Page 13 of Lie Down With a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den)

T hree mornings later, they set out for London. But in Maidstone, they stopped for Dáire to introduce his future bride to his two sisters. The girls, fourteen and sixteen, hugged their brother and accepted Blanche at first sight.

“You’ll marry soon?” asked the eldest, Marie. To Dáire’s reply, she wondered if she and her sister Alys could go to London to be witnesses.

But he advised against it. “Blanche and I have matters to settle in London. They are complicated. One among them is that we must find a house. Plus you both must finish out the term. Come in August for the holiday, aye?”

With goodwill, Dáire and his sisters parted easily. As for Blanche, she grinned and took his arm as they sat in a coach that sped toward London. “I will have two sisters. Funny, I never thought I’d have so many to love.”

He kissed her forehead. “My sweetheart, you’ll have dozens to love.”

She sent him a look of pain. “That many children, eh?”

He widened his eyes. “More!”

She cuffed him. “You’ll have to work hard to pay for all of us!”

In London, Dáire took her to his house in Seven Dials. The place was old, in need of great repair, and in the rookeries, it looked fit for a man and business cloaked in secrets. Dáire introduced her to a few of his men. But he and she agreed that the place was not where they should live as a married couple. Blanche went so far as to intimate Dáire did not belong in that part of town. He was no criminal engaged in nefarious enterprises. It was time to move.

First, however, the next morning, they called upon the vicar at St. Pancras. They explained their desires, and he married them that afternoon.

The day after, Blanche called upon her friends, Grace and Susana. Then Dáire and she rented a tidy, unobtrusive house near St. James. The two-story red brick was small, with six rooms plus quarters beneath for a housekeeper, butler, and cook.

They took possession of the nearly empty house the following day. At breakfast the next morning, Blanche reached for Dáire’s hand. “We must go to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

“I agree. She deserves our regard.”

“I go with not a little trepidation,” Blanche admitted.

“I say we need not fear her ridicule,” Dáire said as he kissed her fingertips. “We know two things Mrs. Dove-Lyon believes in. Love and marriage.”

“We have both,” Blanche whispered, a smile on her lips.

However, the shadows of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s veil offered her two visitors nothing of her emotion. She was polite, cool.

Blanche shifted in her chair in the lady’s salon. She feared that they had alienated a very fine woman whose friendship they sought to win. “We come here, ma’am, to apologize.”

The woman tipped her head. “Kind of you, but you owe me none. For my distress at the news of the doings that day, I would say, Mr. O’Neill, ’tis you who owe me a few kind words.”

“Aye, ma’am. More than a few,” Dáire said.

The woman waved a hand. “For running off with the bride? No, sir, none needed. From what I now know about Mr. Mercer’s secret activities, I should not have offered him to any woman as husband. However, for running off with my client, yes, I am inclined to box your ears, Mr. O’Neill.”

“Oh, ma’am, I wanted only to save Blanche.”

“Sir, you are fortunate I have a fine opinion of you. Yes, from the service you did me once before, I know your true worth.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I am honored at your reprieve.”

“I know well your benefactor, the Marquess of Linhaven. I will say even that we are friends. So I know the story of the young man who lived in his house in Waterford. I know his mother was Linhaven’s cook and that the boy did extraordinary services for his master. Even to the point where Linhaven benefited politically. Linhaven referred his friends to the young lad—and for them, too, he accomplished delicate errands requiring ingenuity and finesse.”

Dáire saw his wife’s brows go up in surprise. He had told her some of his background, but not all. To Mrs. Dove-Lyon he said, “I am pleased you can find in me reasons to trust my judgment, even though I abducted your client on her wedding day.”

“You had reason, did you, Mr. O’Neill?”

“A good one. You see, I had met my wife weeks before she came to you. I wanted to marry her but thought there existed too many barriers between us and any happiness.”

She nodded, as if she agreed. “I hope you have a plan to surmount them?”

“We do, ma’am,” he told her.

“I am rather stunned at what you accomplished that day, sir. For one, you had Mr. Mercer followed.”

“I did. I knew of him and wished only to assure myself that he would appear at the church.”

“And you, Mrs. O’Neill?”

Blanche straightened at the sound of her new name.

“You went to the church that morning thinking you would marry Mr. Mercer?”

“I did, ma’am.”

The lady sniffed. “I questioned passersby, witnesses to the scene at the church. They told me you were shocked at the chaos before you.”

“I was, indeed.”

“I heard, too, that you were even more surprised at the appearance of Mr. Jack Winthrop.”

Blanche let out a sigh. “That is true.”

“And you bit him.”

Blanche winced. “He deserved it.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon had trouble clearing her throat of her chuckles. “From what I understand, he still cannot pick up a writing instrument.”

“Is that so? I didn’t think I had that much power in my jaw. Sorry, ma’am, terrible to say. I do wish him a speedy recovery.”

