Page 39 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

H ours passed. Amelia languished beside her brother, counting every breath, her hand over his heart, feeling every tenuous beat. Graham was right there with her, and servants loitered in the hallway. A heaviness settled over the house, like a held breath. When word came that Mr. Chase had returned—with the doctor, the Widow of Whitehall, and a third man—Amelia thought she was dreaming.

She slipped from Sam’s side, Graham watching her quietly as she went into the hall.

The doctor was young—too young. Dr. Bradley had gone but said he’d return if anything should change or he was requested. Amelia didn’t know if his presence would help or not.

Behind the doctor stood Mrs. Dove-Lyon, veiled in black, like the specter of Death itself. Beside her was an unknown man of middling years.

“I wish to see your brother,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Our deal hinges on his survival, and you will sign as his proxy. This is my barrister, Mr. Chambers.”

Amelia nodded. They entered Sam’s room, which seemed to shrink with so many bodies inside it.

“Should I summon Dr. Bradley?” Amelia asked the young doctor. He hadn’t yet introduced himself. He was oddly quiet, and Mr. Chase was ominously serious beside him.

Mr. Chase introduced the doctor. “Lady Amelia, this is Dr. Roland Sloan. He has agreed to help.”

“I will need help with such an arduous condition,” Dr. Sloan said. “But I’ve sent word to an acquaintance for assistance. I will attempt to save your brother under the explicit terms that you understand this is highly dangerous. I will not be held responsible for any outcome, including Lord Alston’s death, which I feel obligated to tell you, is the likely conclusion. However, this is an opportunity to advance our understanding of surgical methods and I shall take it.”

Amelia’s heart dropped as she nodded. “I understand. Please, just try.”

“Everything must be cleared around him.” The doctor touched Sam’s wrist. “His pulse is weak.”

Petrov nodded and gathered footmen to help clear the nightstand and other clutter around Sam. But Graham didn’t move.

“Sir?” The doctor raised a brow at him.

“Dr. Bradley suspects this is the location of the bleeding. I... I don’t know why I thought I should put pressure here. Only it seemed natural to plug a hole by putting something over it.” Graham shrugged helplessly.

“Your instincts are not unfounded, Mr. . . .?”

“Blakewood.”

“Remain as you are for now. I will inspect the area once I have everything prepared. If he is bleeding readily I will have to move quickly. What else can you tell me?”

Graham recounted everything that had happened the last several days, starting with the accident.

Amelia stepped back. The Widow sat at Sam’s table, Mr. Chambers at her side, and beckoned Amelia over.

“Let’s get this out of the way, shall we? First, I am sorry about your brother.”

Amelia nodded. “Thank you.”

“He is one of my favorite players, after all. So much potential in a young man should not be lost. I commend you for not giving up on him.”

“I’m very grateful you could help us.”

“This is an altogether intriguing situation.” She set the papers before Amelia. “Sign here as your brother’s proxy. You are agreeing that should he survive his injury to a state of health enabling him to marry, he will agree to marry a bride of my choosing.”

“And if he doesn’t? What will you want?”

The widow looked in Graham’s direction. “Perhaps I’ll take Mr. Blakewood’s agreement in his place.”

“No,” Amelia barked. Several heads turned toward them, and she shrank in her chair. “I mean, he is already betrothed to me.”

“But I may need a replacement. And you said you’d do anything, according to Mr. Chase.”

Amelia’s heart pounded. She put both hands on the table and leaned forward. “But not him. He’s mine.”

She sighed. “I need proper compensation. And if you don’t think you can convince your brother to uphold the agreement, I have no need for you as his proxy.”

“My cousin Nelson is available. He would inherit after my brother.”

She couldn’t see it, but Amelia thought she might have curled her lip.

“No.”

“Please. There must be something else that is in my power to give if my brother refuses the arrangement.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon was silent for a moment. The world seemed to pause as the Widow reconsidered. But it was too late now. The doctor was here. Amelia would hold him at gunpoint if she had to.

“Very well, you will be the guarantee.”

“But—”

“Not for marriage. Something else. Something more... interesting.”

She said it with a coy edge to her voice, but Amelia would agree anyway. She only needed her brother and Graham. Everything else in her life was negotiable.

“Yes.”

“Quill and ink?”

Amelia retrieved them from Sam’s writing desk by the window. Maids were bringing in extra towels and sheets. A cast-iron pot was hung over the fire as it was built up to the doctor’s specifications.

