Page 16 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

T wo days later, Anastasia had finished a solitary breakfast downstairs, when a servant entered, bearing a handwritten note on expensive card. It read in simple but ornate writing:

I have inquired into the young man’s background.

While society dictates they should not be meeting without chaperones present, a little harmless flirtation never hurt anyone.

Aside from this, I have found nothing about his behavior to cause alarm.

Regretfully, I cannot help you in your endeavor, as I have a conflict of interest.

—Mrs. B Dove-Lyon

Anastasia turned the card over. It bore the good lady’s personal seal and was clearly addressed to her but had no other message.

So that was it. She was on her own. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had turned her down. But why? What conflict could she have?

She rose and took the note, slipping it up her sleeve. She was about to go to her aunt and uncle’s comfortable sitting room and read when there came a knock at the front door.

She stood by and listened at the threshold of the room. A moment later, the butler came to her and said, “A Mr. Jemisin, to see you, miss.”

Her heart stopped. A lump rose in her throat and threatened to choke her if she did not breathe. Mr. Jemisin. Her old lover? What did he want? She swallowed and took a breath. “I…”

“He begs an audience with you, miss. Shall I call for Mrs. Wildemay or her husband?”

“No. I will receive him.” She gripped part of the wooden doorframe, glad her voice sounded more confident than she felt. Her insides were all a quiver; her palms sweated, her head suddenly ached, her throat was dry. She looked down at her hands; they gave a slight tremor.

“No,” she whispered to herself. “I will not let him get the best of me.” She raised her head and went into the drawing room, where a young man stood.

At her arrival, he turned and bowed. “Miss Banks.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. It was Percy, the younger Mr. Jemisin, not her former lover.

She shouldn’t have been so glad to see him, but she was.

She gave a polite curtsy and offered him a seat as she sat down on the sofa.

She sat stiff as a poker and rested her hands on her knees.

There was no other reason for his call but Betsey.

Mr. Jemisin nodded and sat on one of the hard-backed wooden chairs that faced the sofa, to the side of the fireplace. He squirmed on the hard seat, which filled her with a little bit of mean contentment. It was uncomfortable.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Jemisin?” she asked.

She did not offer him tea, which would have been the polite thing to do.

But he had called very early, earlier than social etiquette recommended, and she had just finished breakfast, so she could be justified due to the hour. It wasn’t yet nine in the morning.

He rose, paced, and sat down again. He ran a hand through his tousled, light-brown hair and looked her dead in the eye. “Miss Banks, I wish to court your sister.”

She breathed in. “I see.”

“It is my fault that you found us yesterday in such secretive circumstances. I like Gunther’s bookshop, and when Betsey suggested we find somewhere to meet, I suggested it.

” He shifted in his seat and said, “I know she intended that we meet alone. I knew she was taking a risk with her reputation, meeting me without a chaperone. But I swear, I never meant any untoward behavior toward your sister. We just wanted somewhere to…”

She held up a hand. It felt imperious, but she hardly cared. “Mr. Jemisin, you must see how this looks. You follow my sister to London, you meet in secret, you write her letters—”

“She did give me leave to,” he interrupted.

“But we did not.” Her voice hardened. “When it comes to men and women, only family members, business associates, or engaged couples write to each other. I think you have navigated in society long enough to know that.”

He stiffened and turned slightly pink. But he did not argue.

“I do not know what has transpired between you and my sister. But we have her best interests at heart—”

“I do too,” he said.

“And that being so, I do not like how my sister is when she is seeking out your company. She lies, and we did not know where she was yesterday, when you two were at the bookshop. Did you have any idea of the worry and concern it caused?”

“She was never in any danger.” He puffed out his chest importantly.

“But we didn’t know that,” she hissed. She gripped her knees.

“For a young woman of her age to be out alone, unaccompanied, with no note, no word to anyone as to where she was going or who she was meeting… Do you appreciate the situation you both have put us in? For both of you to be found alone, unchaperoned, it is enough for her to be considered impure by all of London society and gossiped about. Her reputation would be ruined, thanks to your little flirtation. That alone is enough to demand you marry her, at once.”

