Page 21 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

A melia stepped out of Madame Eloise’s shop onto a bustling walkway under overcast skies. The scent of rain hung the air, and a damp chill permeated the gusty breeze.

Sally sat atop the coach next to Geoffrey, chatting amiably.

The two hopped down as Amelia approached.

Geoffrey set the stoop and opened the carriage door, helping Amelia and then Sally, inside.

“Thank you, Geoffrey. We have one more stop prior to Dove Street.” She gave him the direction and soon the carriage lurched into motion.

“Where to now, ma’am?” Sally asked.

Amelia wrinkled her nose. “You know I dislike being called ma’am by you Sally. We’ve known each other far too long for that.”

Sally made a tut-tut sound. “You’re a married lady now, ma’am.” She lowered her voice before continuing, even though no one else was about to hear her. “I’ll not have people saying my mistress hasn’t the respect of her servants, when all of us would do anything for you, as you well know.”

Warmth suffused her.

Sally arched her chestnut brows and went on. “I also don’t wish to find m’self turned out without a reference by Lord Culver. He likes things good an’ proper, if you take my meaning.”

Amelia nibbled her lip. She did. “I’ll have to give that some thought. But to answer your question, I…wish to purchase a gift for my husband. Madame Eloise was kind enough to offer much needed advice on whom to ask.”

“Your dressmaker?” Sally tittered into her hand. “You mean to buy the baron a gown, ma’am?”

“Really, Sally, I fancy outfitting him in a suit in the latest style.”

“Begin your pardon, ma’am, but I can’t much see the point. Far as I can tell, the colonel prefers black, aside from his shirtsleeves.”

That was true. “Nevertheless, a patterned waistcoat and matching kerchief will make a nice addition to his wardrobe.”

“If you say so, ma’am.”

“I do,” she said with outward assurance. Sally had the right of it. Her husband did prefer austere black. However, she could hardly reveal her true aim without betraying Eloise’s confidence.

The carriage veered right onto a side alley and slowed to a halt. A moment later, Geoffrey opened the carriage door and helped her to the curb.

“Shall I come inside with you, ma’am?” Sally asked, eyeing the hanging iron sign announcing the establishment Smith’s Haberdashery.

Amelia assured her she wouldn’t be a moment and proceeded into the shop.

She entered a world of luxury and elegance. Swaths of silk, high-end cottons, muslins and tulle lined the walls. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, their brilliance reflected in displays of silver and gold ornate buttons, and sparkling brooches. Glass bowls of potpourri strategically placed around the room scented the air with jasmine, orange, and spice.

An impeccably dressed man approached her. “Good afternoon, madam. How may I be of assistance?”

She flashed him a brilliant smile and extended her gloved hand. “How do you do, sir? I am here at the suggestion of Madame Eloise. She assures me your shop carries the finest, most exclusive fabrics.”

“She is quite correct, madam. May I ask to whom I have the privilege of speaking?”

“My name is Lady Amelia Culver, wife of the Baron of Sidford.”

By the man’s expression, she garnered he was not terribly impressed.

She went on. “Future Viscount of Everston and the renowned Iron Lion of Barrosa.”

At the last, interest sharpened his gaze. “The Iron Lion, you say? I have heard tell of his bravery and prowess on the field, my lady.”

“Have you?”

He linked his arms behind his back and his demeanor warmed. “My brother fought in the war. He shared many anecdotes upon his return. According to him, your husband and his regiment more than distinguished themselves, they were who came in to salvage things when all seemed lost. I believe your husband, through his leadership, saved my brother’s life, Lady Culver.”

“I see.” Her husband never failed to amaze her.

“Mr. Tyrone Smith at your service madam. Please tell me how may I assist you today? You seek a particular pattern for a gown?”

“Actually, Mr. Smith, I seek the finest weave, and a pattern in the latest style, for my husband. I wish to surprise him with a gift of a new suit. We are only recently wed, you see.”