“I’d forward that for you, Mrs. O’Neill, but I doubt it would put salve to the wound of his pride.”

Both Blanche and Dáire coughed, attempting to hide their laughter.

The lady went on. “I am happy for you both. Life is best lived with one we love. You both have found that one person and decided to keep to them. I applaud your dedication. You are a fine example of devotion—however, I will tell no one that I approve of your shenanigans. Others will get the bright idea that they can abduct ladies at will, and for that gallantry alone, the woman may fall in love with them.”

Both of them left the lady with hearty handshakes and a lightness of being.

By the end of June, they were a busy married couple making a house a home. They had the floors sanded and polished. They ordered furniture from a cabinet maker. Upholstered chairs and settees, too. Blanche stocked the pantry with utensils and staples. Dáire hung draperies for her and lugged in heavy boxes filled with china, linens, and rugs. A new pianoforte graced the main salon.

Well pleased with how everything looked, Blanche stood in the dining room one morning and said, “You are no longer a resident of the slums, Dáire. People will notice. The people who need you and care about you.”

By September, many incidents indicated that they needed to act on family matters. Her father wrote that he was very ill—bedridden, in fact. He asked her to visit him. She did not reply for two days, but as she was ready to put ink to paper, she received another letter from him saying that he had worsened.

Someday soon, he wrote at the end, you must come.

She did not disagree with him, but she mulled over what she wished from any future meeting with her sire.

In the past few weeks, Dáire had worked with the Marquess of Carlisle and his friend, the Earl of Langley, on detecting espionage activities along the Channel coastline. During their meetings, Dáire took Langley aside and told him that he had married the fellow’s niece. The poor man nearly fell to the floor, he was so overtaken.

When Langley had recovered and sank into a chair, he begged to know how Blanche had survived what he had been sure was a death sentence in an orphanage. Dáire outlined how Rivers had found her and saved her.

“Her father has led a life that is, shall we say, not commendable, save for his actions toward Blanche.”

“I would like to meet her, O’Neill. My brothers and I know how our father cast out our dear sister. Our mother approved, God help her. Now, today, I care not who Blanche’s father is. I will deal with that, if I must, later. But Blanche I wish to meet. You love her, O’Neill, so she must be an astonishing woman. Do ask her if she would do me the honor of meeting her.”

Dáire had told her not only of the invitation, but of the fact that the Langleys—all five brothers and their families—were known in Society for their earnest values and good deeds.

She had been reluctant. “I will consider it, Dáire. But I give no promises. Tell them that, please.”

Days later, she brought up the subject at breakfast. It was the first morning in a few weeks when she had come down to dine. He noticed she ate little but toast and jam—and he longed to hear any explanation she might offer to explain her actions.

She savored her tea for a few minutes, then said, “I think we both need to reconcile matters with those in our pasts.”

“Is this what has bothered you lately?” Her distraction when they spoke of their future had become a regular thing.

“Yes, you mentioned that the Earl of Langley would like to meet me.”

“He is a man of ethics. Unlike his father.”

“Are you certain we should go?”

“I am.” Dáire reached over to her and pulled her to his lap. After taking her lips in a sweet moment, he pulled away.

“Would he want to meet in private? I am, to him, an embarrassment.”

“I assure you, my darling, you are not. He wants to welcome you to the house where your mother grew up…and to the family which is yours.”

“For my part, I would not want him to meet me, then change his mind about accepting me. I must consider Grace and my business. No scandal must taint her.” Blanche had visited with Grace soon after they returned to London, and her friend had welcomed her with open arms and tears in her eyes. “She has been good to me.”

“I assure you, Lord Langley is a just and honest man.”

She traced her fingers over the line of his jaw. “Then I will see him. Where he chooses will tell me much about his view of me and his own character.”

Dáire grinned and kissed her again with a hearty smack.

She got to her feet, but paused and turned at the threshold of the breakfast room. “That leaves my father.”

Dáire stared at his wife, resolved to let her make the decision about when they should approach her father.

“I say we should call upon him soon. Can you bear it, my love?”

Dáire smiled, relieved that they would make this attempt at rapport with Rivers. “You need it. I welcome it.”

“Good!” Her lovely face broke into a smile that lent sparkles to her eyes. “These things need to be settled before our baby is born.”

His heart did a little jig. With his own grin firmly fixed, he rose slowly to his feet and sauntered toward her.

“I wondered when you’d decide to tell me.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled her against him.

“I had to be certain,” she whispered as she traced the line of his nose with the tip of her own.

“When do you think we should expect her to arrive?” He trailed kisses down her chest to the tops of her generous breasts.

“ He’ll be here in March.” She flung back her head to allow him greater access. “In time for spring.”

“I think this calls for a celebration,” he murmured, his lips on hers.

“You always have such fine ideas,” she crooned as he picked her up and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.

The morning drifted away on delights of the future. They were lovers, matched, rational about the requirements for their safety and prosperity—and as prospective parents, they rejoiced.