He flinched in his chair as if she’d struck him. But then he blinked and was quiet. He didn’t respond forcefully against the idea, which struck Anastasia as curious. She would have expected him to be halfway toward the exit by now.

She continued. “You understand why we are taking this so seriously. For all we knew, Betsey could have been robbed or left in a ditch somewhere. She could have been abducted, or she could have run away.”

“But she would never. She’s smarter than you think.”

“That may be, but she is not showing that to our family. Her actions are only portraying an irresponsible, unreliable character, and that is all in connection with you. Do you see why we do not approve of you seeing her?”

He looked down. “What is it you have against me? Other than that we have been courting in secret?”

She felt herself coloring.

“There is something, isn’t there? I knew it. You have never liked me, not from the start.”

She swallowed. “I knew your brother. Briefly.”

“I remember you saying back in St Albans. What did he do to offend you so?” He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. When she did not, he asked, “He’s never mentioned you. I didn’t think you were well acquainted.”

She cleared her throat. To not be mentioned by Jeremiah was a relief. “Why did you come see me? Why not ask for Betsey directly, or our uncle? He is home.”

His blush suggested he rather wished he had. “I wanted to speak with you privately. What can I do to prove my intentions are honorable?”

She looked at him and her heart hurt a little. He had the same style of curled hair as Jeremiah, the same set jaw and strong chin, and a similar build. But unlike Jeremiah, he didn’t have a sardonic smile, or a mocking look to his eyes.

Could he be genuine? She wasn’t sure. Time would tell, but she still didn’t trust him.

And a part of her was privately impressed at his bravery in coming to see her when he knew she didn’t care for him.

He simply wanted to court her sister. If that was true, then he was doing the honorable thing, sort of, by seeking her permission, even though he should have asked for her uncle first, as their closest male living relative.

A part of her wished that a young man would do the same for her.

She blinked away a tear. Jeremiah had never cared enough to even try.

Her thoughts briefly lingered on Mr. Hardwicke, but she shook that thought away. Her time courting was done.

But could she trust young Mr. Jemisin, when he had grown up with the man who had used her so? She wouldn’t wish her experience on anyone and was just incredibly relieved she hadn’t fallen with child due to her foolish decision.

“You wish to court Betsey?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it all above board. Go to St Albans and ask my father’s permission. Pay your addresses to him. And when you call here, do it at the proper social hour. Stop skulking around in secret and making my sister hide and lie. She’s never cared for libraries, so Gunther’s was a bit of a surprise.”

He blinked. “Oh. I thought…”

“How much do you really know about her?” Anastasia asked.

He lowered his gaze and twisted a small, linen handkerchief in his hands. “Not much. But I want to. She’s beautiful and when I saw her at the dance, I knew I had to speak to her. She’s all I think about. I—”

“Please.” Anastasia held up a hand. She didn’t want to hear anymore. His effusions of romantic feelings toward her sister were starting to make her emotional, and she would be damned if she was going to show any overly feminine displays of emotion before him.

“She likes to feed the ducks after church on Sundays. And she likes strawberries and dislikes olives.” Anastasia blinked. She didn’t know why she’d told him such things. He was the younger brother of her enemy. And yet she found her stern resolve softening toward him, just a little.

He rose and stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket. “So I have your leave to call upon your father?”

“If what you say is true, and your intentions toward Betsey are in fact, honorable, then yes. You do.” She met his gaze. “But if I hear anything more about her running off and disappearing, I will blame you.”

He nodded emphatically. “I understand. I only want to do what is right for her. I promise nothing bad will happen to her.”

“I wish I could believe you, Mr. Jemisin,” she said, eyeing him.

It hurt how much he looked like Jeremiah.

She hadn’t thought seeing him would feel so bittersweet or cause such feelings to emerge.

“So prove me wrong. Let us see if you are true to your word. And if so, I will not stand in your way. But if I am right in my assumption…” She held his gaze for a moment, and his expression grew still.

“Then I will make it my business to separate you two forever.”

He nodded and bowed to her. Not a short, crisp, mocking bow. A polite one. A respectful bow.

She waited for the classic Jemisin mocking smile to appear on his face, but there wasn’t one. She was surprised.

“Miss Banks.”

“Mr. Jemisin. Thank you for calling.”