Page 4 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

T he next day, Anastasia, Betsey, and their father attended church at the local cathedral in St Albans.

It was a very large, grand building with great beams and stone arches that drew the eye, with impressive stained glass windows featuring depictions of stories from the Bible.

It easily accommodated hundreds of parishioners, but it was drafty.

As she listened to the day’s sermon on forgiveness, Anastasia couldn’t help but think that her younger sister was distracted.

Betsey shifted in her seat, fidgeted, looked around, and kept peeking over her shoulder until Anastasia said, “Stop fidgeting. What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” Betsey sat still and looked straight ahead.

Anastasia turned around. Mr. Percy Jemisin was sat a few rows away, watching them. Anastasia met his eyes and turned back, her posture stiff. “What is he doing here? Did you plan this?” she hissed.

“No, he just happened to attend church. He’s a churchgoer. Isn’t that nice?” Betsey said.

“Yes. Maybe he has a conscience. Or has decided to undertake confession for his sins,” she muttered darkly.

Betsey let out a loud sigh. “I don’t see why you’re so bothered about him. He’s perfectly nice. A gentleman.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Oh, and was him saving me the other night not proof enough? I thought it was very kind, indeed.”

“Girls, shush,” their father admonished.

The young women quieted.

That afternoon after church, Betsey stayed behind. “My bootlaces have come undone,” she said loudly.

Anastasia said, “We’ll wait.”

“No need, I’ll only be a moment. You go on ahead.” Betsey waved and stood off to the side of the stone path leading from the church through the graveyard.

Anastasia frowned when her father took her arm. “Walk with me a little, Anastasia.”

Anastasia nodded and turned her head. Today, she wore a stiff, bell-shaped dark-brown bonnet with a matching thick ribbon tied around her chin. It complemented the chocolate-brown walking coat and sturdy black walking boots she wore. “Yes, Father.”

They walked a little way, up ahead to where the family’s phaeton was waiting. Her father cleared his throat. “Remind me of our acquaintance with the Jemisin family.”

Anastasia felt bitterness settle on her tongue. She did not wish to speak of it. But seeing her father’s earnest expression, she said, “The eldest son, Mr. Jeremiah Jemisin, and I were sweethearts, once upon a time. Around seven years ago. It did not last.”

“Why not? I remember now. Your mother and I thought—” He stopped and started again. “She thought he was so keen, that he would certainly make you an offer. Why did he not?”

In a flash of memory, she could see Jeremiah’s curled hair, the expanse of dark hair across his broad chest, black, flinty eyes, and sneering smile as she had sat in her state of undress.

A conquest to be retold later and laughed about with his fellow soldiers.

She’d given up her virtue for nothing and felt used as a result.

She shook away the memory. “He lost interest in me.”

“Was it because of our loss? He did not wish to trouble us during our hardship and the relationship slowly ended?”

“No, Father. We did not see eye to eye on things. It had nothing to do with Mama’s passing.”

“Then he is a fool. You and your sister are two of the prettiest girls in St Albans, I dare say.” He squeezed her hand and waved to Colin, their footman, who stood by the phaeton.

Colin assisted her father and then Anastasia into the traveling phaeton and waited for Betsey to join them. Her father said, “I think Betsey wishes to meet eligible men. Should we indulge her?”

“Not if it means throwing her into the path of Mr. Percy Jemisin. The sooner we separate them, the better,” Anastasia said.

“Hmm, come to think of it, I have heard one or two tales that the eldest Jemisin boy is somewhat of a rake. Perhaps you are right and a change of scenery is in order. I have heard that the new British Museum is an impressive sight. As you like art, I should think you would enjoy wandering around the Royal Exhibition. I’ll make the necessary arrangements and send you both to Town soon, although unfortunately, I cannot join you, as business prevents it.

Still, you can stay with your Aunt Mildred and Uncle Richard.

I know they’ll enjoy having you both. It will be a nice jaunt after spending so long in the country. ”

Anastasia smiled at that. The Royal Exhibition, that would be delightful.

She did love art, even though she had little talent for it herself.

She often liked to take a bit of pencil and paper with her and spend an afternoon sketching trees or flowers whilst sitting in the sun.

She was never very good, and she was far too shy to share her drawings with anyone, so she left them locked away in a drawer in her room, never to be seen by anyone but her.

