Page 29 of Lyon on the Lam (The Lyon’s Den)

Three months later.

“T hat should do it, then.” Tavie looked across the kitchen table in the run-down, but clean, inn. Hildie and Kate sat across from her. Kate was smiling, and her unfocused stare hinted that she wasn’t seeing the stacks of dishes, and the roast beef waiting to be carved.

She was dreaming of fabric, lace, and ribbons. A shop and a line of customers who would pay a hefty price for a quality dress.

Hildie was a bit more reserved. “So he will own the shop.” She pointed at Will.

“His name will be on the deed, but Kate will own it. She also has enough room for a tenant. Will’s wife, Charlotte, knows of a milliner who needs space. Or perhaps a shoemaker.”

“And Kate will get the rental money, plus her earnings from the dresses.” Hildie nailed Will with a hard stare. “And you won’t take any of it.”

“No, ma’am.” The young lawyer put his hand over his heart. “Other than the wages she pays me. You have my word.”

“He and I have the same arrangement, Hildie,” Tavie added. “I trust him.”

“And I trust you, Lady—Tavie.” The old woman shook her head. “Though God knows how you’re going to make a living only taking five percent a month.”

Tavie smiled. Eloise Miller had wondered the same thing when Tavie struck a deal with Margaret so the young woman could open a bakery. “Five percent will add up quickly, Hildie. And the more successful Kate is, the quicker I’ll earn back the loan.”

The clock chimed in the hallway, and Tavie got to her feet. She hoped it didn’t look like she was hurrying.

She also hoped she didn’t look nervous.

“Find a storefront you like, Kate. Contact Will, and he and I will meet you there to see it.” She stretched out her hand and smiled when the girl gripped it with a businesslike shake. “We’ll visit again soon.” She kissed Hildie’s wrinkled cheek. “I’ve missed your tea.”

The old lady cackled and patted her shoulder. “You are welcome anytime.” She turned to Will and shook her finger in his face. “You come back tomorrow and bring your wife. I’d like to know more about this hat shop.”

Once they were outside, Will held the door of the hackney cab and then followed Tavie in. A wide smile creased his face. “She is a crafty old bird.”

Tavie laughed. “She pushes Matthew around as well.”

Matthew. She had missed him from the moment the coach had turned the corner, but she had stayed the course and accomplished her goal. Along the way, she’d helped repay those who had helped her.

One of them was across from her. “Thank you, Will.”

He grinned. “My distinct pleasure. One does not have a fairy godmother as a client often.”

She liked the imaginative term. He was going to be an excellent father. “How is Charlotte feeling?”

“The sickness has stopped, but yesterday she ate licorice with her roasted chicken—for breakfast.”

It was a relief to talk about children and not feel hollow. She could be happy for them and not feel sorry for herself. Perhaps it had been the time she had spent in Thetford with James, Matilda, and the girls. “Did you try it?”

“It was disgusting.” Will grimaced. “But she was so happy.”

They clattered over Westminster Bridge, and Tavie couldn’t help but recall her escape. She was in a finer carriage, with better clothes, and she wasn’t afraid any longer. Not of much, anyway.

Will cleared his throat. “Parliament granted your divorce while you were traveling home.”

“Thank you.” Damn Napoleon and his foolish war. Any matter not dealing with the defense of the realm had been pushed aside until it was certain that madman would never bother them again.

She knew how they felt.

“What of my parents?”

“Your father is pleased with our partnership, though he’s curious about my connection to the baron.”

That would end when Father saw his bank account increase, which it would. Will had already proved his knowledge and skill in business.

“Your mother is in seclusion.”

“That’s to be expected.” It would also end when the right invitation came. Her mother was nothing if not consistent.

The coach turned onto St. James Street, and Tavie’s heart pounded in her ears until she could hear nothing else. Home.

Matthew.

She looked out the window, craning her neck to see the house and the stairs, wondering if he was waiting.

A soft laugh pulled her attention from the window to the corner of the coach and to Will. She’d forgotten he was there. And it was foolish to think that Matthew went to the door every time a carriage passed. “My apologies. Did we have—”

They were slowing. The latch was smooth and cold through her lace gloves.

Will shook his head. “Go. I’ll visit when I can have your full attention.”