“Very good. The latest pattern, you say? As in pinstripes? Checks?” His expression looked dubious.

“I was thinking more along the line of a jacquard print.…”

Mr. Smith’s lips twitched.

“You find something I said funny, sir?”

He flushed. “Forgive me, my lady. I do not mean to overstep.”

“Please. Your guidance is most welcome.” She reminded herself not to forget she was here to find the fabric the arsonist used. Still. The more she considered, the more she did like the idea of bestowing a gift on her husband. Something to express her affection without saying more than she ought.

It wouldn’t do for him to think she was besotted with him.

“It’s just, based upon the description given me by my brother, I imagine your husband being more prone to…black.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her husband’s notoriety was making this difficult. “You are quite right, Mr. Smith. But perhaps a splash of color would do him good. Say, for his handkerchief or his pocket square?”

“Very good. Right this way.”

It took her a fair bit more time than she’d anticipated to come to the conclusion this particular haberdasher was not the source of the fabrics the arsonist had used.

However, she did not consider the time wasted. Mr. Smith provided her the name of a tailor who he claimed could procure any style of fabric she could imagine, which sounded promising indeed.

For his trouble, she ordered several yards of superior black superfine, which the tailor of her choosing would purportedly use to produce a new suit for Chase.

She exited the shop, eyeing the carriage, then the growing congestion of vehicles lining Bond Street. She gauged the distance to the tailor Mr. Smith recommended as a short, two block walk.

That settled it.

“Geoffrey, I have one more, small errand. The shop is quite close. I shall take the opportunity to stretch my legs and return momentarily.”

“Ma’am? Shall I hop down and help Sally out of the carriage to join you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Too much trouble.” Besides, she hadn’t a moment to waste if she wanted to arrive to her meeting on time. She set off at a brisk pace.

She found the shop easily. A wrought Iron sign depicting scissors and a measuring tape, and proclaiming the establishment Hoby and Shepperd—Fine Gentleman’s Tailoring, hung over the door.

She swept inside on a gust of wind into a masculine space with dark carpets, ruby-red papered walls, and heavy furnishings.

Two gentlemen shook hands near the back of the shop. One wore a measuring tape around his neck. She waited until the other man in sports tweeds passed her en route for the door, lifting his hat in polite greeting.

The man wearing the tape measure, brows arched in query, rounded the counter toward her. “Good afternoon, madam…?”

“Lady Culver,” she said, moving farther into the shop. “I’ve come upon recommendation from Mr. Smith of Smith’s Haberdashery. As I explained to him, I would like to commission a special suit for my husband, as a gift. I have a particular pattern in mind for a waistcoat and pocket kerchief and am having a dastardly time finding what I seek.”

“I’ve no doubt we can accommodate you. Describe the pattern?”

Excitement rippled through her, but she kept her expression neutral. “A fine weave, of course, in a jacquard print.” She watched for any sign of reaction.

He pursed his lips. “Jacquard print? I must say you are well informed as to the recent fashion trends, are you not?”

“I like to think so.”

“The local artisans from whom I purchase my wares have little in the way of jacquard prints.”

“Pity.” It had been worth a try.

“However, I have another source, a company which deals in imported goods from”—he hesitated—“the continent. It will cost a pretty penny, you understand?”

“Perfectly,” she replied. “Do you have a sample to show me? Before we proceed, I’d like to ascertain the pattern is to my liking.”

“Sadly, no. If you leave your direction, however, I can arrange to come to you once I have one or two bolts in my possession, at which time we can also take your husband’s measurements.”

In a flash she envisioned the debacle of the tailor arriving with the jacquard print in tow, claiming the need to measure her husband for a fictitious suit. They’d never find the true source of the fabric should that happen, and all her investigative work would be for naught.

“No, no, that won’t be possible. My husband and I are frequently out of town. I will return in one week’s time. Will that suffice for you to procure a sample?”

