Lizzy still awake?” Lucretia asked.

“She is,” Weston replied. “Would you care for a tea tray while you wait for the bathwater to be heated?”

“I am desperate for a pot of tea. Gentlemen, would you care for any?”

“None for us, your ladyship,” Greeves replied. “I will stand guard in the hallway outside of the sitting room until King arrives.”

Thompson placed his hand beneath her elbow, guiding her to the front door. “I shall stand guard inside.”

“Weston, please advise Mrs. Riddleton and Cook that I wish to speak to them in one hour’s time.

” She glanced down at the hem of her gown and noticed what her butler had not remarked upon…

the sorry state of her clothing. Thank goodness her chemise was hidden beneath it.

“I changed my mind—would you please send the tea to my upstairs sitting room? I’ll wait there until the bath is ready. ”

“Very good, your ladyship. Shall I send Lizzy or one of the upstairs maids to rouse them?”

“Your ladyship! What happened?” Lizzy said, arriving.

“Lizzy, I was just about to send for you,” Lucretia said. “I shall tell you what I can once Mr. King arrives, but until then, I am in dire need of hot water to fill my tub, and a pot of tea.”

“Of course, your ladyship. The scullery maids have already arisen and lit the cookstove. There is plenty of hot water and the kettle is ready and waiting for Cook’s…” The maid bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor.

“What were you about to say, Lizzy?”

“Cook insists that the kettle be ready when she walks into her domain in the morning.”

“Surprising, as I normally have to wait for hot water in the morning.” At Lizzy’s pained expression, Lucretia asked, “Have I ever given you reason to be fearful of me?”

“Never, your ladyship.”

“Then please do not hold back—continue.”

Lizzy glanced at Weston, who gave a nod. Lucretia noticed and tried to tamp down the irritation bubbling inside of her.

“It would appear that the two of you are in league with one another. I have dealt with more than enough frustration for one evening. Best get it off your chests…now, if you do not mind.”

“Cook expects the pots to be filled, the kettle about to boil, and the ingredients for the morning meal to be ready and waiting for her to give the command to begin preparing breakfast,” Lizzy replied.

“You neglected to mention who gets the first pot of tea,” Weston said.

Lizzy started wringing her hands. “Please do not tell her that I told you. Cook wields her long-handled spoon as if it were an épée without fail, every morning when I ask her how long until your tea will be ready. Mrs. Riddleton has threatened to sack me three times in the last fortnight.”

Frustration ignited Lucretia’s temper. “Why am I only hearing of this now? I would have spoken with Cook and Mrs. Riddleton. Tell me why she threatened you.”

“I overheard a conversation I was not supposed to.”

“I see.” At least, Lucretia thought she understood. “I gather the conversation involved a task I had given to Mrs. Riddleton?”

“Not exactly,” Lizzy replied.

“You’d best tell her ladyship,” Weston said. “I’ll send someone to rouse Cook and Mrs. Riddleton.”

“Please do not ask me. The last time…” Lizzy trailed off a second time, and Lucretia realized her own actions—or lack thereof—had allowed her maid to be mistreated, and worse, bullied.

“You will tell me at once what actions were taken against you without my knowledge. Not one person on my staff has the right to gainsay me.” Seeing the look of unbridled fear on Lizzy’s face, Lucretia relented. “Please see about the hot water—we will speak of this later.”

“Begging your pardon, your ladyship.” Weston’s grim expression was telling. “Do be cautious…in your questioning.”

Thompson and Greeves moved to flank Lucretia. “Spit it out, Weston,” Greeves said.

“It’ll go easier on you,” Thompson added, “when King finds out Lady Montfort has been mistreated in her own home.”

“That is just it, gentlemen,” the butler said. “Neither Mrs. Riddleton nor Cook believe it is Lady Montfort’s home—they have maintained their loyalty to his lordship and do their best to countermand any order from her ladyship.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Thompson, Mr. Greeves,” Lucretia interjected. “I am planning to take care of this particular situation—after I have washed the scent of smoke off me. I had no idea it was that noticeable.”

“King needs to know,” Thompson insisted.

“I believe Gavin may be aware. While he is otherwise engaged handling the Messrs. Bancroft and the other blackguards, I shall handle things here.”

“We will not stand by and see you abused,” Greeves said.

“Physically or verbally,” Thompson added.

“Thank you, gentlemen. I would appreciate your company in the upstairs sitting room. Mayhap you will change your mind about taking tea with me.”

Thompson’s harried expression matched Greeves’s. Lucretia did not want Gavin’s men to think she was giving them orders when that was not her intention.

“You do not have to have tea, though I would appreciate your presence in the sitting room. I regret to say that both women are difficult to deal with and do not accept change easily.”

“They work for you,” Greeves said.

“Yes, they do,” she replied.

“And are paid handsomely for performing their duties,” Thompson said.

“True.”

“Your ladyship, the hot water is being brought to your bedchamber as we speak,” Lizzy said, returning. “Let me assist you.”

“Thank you, Lizzy.” Turning to the men who were bound and possessed to intercede on her behalf, Lucretia said, “Gentlemen, I shall leave you to do whatever Gavin instructed you to do with one small request: please come to the upstairs sitting room shortly for a meeting.”

“Of course, Lady Montfort,” Thompson replied.

“We will be there,” Greeves assured her.

“Weston?”

“Yes, your ladyship?” the butler replied.

“Thank you for your candor. Come, Lizzy—I have much to tell you about our change in circumstances.”

As they reached the main staircase, the maid asked, “Does it involve Mr. King?”

Lucretia could not hold back her smile. “He is the reason for the change.”

“He has a bold, honest reputation among the Bow Street Runners for righting wrongs, your ladyship.”

“And is working on my behalf, even as we speak, to right an unconscionable wrong. I can say no more, but may be at liberty to do so in the next few days.” They had reached the door to her bedchamber, and she immediately felt at ease.

The soft yellow walls and pristine white and yellow counterpane soothed her the moment she stepped across the threshold.

It had taken years to make the changes to her bedchamber—met with resistance at every turn—but it had been worth it to have a sanctuary. A place where she felt at home.

Home… She could not even begin to imagine what that word would come to mean once she and Gavin were wed.