Page 5 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

“Is young. She is sweet, innocent, and completely unaware of how the world really works. Please leave her be. I would not have her fall prey to men undeserving of her.”

“Like me, you mean. You do not know me, Miss Banks. Why are you so set against me? I have nothing but honorable intentions toward your sister.” His eyes were earnest, his expression calm.

There was no amusement in his brown eyes or any telltale sneering curl of his upper lip, but she knew it was there, lurking beneath the surface, just like in his older brother.

“You are unaware, Mr. Jemisin, but I am acquainted with your brother.”

“Oh?” One of his eyebrows rose.

“Forgive my rudeness, but I do not wish for my sister to know you. I have my reasons.”

“I—”

“You have done Betsey a service, protecting her from harm at the dance. For that, I thank you. But do not expect any more attention than that. Please.” Anastasia turned her back on him.

“Miss Banks.” His voice was sharp.

She turned. In that light, he did look comely, with light-brown curls, cropped close to his head.

He had a long face, a square chin, and an easy smile.

Were he anyone else, anyone but a Jemisin, she might feel differently about his interest in Betsey.

But he was not, and she did not. He was a Jemisin, through and through, like a shiny, red apple, rotting at its core.

She knew it was there, even if he did not show his true character. “Yes?”

“Give me a chance. I might surprise you.”

“That is precisely what I am afraid of, Mr. Jemisin. Good day.” She left.

The next few days were busy; their father had heard from his sister, Mildred Wildemay, who lived on Devonshire Terrace in London. She would be delighted to receive them for as long as they wished.

His business prevented him from joining them, but he prepared things so his daughters would be safe.

They took one of their two carriages from the house and would be accompanied by Colin, their driver, and Mary, their maid.

Before they set off, they hugged their father goodbye.

He cleared his throat and held each girl close, whispering words of advice in their ears.

“Now don’t go spending all of your money at once, you especially, Betsey.

Defer to your aunt and uncle in all matters.

I am sure that together, we will find a pair of rich husbands for you both. ” He grinned.

Betsey clapped her hands, while Anastasia tried to smile. Seeing their aunt and uncle would be a pleasure, but she wanted to nip all notions of matchmaking for herself in the bud.

The sights of St Albans passed by in a blur of rickety jolts and horse hooves. Anastasia was glad to see them go, especially as her sister looked more and more forlorn the farther they got.

She felt a pang of unease at seeing Betsey’s face. Her younger sister, wearing a pretty, sea-green traveling cloak and hood, tapped her fingers against the window frame of the carriage idly looking outside. No smile graced her face, which was unusual, for she loved to laugh and be jolly.

Anastasia felt unease in her gut at the sight. But the sooner they were away from Mr. Jemisin, the better. For if he was anything like his older brother, she would be right in saving her sister from an imprudent connection.

The jolts of the carriage from the streets of St Albans soon evened out as they joined the main road to London. They stopped once to change horses at an inn along the way, then they traveled a few hours more into London, entering through Moorgate.

The high walls of the city were impressive, as Anastasia had never been before.

The streets were worse, and the smells of the city were so much…

more. It was noisier, dirtier, fuller of people.

Outside the window, boys were picking up horse dung with their bare hands and taking it away, their hands covered in the muck.

“Mary?” Anastasia asked, waking their maid from her doze.

“Yes, miss?”

“What are those boys doing?”

Mary peeked through the window. “Oh. They’re doing a fine job, miss.”

“I’m sure, but what are they doing?”

“They’re collecting the horse dung. Helps keep the streets clean.

They collect it and sell it to farmers for fertilizer, or whoever wants it.

That way, the farmers are happy, the prices are cheap ’cause there’s always some to be had and the streets are clean for the carriages.

We have them in St. Alban’s too, just not as many.

We buy from them sometimes for our garden. ”

Betsey let out a noise of disgust and stuck her tongue out.

Anastasia wrinkled her nose and grinned. “I’d wondered where that all came from.”

“Oh, yes. Proper service they’re doing there,” Mary said.

