Page 37 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Anastasia lowered the paper with trembling hands.

A chill ran through her. He had come to Gretna Green for her.

He had fought a duel for her. He had lain with her.

And yet now he was in fact marrying Mrs. Sherwood.

Had it all been for nothing? Had she lain with and fallen for a man who, once again, only wished to use her?

She suddenly felt cold, as if the very sun had disappeared.

She rose from the breakfast table and wavered on her feet.

“I… I don’t feel so well. May I be excused? ”

“Yes, of course,” her aunt said.

As she quit the room, she overheard her aunt say, “That poor girl. They were very interested in one another, you know.”

“Were they? I had no idea she felt that way. He seemed like a fine fellow, but I can’t abide dueling, not in this day and age. So dangerous.”

“Oh, yes. And to think, I paid Mrs. Dove-Lyon a goodly sum to match them up. Well, I suppose not all matches succeed. But I don’t know what will become of Anastasia now. At age twenty-five and all…”

Anastasia did not wait to hear anymore. She hurried up to her room and with a quick word to, she stood by as her lady’s maid began to pack her bags.

Two days later, Anastasia toiled away in the back garden of her family’s home in St Albans.

As expected, their father had indeed given his consent to the match by post but had included a stern rebuke to Betsey for her behavior.

He’d also written to their aunt and uncle and sent money for Betsey to begin her preparations there, but under their firm guidance.

No more sneaking out or skulking around in dark corners in lending libraries.

Betsey had wished to stay in London to purchase her wedding clothes, but after reading the disastrous news of Mr. Hardwicke and Mrs. Sherwood’s engagement, Anastasia found the very idea of staying in London another minute to be intolerable.

Anastasia had requested the use of one of her aunt’s carriages to return home, and it had been granted.

She apologized for the inconvenience and expense, but her aunt and uncle didn’t mind.

Accompanied by just a driver and an older female maidservant, as Betsey had declared she needed Mary, they changed horses near Highbury and had traveled on from there.

It was a pleasure to be back in her own home, Anastasia decided.

Her father was very good at maintaining the household, and he was happy to have her back.

But he was no gardener, and so it was left to her to work and tidy the garden.

They could afford a professional gardener and did have one who came once a week, but she enjoyed tending to their gardens herself.

She currently had a bag of seed and was feeding the chickens and set it down with a huff.

Exhaling, she wiped sweat off of her brow.

It was hot, sweaty work, gardening. She bent over and began to pull up weeds, when Anastasia heard someone call her name.

“Just a minute, Father,” she called back as she stood, wiping down her skirts. She turned around.

Mr. Hardwicke stood there.

She stared at him. He was here? In the garden. With the chickens. Was she seeing things? Was her mind playing tricks on her?

He crossed the distance between them, his black boots crunching on the seeds and chicken feed on the ground.

He smelled of sweat, horse, and cologne and looked as handsome as ever, even in a dusty traveling coat and hat.

His eyes were serious, his expression stormy.

It made her heart lift to see him again, even if he looked angry. “You left London.”

She nodded.

“Why? I came to your aunt’s home, looking for you.” He took her hands, but she tore them free of his grasp.

“Why? Why bother? When you are to marry another woman? I should congratulate you on your engagement. I saw it in The Times . After you told me it was not true and fought a duel in my honor. But what am I to believe? It was there in black and white.”

“Miss Banks,” he said.

She crossed her arms under her chest.

He stepped closer. “I take it you have not seen the news.”

“What news?”

“I have never been to St Albans before, and it looks to be a fair city. But I gather the news takes a bit longer to reach here from Town.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“That Times announcement you saw—”

“I read it myself. It said you were engaged to Mrs. Eliza Sherwood.”

“Yes, it did say that. But there is more to it than that.” He took her hands in his and refused to let go. “It was a last attempt by her family to force us into marriage, especially when they learned that she had taken to sleeping around with men, instead of being a virtuous widow.”

“But you fought a duel… In her honor.”

He had mentioned her name as well as Anastasia’s.

“And yours, first and foremost. But… When I returned to London and let her know that the matter was settled, she renewed her plea for us to marry. I assured her that my feelings toward her had not changed, and that I was in love with another woman.”

Anastasia’s heart beat in her throat. “You are?”

“Yes. I told her family to contact the editor to print a retraction, or I would do it for them. Then I came looking for you, but your aunt and uncle said you had already left for St Albans. So I came here.” He handed her a folded-up newspaper.

