Page 21 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

T he one good thing about the previous evening was that it restored Betsey’s good mood, and in turn, her behavior toward everyone, including Anastasia, for the most part.

Betsey danced her way into the dining room for luncheon, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining. “Wasn’t it a wonderful evening? Good afternoon, everyone. I don’t know when I’ve ever had so much fun.”

Anastasia sipped her tea and cut into a bit of cheese. “Yes, it was quite an evening.”

“And you danced too, I saw, Anastasia. With Mr. Hardwicke, if I remember correctly,” Aunt Mildred said with a smile. “He seemed quite taken with you.”

Anastasia shook her head. “He was only being polite.”

“But I recall his little friend Mrs. Sherwood declaring that he did not care for dancing, and yet there he was. You danced two dances together. I was watching.”

Anastasia shrugged. “It was only a dance. And Mrs. Sherwood informed me afterward that he was only doing me a kindness, for he is practically engaged.” Eliza Sherwood’s words had lingered in her mind after that conversation, well into the night, as she’d tried to justify that gossip with Mr. Hardwicke’s behavior toward her.

“Well, I don’t care whom he dances with or is engaged to,” Betsey said. “Percy is back in London. He called on Papa and asked his permission and he got it.” Her smile was triumphant. “And he’s asked to call on me today, for a walk together this afternoon. That’s all right, isn’t it, Aunt Mildred?”

Aunt Mildred glanced at Anastasia. “I have no problem with it, but you must have a chaperone. You cannot go on your own. Anastasia?”

She nodded. “I’m happy to chaperone.”

Betsey stifled a groan as Aunt Mildred clapped her hands.

“Jolly good. That’s settled, then. All right, girls, I’m off to the market to pick up some flowers.

Enjoy yourselves. May I suggest St. James’s Park for a stroll?

Oh, and tonight I will be heading back to the Lyon’s Den for amusement after dinner.

” She raised an eyebrow. “I will invite you both, as I don’t want to risk you causing trouble if you try to sneak in, Betsey. ”

“I’ll go,” Anastasia said. She was tired of feeling like she was too old for amusement, at the age of twenty-five. She might as well enjoy herself.

“Me too,” Betsey said with a grin. “I’ll tell Percy where we’re going.”

Anastasia privately wondered how Percy had convinced their father to let them court and wanted to ask but decided better of it.

Betsey’s temperament had improved so much over the past night, she wanted to preserve the peace.

She figured that if it was good enough for their father, it was likely suitable.

And knowing Betsey, Anastasia might hear of it soon, anyway.

A few hours later, she and Betsey were dressed in walking coats, bonnets, and good boots and were met by the younger Mr. Jemisin. To Anastasia’s relief, Jeremiah was nowhere in sight.

Mr. Percy Jemisin met them at the front door and was received cordially, and the three of them walked to St. James’s Park. The green grass was bright and lush and ducks and geese wandered through the well-tended paths, as more than one couple had had the same idea to go for a walk.

A happy hour was spent as Percy and Betsey walked all over the park, with Anastasia keeping a decent distance behind for propriety.

Theodore Hardwicke was annoyed. He’d left the ball early, barely grunted answers to Mrs. Sherwood’s questions and in the end had pleaded a headache. It was more an excuse used by women, he had seen, but he had seen no other way to make her be quiet.

For once the good Miss Banks and her party had left, Mrs. Sherwood had stuck by his side worse than a horsefly, chattering as usual.

“There’s something odd about the elder Miss Banks,” she’d said.

“What?” he’d said rudely.

Mrs. Sherwood had blinked. “I mean to say, I think there’s more to her acquaintance with the soldier Mr. Jemisin than she lets on. She acts like they are old acquaintances, but she dislikes him. I cannot see why. He was perfectly amiable toward me.”

“He is rude and overbearing,” Hardwicke had said.

“I didn’t find him so, not at all. But maybe he’s just not to your taste.”

Hardwicke had looked straight ahead. Finally, Mrs. Sherwood had agreed to leave, and as they’d taken a carriage home, she’d said, “You know, Theodore…”

He’d looked at her, surprised at the use of his Christian name. They were good friends, he supposed, but she was being overly familiar. He decided he did not like it. His mouth set in a firm line, he’d torn his eyes from the sights of the London streets at night and offered her his attention.

Mrs. Sherwood had said, “I think it’s time we end this charade, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” He rubbed his chin.