The carriage slowed, as the streets were full of people, carriages, and carts, and on the sides of the roads were shops, market traders, and shopkeepers. An arrangement of people walked by, from finely dressed couples to poor wretches begging for food.

The shops were finer than in St Albans. Things were smaller, too.

The buildings crammed up against each other like books on an overfilled bookshelf, and these threatened to topple over on each other, so stuffed they were on the London streets.

Shops boasted brightly colored ribbons, silks, fine dresses hanging in the windows, umbrellas and silk parasols, shoes with shiny buckles and heels, silk and kid gloves, and that was just down one street.

Anastasia glanced across the carriage at her sister, who was now awake and wide-eyed, peering outside the other window.

Betsey asked, “Do you think we can visit some of these shops?”

“Yes, but promise me you will not buy something from all of them. See them first, before you spend all your money,” Anastasia said.

Betsey grinned for the first time since they’d set off. “I make no promises.”

The air was noisy as people called out their shop wares, couples chattered amongst themselves, and the irregular thudding of horses’ hooves and the clatter of the carriage wheels down rickety cobblestones made a cacophony of noise Anastasia was not used to out in the country.

Although she supposed that with St Albans technically being a city, it might not have been classed as the countryside.

Their carriage entered the part of the city and made their way to Devonshire Terrace, the upper part, which looked imminently fashionable and charming.

The streets were clean, well-dressed people strolled by, and the air, whilst it still smelled of a city, was not so clustered with people and the obnoxious scents that had greeted them initially.

This area is just as fine as any other residential area , Anastasia thought.

Having lived in a city, she knew that people often gave undue consequence to others, depending on the street and section of the city in which they lived.

But in her mind, it didn’t matter. It was a romantic notion she held, she knew that, and she appreciated that their family was wealthier than many, but as long as she had a roof over her head, food, and a warm bed, she was generally happy.

But now with their mother gone, she had her father and sister to look after.

They were welcomed by their Aunt Mildred, their father’s sister, a rotund woman with a firm set of expertly curled, gray hair, a beaklike nose, and an impressive bosom.

She gathered her nieces into a warm and affectionate embrace, and, in a loud, booming voice, declared herself delighted with them both before clapping her hands for her servants to take their luggage and lead them to their rooms. With a benevolent smile, she also gave instructions for their own lady’s maid to report to the kitchens to meet the housekeeper. “Mrs. Goddard will help settle her in.”

Their aunt had married a wealthy man, and with no children, they lived in good accommodation in a well-kept townhouse, with loyal, attentive staff.

Anastasia had her own room, which was a delight. She’d rather dreaded the prospect of sharing with her younger sister, as she herself had cold feet and did not want to wear socks in bed to appease her.

The room she had to herself was small but rather cozy.

It bore a simple, wooden writing desk in the corner, facing the windows that would no doubt offer plenty of sunlight.

There was a narrow bed covered with cozy-looking knitted blankets and pillows, a washing bowl and cloth, and a chamber pot beneath the bed.

An old, wooden closet with shelves inside offered a place for her to put away her dresses, undergarments, gloves, shoes, and hats, and as she sat on the bed, it gave a little creak.

The walls offered a light-blue patterned wallpaper that looked charming and quaint.

If she had expected fine city furnishings, she was to be disappointed.

But she rather found the whole effect cozy, for she realized this was her aunt’s touch, and she may have been a fine woman living in the city, but she was perhaps a country girl at heart.

“Charming,” Anastasia said to the room as Mary entered the room and set to unpacking her traveling trunk.

A moment later, there came a knock on her door. Betsey walked inside, talking a mile a minute. “Oh, Ana, isn’t it wonderful? I adore my room. It’s brilliant. Oh, look at that.”

“What?” Anastasia turned to see where Betsey was pointing.

A stuffed old dog sat on the bed, an aged child’s toy with a drooping eye and chewed tail that had definitely seen better days. “It looks cute.”

Betsey came in and sat on the bed, reaching for it and twirling one of its floppy felt ears in her hand. “Do you think it belonged to Aunt Mildred, or maybe one of her siblings? Why do you think she had no children?”