Page 23 of Don’t Wake a Sleeping Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected)

“I ’m Seth,” a man who looked somewhat like Alfred and yet very different, said. He was almost—but not quite—as handsome. She blinked at him when Alfred set her down in the foyer. “And you are?”

“She’s my fiancée,” Alfred said, holding up her left hand. Her enormous diamond sparkled in the light.

He gasped. “You’re engaged? Alfred, are you mad?”

“Madly in love, yes. I don’t need my little brother’s permission to marry.” He laughed, even as Ada wanted to blend into the wallpaper.

Seth took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Is she even…”

“Yes, she’s Jewish. Ada Saltzman, please meet my little brother, Seth Stein.”

Ada curtsied but remained silent.

“She’s from Prussia and we met at The Lyon’s Den.”

“Oh shit, Alfred!” Seth pivoted and paced the foyer. “What’s going on here?”

And so, Alfred told him everything—standing in the foyer surrounded by the parcels from their shopping trip.

“The masquerade will be my last night to gamble at The Lyon’s Den,” Alfred concluded. “If I go anywhere near the place, the Black Widow will hold me to my deal. You have to take my place.”

“I can’t do that!” Seth protested. “Have you lost your mind? I don’t even know the rules to those games, and I’m not you!”

“You’ll be wearing a mask. Don’t you remember the way Nanny Fineblum couldn’t tell us apart when we did the same thing to her?”

“This isn’t child’s play, Alfred. I thought your future meant something to you. You were only gambling to win the money for your practice. Now you’ve endangered much more than that.”

“He’s right,” Ada interjected. “If Aunt Bessie realizes you fooled her, she’ll show no mercy.”

“Maybe not,” Alfred shrugged, “but at least she won’t force me to hold up my end of the deal.”

“Let me speak with her,” Ada suggested.

“And tip her off? I will marry you. The deal is off. When my parents arrive, the marriage will take place.”

Seth shook his head. “It’ll take them two weeks to get back by carriage not counting the time for your letter to reach them and for them to pack. What are you going to do until then?”

For the first time, Alfred looked uncertain. “I’ll tell them it’s urgent.”

“That won’t matter. It’s time you don’t have. You have to come up with another solution.”

Alfred considered the matter. “If we don’t have the time, we’ll make it. You will impersonate me at the masquerade. I’ll keep a low profile and continue playing at The Lyon’s Den. I’ll try to make enough for the down payment before the ball, but that night, you must go in my place.”

“I cannot pretend to be you,” Seth said, crossing his arms. “It’s too dangerous. Her wolves will catch me.”

“Not if Ada helps you. She’s a puffer. She knows them all. Even if she discovers the ruse, the Black Widow won’t introduce you to any wealthy brides in my place. As long as I’m not married to Ada, I can’t go to the masquerade.”

Seth visibly deflated. He knew his brother was right, but he still had valid points to argue.

“How will you pay rent? How will you support your wife? Random acts of kindness won’t get you firewood, food, and lodging.”

“Medicine, not kindness.”

“It doesn’t matter. Neither is lucrative.”

“Maybe not,” Ada said, “but gambling can be.”

And so, the three hatched a plan.

Alfred would continue to gamble at The Lyon’s Den. Ada would work with Seth to teach him the game so that he could put in a more convincing performance, but on the actual night, she would signal him where to set his money. A blink of both eyes would mean red. Brushing hair out of her face, black. Leaning on her elbow, skip the round.

“In the end, I still think she will make you pay your end of the bargain,” Ada warned. “And I am afraid to think how she might go about avenging the loss of the prestige to be had in matching Jews. You awakened a sleeping lion and…”

“You’re afraid I’ll get bitten,” Alfred said, “but remember that I’m a doctor, I know how to treat bites.”

But although he feigned lightheartedness, Alfred was worried. What price would he pay for breaking his agreement with London’s most notorious matchmaker? He might as well be ripping prey straight from the lion’s mouth and that could only end in one way—more bloodshed.