That might be a while . “Next Thursday. Come for tea.” It was best to set a date, otherwise she might get lost in happiness.

She opened the door and grasped the frame, judging the speed by how easy it was to count the bricks on the houses they passed.

When the buff brick of Matthew’s house appeared, and when she could count three bricks easily, she stepped from the coach and kept moving.

It was the hesitation that caused people to stumble.

The door opened and she looked up to see…Martin.

“Welcome back, Lady Tavie.”

Matthew’s letters had led her to believe that he missed her, that things were fine between them. Perhaps she had misunderstood.

Tavie’s smile froze as she climbed to the door. “I am a lady no more, Martin.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he said as he took her cloak and hat.

The house was just as warm and welcoming as before—the wood still reminded her of warm honey in the sunshine; the rugs still looked like a garden brought indoors. But it was eerily quiet, so quiet that she could hear Martin’s trousers rustle as he walked to the stairs.

“Let me show you to your room,” he said without looking back at her. “This way, please.”

A frisson of fear locked Tavie’s jaws in place, making it impossible to ask any of the questions that were banging in her head. It worsened when they passed her previous room, and then again when they passed Matthew’s.

Martin finally stopped at the end of the hall. “Here you are.”

The large room was full of sunshine, and everything from the curtains to the bedclothes reminded Tavie of home in Suffolk. The chair by the window looked perfect for reading, and the simple furnishings added an elegant contrast. It was beautiful.

It was also empty, save for her trunks in the middle of the floor.

“Where is…” Matthew. Why isn’t he here? “…Belinda?”

“She’s otherwise occupied at the moment, growing accustomed to how the house will work,” Martin said. “But she will be up to unpack your trunks after that’s concluded.” His trousers rustled again. “I’ll leave you to rest from your journey.”

Tavie gulped back her tears and nodded, but she didn’t dare speak.

“My lady?” he whispered.

She turned to face him. His eyes had thawed, and his smile was kind.

“We are glad to have you home,” he said before he closed the door.

Tavie clung to those words and to that look as she walked to the far window. The garden stretched beneath her, lovely and green save for a marble statue in the corner. It was a Greek something or other, but her thoughts were too jumbled to remember anything else.

The other window gave her a small view of the sky and the park. Parasols bobbed as the ladies walked into view and out of it again.

“You’ve returned early.”

She whipped around to see Matthew standing in a doorway she hadn’t noticed. He was leaning against the frame, his arms crossed. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and his bare forearms bulged.

Her feet twitched in her shoes, but she couldn’t move. “I…I finished my business sooner than expected and…”

And she had missed him, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear that. Not anymore.

He crossed the room to her and took her hands in his. They were warm and strong. They matched his smile. Tavie tightened her hold.

“I need to say something,” he said. “And I need you to listen very carefully and not interrupt me.”

She nodded.

“I know that not having children has upset you, and that you are concerned about what that means to me.” His blush turned his skin a lovely shade of rose.

“Matthew—”

He stopped her words with a quick, soft kiss. “I can’t say this twice, dearest girl. Let me finish.” Rather than pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this, and I’m not going to say it doesn’t matter to me. Because it does.”

Pain shot through Tavie, and she fought to free herself, but he held tight.

“Let me finish.” He drew a deep, shaky breath. “It matters to me because it troubles you, and I can’t fix it. I would do anything to give that to you, but I can’t.”

Tears stung her eyes as she twined their fingers together.

“And I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought of my children—our children—conquering their own little corner of London.

Especially a red-headed daughter who would wrap the city around her finger.

” He released one of her hands to cradle her jaw and raise her eyes to his.

“But I’ll have a wife who will. If she’ll have me. ”

She burst into tears. “I thought—” She waved her hand to the doorway and the house beyond. “Martin was so stern, and no one is here. And you…” She slapped his shoulder and coughed a watery laugh. “You were hiding from me.”

Matthew walked backward, tugging her with him. “I told Martin I wanted to surprise you. Apparently he’s bad at keeping secrets.”

“He’s atrocious at it,” Tavie blubbered, wiping her eyes.

“And I wasn’t hiding from you.” He led her into the adjoining room, clearly his, given the masculine colors and furnishings. Save for the profusion of yellow roses. “I was trying to get these arranged before you came upstairs.”

She couldn’t stop staring at them.