Page 9 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Eliza repeated the salutation back. “I say, your name is rather like the forest,” Anastasia said.

“I beg your pardon?” Eliza blinked.

“The forest. Sherwood Forest? In Nottingham. Like out of the stories about Robin Hood.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mrs. Sherwood turned to Mr. Hardwicke. “Hardwicke, come. I’ve seen a sculpture that is simply shocking.” She wound her gloved hands around his left arm and ever so slightly, tugged, flashing Anastasia a smile that was far too sweet to be genuine.

Mr. Hardwicke gave Anastasia a nod and turned, allowing his companion to drag him away.

Anastasia let out a little sigh. Her hopes at the moment were dashed, for she’d rejoiced at seeing him again and had hoped for more conversation.

At least for more than a minute or so. Her shoulder gave a slump, then she straightened.

She was at the Royal Exhibition, in London.

What sights there were to be had, and her aunt and little sister were nowhere in sight.

She smiled and kept walking, stopping to admire the pictures for as long as she liked.

After spending a pleasant hour in the exhibition, she felt rather done with art.

Anastasia liked it immensely and saw so many sights and things she wanted to try sketching herself, but she hadn’t thought to bring her pencils and paper or charcoal sticks.

Perhaps she might purchase some with a bit of pin money from her father.

Walking out into the sunshine, she met her aunt and sister. “Well, Anastasia. Did you enjoy yourself?” her aunt asked.

“Yes. Very much.”

“Did you see Mr. Hardwicke? I saw him walking around with a young woman on his arm. His sister, I bet,” Betsey said, practically bouncing on her feet.

“I did see them, but that is most definitely not his sister. That is Mrs. Eliza Sherwood, of Nottinghamshire.”

“Like the forest? Out of the Robin Hood stories?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mention it. She seemed not to know.”

“More’s the pity, then. They’re great tales,” Betsey said.

Aunt Mildred tapped her chin with a gloved finger. “Well, no matter. After what we heard, you shouldn’t be associating with him, anyway. Now, I need to run some errands and go to the shops. Would you girls like to come with me or head home?”

“I’ll come with,” Anastasia said.

“Me too,” said Betsey. “I want to come.”

After a fine day of shopping and running errands with their aunt, where Aunt Mildred had purchased a new hat, ordered a haunch of lamb for their dinner, and picked up a new book from the local lending library, they returned home.

Anastasia’s feet hurt, and her sister did nothing to hide her yawn as they walked back up the stairs to their rooms.

“Lord,” her sister began. “I don’t know when I’ve been so bored. Who knew shopping would be so tedious?”

Anastasia smiled. She wanted to tear her bonnet off and kick her shoes off her feet like a dashing heroine.

But her bonnet was tightly tied to her head by a stiffly knotted bow, and her shoes were hard walking boots that required time and care so as not to harm the laces.

She let out a noise of frustration and tore off her gloves, whipping them across the room, then started to tug at the knot of her bonnet.

“Lord, what’s gotten into you? Are you tired as well?” Betsey asked.

“Tired, bored, and…” She swallowed. Did she tell her sister?

“Come on, whatever it is. We don’t keep secrets from each other,” Betsey said, closing the door behind her. “What is it?”

Anastasia swallowed, feeling that old sense of shame ever since dallying with Mr. Jemisin. She didn’t answer and instead tugged harder at the knot of her bonnet but failed to untie it.

“Oh, let me.” Her sister went to her and began fiddling with the bow. “Lord, this is tight.”

“I was hoping to see Mr. Hardwicke again,” Anastasia said in a rush.

“Aha, I knew it! That’s why you were so keen to go to the exhibition.” Betsey grinned and tugged the knot loose, freeing the offending bonnet from Anastasia’s head. “There you go. I knew it. I knew something was up. You do like him.”

Anastasia took the bonnet and tossed it on her freshly made bed. “I do. But what of it? The young woman he had on his arm, Mrs. Eliza Sherwood, was clearly interested in him.” She relayed their brief conversation.

“Ohh.” Betsey rubbed her hands together. “Another woman. But she’s married, so there’s no competition there. She may flirt with him all she likes, but she’s got no chance with him.”

“Now you sound like a storybook villain. Maybe you belong on the stage,” Anastasia said.

“Maybe I do. Think Father will let me?” Betsey grinned.