Amelia signed the contract committing to Sam’s marriage to a woman who was hopefully not terrible. Or, barring that, agreeing to some unknown future favor from herself.

The Widow stood, handing the document to Mr. Chambers, and Amelia escorted them both to the door.

“Thank you,” Amelia said. “No matter the outcome, thank you.”

The Widow nodded and left.

Dr. Bradley arrived on the heels of Dr. Sloan’s acquaintance, Dr. Avery Hanslik. After that, only the most essential people were permitted to remain in the room: Graham, still at Sam’s side, the doctors, one footman, who had experience in gory situations Amelia didn’t care to speculate on, and a maid whose father was a butcher. Everyone else was ordered away. The doctors conferred with each other, or more precisely, argued over Sam while Graham waited to be told to leave or stay. Amelia waited by the door.

“This is a radical misuse of medicine,” Dr. Bradley was protesting. “To experiment on a peer is reprehensible.”

“I’m sure you’d prefer I practice on a ruffian from the streets whose life you deem less valuable,” Dr. Sloan countered.

Dr. Bradley blustered angrily. “I would never suggest such a thing.”

“You said you weren’t qualified to help Lord Alston,” Graham reminded Dr. Bradley. “Listen to these men and help, or get out.”

“I... I want to remain. If there is anything to be learned, I want to know it.”

Dr. Avery nodded in understanding. “This situation is far from ideal, but given the patient’s state, I doubt there is an ideal situation to be had.” He was an older man than Dr. Sloan, with streaks of gray at his temples, thinning brown hair across the top of his head, and spectacles. Dr. Sloan was young and might be considered handsome with his dark hair and dark eyes. He was tall, with a slim, blade-like frame. But there was something about him that felt cold and calculating to Amelia.

“Agreed,” Dr. Sloan said. “I am ready to begin. Mr. Blakewood, you may remove your hand.”

Graham hesitated. Amelia watched him war with his instincts to protect Sam, but he let go and stepped back. Amelia stepped into the hall. Graham surprised her by stepping out shortly after.

“I thought you’d stay,” she said.

“I can’t. I can’t watch them do whatever they are going to do. I can’t watch him—”

He choked and turned away, walking farther down the hall. Amelia followed, sliding beside him and taking his hand.

“Then stay with me. Keep me from losing my mind.”

He looked down at their linked hands.

“There is a sitting room right here,” she continued. “It will be more comfortable than the hall.”

He nodded, and she led him inside.

Petrov came to the door. “Do you need anything?”

“Whisky,” Graham said. “And tea for Lady Amelia.”

They sat beside each other on the settee and Amelia leaned her head on his shoulder. She could feel his stare.

“Please don’t ask if I’m all right. I’m not and you’re not either.”

He put his arm around her. “I wasn’t going to. Sometimes, I just need to look at you.”

Amelia supposed she could understand that. She leaned into his touch.

“If I tip a bit of whisky into my tea, will you scold me?” she asked, her voice shattered with sorrow.

“Why don’t you have a dram with me?” Graham said.

She looked up at him. “Truly?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t before.”

“I’ve smelled it. I never understood how Sam could go on about its flavors of smoke, vanilla, pears, and honey. It’s noxious stuff to the nose.”

He grunted. It might have been a laugh, but if he felt anything the way she did, it was caught somewhere in his throat.

“Take one sip,” he said. “It will burn at first, but then the flavors come.”

Petrov walked in with a decanter, followed by a maid with the tea set. Graham poured a bit in her empty teacup and a bit in the tumbler. He lifted his glass and Amelia mirrored him.

“To Alston,” he said.

Amelia’s eyes watered. “To Sam.”

Amelia set her cup down, as tears slid down her cheeks. It wasn’t the whisky. It did burn, but there was a sweetness to it, too.

“Should we have said goodbye?” she whispered. She did not want Death to hear her words and think he had permission to come take her brother. A miracle had to occur tonight—she was owed this. After losing her mother and father, she would not accept any other outcome no matter how impossible it seemed.

Perhaps her Aunt Ruth was right and she’d succumbed to hysteria. Perhaps her mind and heart were already too broken and she would never be the same again after this day.

“Or is it too late?” Her question was barely audible.

Graham tucked her close to his side. “It’s never too late. He’ll always be with us. He’ll always be our Sam.”