Page 10 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

The ladies took a carriage this time, a dark-black thing.

Aunt Mildred pulled her cloak tighter around her and tapped the roof with her fan to signal the driver.

She said to Anastasia, “Don’t mind the livery.

We bought it secondhand. Your uncle never cares for new things; he only trusts carriages with a bit of wear and tear on them.

Shows they’re good and don’t fall apart at the first bump in the road, he always says. ”

The carriage took the ladies down through the wet London streets. It jolted over the uneven cobbled roads, slick with mud from an afternoon downpour. Anastasia slightly gripped the seat, conscious of being jostled. The roads were not so bad in St Albans or on the journey here , she reflected.

“Where are we going, Aunt?” Anastasia asked.

“To visit the home of a good friend of mine, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

The carriage pulled up to a quieter neighborhood, off a few side streets, and then onto Cleveland Row, where the street was well lit and the homes looked very solid and even stately.

They pulled up outside a well-lit blue townhouse.

Anastasia disembarked and followed her aunt up a series of stone steps, where they avoided the main entrance, which appeared to be a sort of jewelry shop, and instead went around to the side, where a man with a military bearing stood before an unmarked door.

“This is the ladies’ private entrance,” Aunt Mildred whispered, with an air of mystery. She strode up to the man and said, “Good evening, Theseus.”

He surveyed them all with a serious gaze and then nodded to Aunt Mildred in recognition. “Password?”

Anastasia gave her aunt a look. What sort of place was this?

Aunt Mildred whispered a word in Theseus’s ear before paying a little fee and the women were shown inside, where they were met by a servant who introduced herself as Hermia, a woman who moved with an elegant dancer’s gait, and showed them the way to the cloakroom, where they hung up their cloaks.

The group then went upstairs to the first floor, where their aunt introduced Anastasia to a room full of well-dressed women, ranging from young to middle age to older.

Mildred bid her to enjoy herself and left to join some friends.

Anastasia surveyed the room. Servants circulated around with glasses of white wine and champagne, and young women stood by in fine dresses of silk and satin.

The women here wore perhaps not their very best, but not far from it.

Ballgowns might not have been the order of the day, but these women were dressed very well.

And strangely, there was not a man in sight.

The women have perhaps dressed for themselves , Anastasia thought, which as a concept, was rather freeing.

She looked around in wonder as the women laughed and conversed with each other, politely sipping their wine or champagne, whilst others played cards at small tables for whist or bridge.

A wider table offered some women a chance to gamble, and Anastasia’s eyes grew wide at the sight as one woman lost a hand, threw down her cards in defeat, and carefully undid her diamond necklace, pushing it to the center of the table.

“My word,” Anastasia said. She’d seen gambling before, but not like this.

The clink of coins and paper notes being passed and exchanged filled the air with a light tinkling, as more women entered the series of rooms.

Anastasia watched her aunt play cards and moved to a wide balcony that overlooked a still-wider room.

It was not so much a salon, as a large room that could offer dancing, a ball, and musicians.

Anastasia gripped the banister tightly. There were men there, and handsome ones too.

Would Mr. Hardwicke be in attendance? A part of her hoped so.

But that was silly. There was no reason to expect or even believe he would frequent such a place, when there were any number of private balls, dinners, and parties happening all over London each evening, she was sure of it. But still, she hoped.

Moments later, her aunt joined her. “Ooh, look at all the well-dressed men,” Aunt Mildred said. “If I were unwed and twenty years younger… But never mind. We must find a suitable young man for you, Anastasia. There’s bound to be someone here tonight who catches your eye.”

Anastasia laughed. “I am not looking for myself, Aunt, but perhaps we might find Betsey someone suitable amongst the guests. She mentioned she overheard this place held a certain reputation.”

Her aunt huffed. “I should’ve known Betsey would be listening to our conversations. You do realize what this is?”

“The home of a very smart woman?”

“That. And a gambling den,” Aunt Mildred said.

“The Lyon’s Den, actually,” a voice said behind them. It was Hermia, the woman servant with the dancer’s body, who bowed prettily, and said, “We call it the ‘Lyon’s Den.’ In honor of its proprietress, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

“That’s my friend,” Aunt Mildred said.

Hermia nodded. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon has many good friends. If you wish to join the party downstairs, follow me.” Without waiting for a response, she led the way down a side stairwell that opened up to a side exit by the main room, not far from where a quartet of musicians played.

The room was warm, Anastasia reflected as she followed Hermia down to the main salon, but that might also have been from the number of couples and people crowding around the gambling tables.

She spotted groups playing faro, hazard, and whist, and even a few gentlemen who stood closely together, balancing spoons on their noses.

One spoon slid off a man’s nose and Anastasia laughed, while other spectators clapped and placed bets.

“They bet on anything here,” Hermia said.

“And where is Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” Anastasia asked.

“She is around. You will know when you see her,” Hermia said, with an air of mystery.

“Why is that?”

“Because she is the Black Widow of Whitehall.” And with an artful flourish, Hermia moved away, leaving her alone.

“There you are,” Betsey said, grinning. She wore a deep-green dress trimmed with a golden sash. A golden cross lay around her neck and she looked very innocent, aside from the impish smile on her face.

“Betsey? What are you doing here?” Anastasia’s jaw dropped. She blinked and stared. “Where is Mary? Did one of Aunt Mildred’s maids accompany you?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly. Your age is showing.

No one cares about that sort of thing now.

I had to come and see. It was easy. I just told the servants I was retiring for an early night and then slipped out and took a hackney carriage to the house on Cleveland Row.

It took me straight here, and I got in with another crowd of ladies.

Some old matron paid the entry fee for all of us. Lord, that doorman is fierce-looking.”

Anastasia put her hands on her hips. “I cannot believe you. I ought to t—”

“It’s nice to see you again,” a male voice said.

Anastasia turned to look.

Facing her was Mr. Hardwicke.