“No.”

The sisters shared a smile. “I don’t want you doing anything, Betsey. Leave Mr. Hardwicke and Mrs. Sherwood be.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Betsey quit her room. “I won’t do anything.”

Anastasia almost missed the crossed fingers behind her sister’s back.

After a rich dinner of a haunch of roast lamb, potatoes seasoned with sage and rosemary, with generous dollops of mint sauce, and glasses of rich, red wine, Aunt Mildred stifled a yawn and said, “Well. I don’t know about you, but I rather fancy some amusement.

Richard, you don’t mind if I drag Anastasia to meet some ladies at Cleveland Row, do you? ”

“Not at all.”

“Why can’t I come?” Betsey asked, her face in a pout.

“Because you’re too young.”

“I’m not. I’m eighteen. That’s not too young.”

“It is for where we are going. Good night, Betsey.”

And that was the end of the discussion. Aunt Mildred refused to hear any more on the matter, no matter how much Betsey protested.

Anastasia sat in her room, watching Mary choose what dress for her to wear when Betsey walked in. Anastasia quickly dismissed Mary and waited until she’d left before she nodded to Betsey.

“I heard her talking. Cleveland Row is notorious for some elite gambling den there. How very wild,” Betsey said. “Wait till Percy hears about this.”

Anastasia glanced at her younger sister. “You mean Mr. Jemisin ? Tell me you’re not in correspondence with him.”

Her sister looked guilty. “Um…” Betsey’s face turned pink. “I know you care about what society thinks, but it’s not wrong to exchange a letter or two between a couple. We are courting.”

Anastasia tensed. “Are you? And exactly when did he pay his addresses to Papa?”

“He would have done at home, but you chased him away before he could.” Betsey put her hands on her hips. “I’ve given him permission to write to me.”

Anastasia’s mouth dropped open. “That is very forward of you.”

Betsey lifted her chin and stuck her nose in the air. “It’s my decision.”

“You realize that only engaged couples are realistically supposed to correspond by letter, not just any courting couple,” Anastasia started, when Betsey mumbled something about her “silly old” sister and fled the room.

“Betsey, come back.” Anastasia hurried after her, and was met with a slammed door in the face.

She knocked repeatedly and was ignored. She stopped as a servant down the hall stared at her.

Anastasia blushed, smiled, and nodded, then smoothed down her skirts before heading back to her own room and quietly shutting the door.

Once inside, she began pacing. What mess was Betsey getting into now?

She was acting without thinking, as usual.

It was easier to laugh about when they were children and Betsey came inside the house covered in mud because she’d been jumping through puddles.

Now that she was older, the stakes were higher and more serious than a dirty dress.

The servants, for one thing, would report any letters to their aunt, who would want to know just whom Betsey was writing to.

Secondly, what was the content of these letters?

What if Percy took after his older brother and wanted to encourage her affections, only to dash her hopes to the wind?

What if by exchanging letters this was a tool of his to gain her trust, when he wasn’t trustworthy at all?

The floorboards creaked as she paced the room.

She wanted to force her way into Betsey’s room and demand that Betsey put an end to this frivolous letter writing once and for all.

But if she knew her sister, once she’d put her mind to something, she wouldn’t change her opinion so easily.

She could tell their aunt and warn her to keep a close eye on Betsey, or write to their father and tell him.

But something kept her from doing so. This could all be handled discreetly, and if she were in such a situation, she would want fewer people knowing about her own mistakes, even if she didn’t recognize them as such yet.

There came a polite knock on the door, and Mary poked her head inside. “Miss, your aunt is waiting. Shall I help you dress?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She might still have been worried about Betsey, but at least she was safe at their aunt’s home for the time being. She could spare an hour or two with her aunt, surely.

With a bit of assistance from Mary, Anastasia put on a deep-plum dress to match her aubergine-colored cloak, while her aunt wore a light-beige dress with gold trim and a gold necklace along with her expensive hooded cloak. They made a fine pair, and they wore smart dancing shoes as well.

“Will there be music?” Anastasia asked.

“There might. My friend often likes to have a musician or two amongst her party,” Aunt Mildred said.

“And where are we going?” Ana asked.

“To an evening party. I wish to chat with some of my good friends and require something a bit stronger than tea.” She leaned close and said with a conspiratorial whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”