She opened it and, turning to page six, where it had been dogeared, she read:

A most alarming report has come to our attention.

This editor has become aware that the widow, Mrs. Eliza Sherwood, whose family most eagerly hoped she had found love again, and who announced her engagement to the eligible Mr. Theodore Hardwicke of London, has quit her family’s house at Red Lion Street.

Rumors say she has fled to join Mr. Jeremiah Jemisin, of His Majesty’s regiment, who has lately been thrown out of a popular establishment on Cleveland Row for inappropriate behavior toward Miss Anastasia Banks, a young lady of sterling reputation.

Where Mr. Jemisin and the young widow Mrs. Sherwood have gone, we cannot be certain, but we hope they do hither to that infamous town in Scotland where many young couples go to marry.

But if they do not, then we share the regret and sorrow of her family and friends for her rash and reckless decision.

Anastasia lowered the paper. “My word. Then… You are not to marry Mrs. Sherwood.”

“No. I never was.”

She gazed at her shoes. So he must have come here for some reason. Why? “There’s no need to worry. After our night together, I wouldn’t expect anything of you. I won’t demand anything. I expect nothing. I… I have no expectations. I don’t deserve them.”

“You’re wrong. Why you choose to value yourself so lowly, I blame Mr. Jemisin. But I hope you will allow me the opportunity to change your mind.” He took her chin in his hand and kissed her.

This kiss left her breathless, and she gazed up at him, her lips parted. She wanted him again, there was no denying it. The heavy-lidded look in his brown eyes convinced her he felt the same.

“I thought you wouldn’t want me after that. After we…” she started.

“You thought that after you’d given yourself to me, I would throw you away? No, Miss Banks. I wouldn’t do that.” He kissed her again, surrounded by chickens pecking at the feed.

She pulled away, but he took her hands, holding them firm. “I should have told you sooner. I’ve fallen in love with you. Almost before I knew what was happening. All I knew was that I had to see you again.”

“I’ve thought about you every day,” she admitted.

“And I, you.” Mr. Hardwicke released her hands and went down on one knee. “Miss Anastasia Banks.”

Her pulse beat wildly. Anastasia’s chest felt jittery and her palms were sweaty and dirty from feeding the chickens. She wasn’t dressed properly for a proposal. And yet… Was this really happening?

He looked up at her. “Miss Banks, since that moment we met, I have felt nothing but admiration for you. Your forthright character, your loyalty and protection toward your sister, your headstrong courage and firmness, in the face of no small number of trials and attempts by others to hurt you and ruin your reputation, has convinced me…” He paused.

“Yes?” She waited with bated breath.

“That you are the only woman in the world I could ever consider marrying. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”

Her mouth dropped open. She heard the words and yet couldn’t believe it. Here. Now. Mr. Hardwicke, the man she had thought of so often, whom at first she’d thought couldn’t stand her, and who had gradually stolen her heart, was down on one knee in her family’s back garden, proposing.

“Please, Miss Banks,” he said. “I warn you, my family is not wealthy. We bailed out my uncle some time ago and it has taken a toll trying to rebuild our finances. I have been playing cards in order to bring in cash. So you should know, it is not a rich family you would be joining.” He bowed his head.

“But if you will take a chance on me and accept me, I promise I will devote myself, body and soul, to making you happy. Please, Anastasia.”

“Say it again,” she said.

“What?”

“My name.”

A slow smile crept across his face, like the morning sun. “Miss Anastasia Banks, will you marry me?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes. Yes, a thousand times, yes.”

He rose, smiling so wide, it threatened to split his face. “You mean it? You really will?”

“Yes.” She grinned to match his expression and felt her heart lift as he shot to his feet, pulled her close, and crushed his lips to hers.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Aunt Mildred said loudly from across the yard, “I thought you’d never say yes . I thought for certain you’d say no and then where would we be? I should say—”

“ Mildred ,” her father and uncle said in unison.

Aunt Mildred, Uncle Richard, Betsey, and her father came dashing out, laughing and clapping.

“You knew?” Anastasia asked, looking at the lot of them.

“Of course we did,” Aunt Mildred boomed. “Someone had to show him the way. And we couldn’t very well let him go running off proposing to you and not watch for ourselves.”

Anastasia laughed. No doubt their neighbors two farms over could hear her as well.

Mr. Hardwicke put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

“I’ll second that,” she said, lifting her face up for another kiss.