“You. Me. Us, alone in a carriage together. I may be a widow, but my dear Mama would have a fit if she knew. Why, just our being seen together in public is enough to set tongues wagging.” Her smile was mischievous. “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if people thought we were courting.”

Theodore straightened on the cushioned seat.

Him, courting Mrs. Sherwood? Not if he had anything to say about it.

He cleared his throat. “But there are servants. And I did promise to escort you both, if your mother wished to go or you wanted to bring a female companion. I can sit outside with the driver if you feel uncomfortable—” he’d started.

“No. No, not at all. I just… You really are unaware about women, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly, Hardwicke, you astound me. I’ve been miserable for ages, haven’t you noticed?”

He hadn’t.

“My marriage was a sham, nothing but a marriage of convenience. And now that he’s dead at the bottom of the ocean, I’m free. He never cared for me, not really. He only wanted my dowry.” Even her snort was bitter.

“Mrs. Sherwood, I had no idea—”

She cut him off. “Theodore, I have loved you all the days of my life. Since I was a child. Did you never wonder why I followed you around everywhere, or why I agreed with everything you said, even when inwardly, I didn’t?”

That had shown a passiveness of character he had not liked. In the woman he wanted to marry, he wished for her to know and speak her own mind, even if they disagreed. “Mrs. Sherwood, I—”

“‘Eliza,’ please. We’ve known each other for years. Call me ‘Eliza,’ and I shall call you ‘Theodore,’” she’d said, her voice earnest.

He’d swallowed.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything? I’ve just told you I love you.”

He’d felt at a loss for words. Their families were so closely connected, he’d wondered at what he’d learned that day, before leaving to escort Eliza to the Fashionable Institution.

“Mrs.—Eliza. We have known each other a long time. But I care for you like a younger sister. And I’m not—” he’d started.

“No. It’s that other woman, isn’t it? The older one. Miss Banks.”

He’d disliked how snide her voice had sounded. And the elder Miss Banks was not old at all. The carriage had jolted as the wheels had rolled over uneven roads.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her. You dote on her every word.

But she’s old, Theodore. She’s near thirty years old, and she told me herself, she has no plans to marry.

She is happy being a spinster, and I agree, that is her lot in life, and she should enjoy it.

Not all of us women are meant to marry. I on the other hand, am a wealthy widow, and have many admirers. ”

He’d blinked at that. “Miss Banks has no inclination to marry? Why?”

“Ha. I knew that would get your attention,” Mrs. Sherwood had said. “She said so tonight, that she considers herself too old and doesn’t think of any man romantically. She’s embraced her spinsterhood, and good riddance, I say.”

He’d looked out the window. More like resigned herself to it , he thought unhappily. But what were these thoughts and feelings he had about the matter? Why should he care or be unhappy at the prospect that Miss Banks planned to stay unwed? Many men made the same decision.

But they were not young and beautiful like her, or as smart, stubborn, and opinionated. They did not have her smile, or eyes that danced like stars when she laughed.

He’d breathed out through his nose. Mrs. Sherwood was being obstinate. He’d looked at her and truly took in the sight of her.

She was young, pretty, of about twenty-five years of age or so, with soft, coiled, blonde hair and a thin, petite form.

Too bony for his liking, but some man was bound to fancy her.

She had an impish smile at times and was quick to laugh, which amused him, but that had been when they’d been children and youths growing up.

She was firm friends with his sister, Julia, who was now happily married.

He knew they must still correspond, but as she’d grown older and into a young woman, Mrs. Sherwood had taken to gossiping, chattering incessantly, and her commentary had become rather less amusing and more snide as she poked fun at others.

As their families were old friends, he had done his duty and after Mr. Sherwood had died, his sister had urged Theodore to be a source of comfort to her close friend.

A bit of distraction would help her get over the loss, Julia was convinced of it, and so Theodore had escorted Mrs. Sherwood to concerts and events as she’d asked, for he considered it almost a brotherly duty.

But now, he wasn’t so sure. What if all this time, she had viewed their time together as courting?

Had he been wrong? Had she misread his attentions as something more? Perish the thought.

“Eliza,” he’d said, cutting her off mid-sentence, “I do not love you. I care for you, like a sister, but that is all.”

She’d paused, her mouth hanging open. In seconds, her eyes had brimmed with tears. “No. No, I don’t believe it. How could you say that to me when we have known each other for so long?”