Seeing the sculptures and paintings on display would be a treat.

Then she cocked her head. Her father did nothing without good reason, and he was of a sharp mind. It was what kept him in business all these years. He ran a successful bootmaker’s shop in town, and it had become known for quality, good service, and honesty.

He was good and charitable to those in need; if a poor family came in on their last pair of shoes, he would treat the lot and say they could pay him later, or in potatoes, or meat, or whatever they had that they could spare.

He would often say, “A person can go without an extra cup of tea, but everyone needs a good pair of shoes.”

Whilst Anastasia was at first suspicious of this charitable tactic, when their mother had passed, people had come out en masse with gifts, late payments, dishes of food and requests for shoes, boots, slippers, laces, everything. It had kept them busy for weeks.

As she and her sister and father had been overwhelmed with the generosity and requests for services, she’d realized it was the townspeople showing their support for the family, for him and his kindness, and her heart had swelled to see all the faces show up at the funeral in support, people she barely knew, all for him.

To support him in his loss. It was a hardship shared, and it had been felt by the community.

Their community. She never truly realized or appreciated what a community really was until that moment when she’d stood in the church and looked back to see the building had been full.

Her father was saying, “And whilst I cannot afford to throw you girls London Seasons—”

Anastasia put a hand on his arm. “I need no Season, Father. I am too old, besides. Put your money toward Betsey.”

He frowned at her. “I’m sorry I did not do this for you when I had the chance. I was too distraught with your mother’s passing and…”

“Think nothing of it. I would not have wanted to traipse around ballrooms when I was mourning her. I mean it, truly. Let us put our attention on enabling Betsey to make a fine match in Town.” She spoke frankly, brightly, and hoped he hadn’t caught the pang of sorrow in her voice.

He shot her a look as if to say, We will speak of this later . But aloud, he said, “As I was saying, I think if we put you girls in the right places, the men will come flocking.”

“We are not geese, Father,” Anastasia said sourly as she clasped her gloved hands in her lap.

Her father chuckled. “Use whatever barnyard metaphor you like, Ana, but it does not change things. No, my mind is quite made up.”

“On what, Father?” Betsey said, appearing at the side of the phaeton, slightly out of breath. She wore a rose-colored bonnet with a cheerful pink ribbon that highlighted the sunny curl of her blonde hair and spots of color bloomed in her cheeks.

“We are going to London, Betsey,” Anastasia said.

Betsey clapped her hands with joy. “London! I cannot wait.” She babbled the entire ride home.

While Anastasia was happy to see her sister so excited, she gripped the side of the phaeton as it pulled away, for there was no mistaking the sight of Mr. Percy Jemisin loitering by the graves near the church path, watching.

The next day, the family made plans. The girls supervised their lady’s maid, Mary, as she packed two traveling trunks for themselves, including walking dresses, afternoon dresses, day dresses, and evening dresses, as well as the requisite gloves, hats, shoes, dancing slippers, jewelry, and all the necessities, whilst their father wrote to his sister in Town.

That afternoon after luncheon, Anastasia sat on a wooden bench in their small garden, sketching a neighborhood cat that liked to come by.

The feline had long, silky, black fur that Anastasia loved to run her hands through, a pair of sultry, sea-green eyes that winked at her often, and a tendency to choose random places to sleep.

Today, the cat was rolling around on the green grass and rubbed its face against a rough rock, bringing a smile to her face.

But as she lowered her sketchbook and pencil, she thought she heard a bit of noise.

A girlish laugh, and a voice she recognized as Betsey’s.

She stood and went in the direction of the laughter, walking around to the front of the house. There in front of the gate stood Betsey, talking with Mr. Percy Jemisin.

Anastasia strode forward, her eyes narrowing. “Betsey,” she said.

Betsey turned, blushing. Mr. Jemisin nodded to her. “Good afternoon, Miss Banks.”

“Mr. Jemisin.” She nodded at him. “Betsey, go inside. Father wants you.”

“But, Ana…”

“Please, Betsey.”

Betsey pouted and went back inside, but not before giving a longing look toward Mr. Jemisin. His gaze followed her disappearing form. He nodded to Anastasia and turned to go, when she said “Mr. Jemisin, a word.”

He turned back.

“Whatever your intentions are toward my sister, I’d like you to stop.”

He looked at her curiously. “Your sister—”