She arrived at number 7 Dove Street, Lady Harriet and Margaret’s posh Mayfair home, right on time.

The housekeeper answered the door and directed Sally to the kitchens where she would enjoy a relaxing few hours drinking tea and sharing gossip with the other companions and lady’s maids who had accompanied the various members of the club.

Amelia handed off her pelisse, cap, and gloves and sashayed into the drawing room on a tide of excitement.

“If it isn’t the belle of the Colliers’ ball,” Margaret exclaimed, moving from behind Lady Harriet’s desk where she had been studiously reading over her friend’s shoulder. She took Amelia’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Good afternoon, Margaret, Lady Harriet,” Amelia said.

A quick glance toward the seating area, a semicircle of armchairs and a medium-sized sofa, all centered around a table laden with cakes, a silver tea service, finger sandwiches, and, of course, a stack of leather-bound books, told her Lady Georgina and Charlotte had already arrived.

The two women paused in their perusal of the table offerings to send her welcoming smiles.

In another moment, Nancy swept into the drawing room.

Lady Harriet rose from behind her massive desk. “Excellent. Let us commence.”

“It’s been an age since we were all together thanks to the long break taking several of you out of town for the holiday, and, of course, our dear Amelia’s nuptials. I know I speak for both of us when I tell you Margaret and I missed you all, and our lively discussions, very much,” Lady Harriet said in her rich, matron’s voice.

She and Margaret exchanged smiles of commiseration.

“Before we broach the subject of our last reading, Margaret and I have news to share.”

“Oh?” Charlotte asked, sipping tea from a delicate china cup.

“Do tell,” Georgina urged, straightening her wire spectacles before reaching for a small, honeyed cake.

“We received a letter from Miss Gwendolyn Barns, our honorary member from Little Giddingford.” Margaret held a sheet of parchment before her, and glanced over what appeared to be a hand-written missive. “In it she says she means to visit us very soon.”

Excited murmurs greeted this pronouncement.

Margaret eyed the ladies over the parchment. “Evidently, the London publishing house where she works as an editor, albeit under her late father’s name, denied her recommendation they publish the work by C.L Kerwin which we read several months back.”

“ The Ensnared Heiress , you mean?” Georgina asked.

Margaret and Harriet nodded solemnly.

In exchange for their comments and insights, they had been invited to read the pre-published work of fiction depicting a British heiress, seduced into marriage by a monstrous, yet outwardly charming member of the ton.

The young lady soon finds herself married to a womanizing, sadistic man who not only mistreats her, but also takes control of her inheritance, leaving her a virtually impoverished prisoner.

Realizing she has no legal recourse, and no ability to leave, she devises a plan to get her husband committed to a mental institution.

“Why would they deny the story publication?” Amelia asked. “It’s well written, and, more to the point, riveting.”

“It’s also thought-provoking and calls into question the current laws concerning a married woman’s right to manage her own property,” Harriet replied, dryly.

“What does Miss Barns hope to accomplish by coming to town?” Nancy asked, her caramel eyes huge as she stirred sugar into her tea.

“The letter doesn’t say,” Margaret answered, refolding the parchment. “But she has agreed to stay with us, and we will all be glad to finally meet her in person—I daresay, especially Lady Georgina.”

Georgina nodded her assent. “I can’t believe I shall finally put a face to the name of my editor. I have faith she’ll prevail in her quest to publish C.L. Kern’s novel. As I recall, she had a devil of a time getting my first romantic novel published.”

“And look what blockbusters each of your books have turned out to be,” Nancy said proudly.

Amelia reached over and squeezed Georgina’s hand. “We are all so very proud of you, Georgina. Despite several baseless rejections, you pursued your dream of being an authoress, and now enjoy much deserved success. I adore your romantic tales. I can’t imagine where you get your story ideas. Simply brilliant.”

Georgina flushed. “Thank you, Amelia.”

“Does anyone else have news before we discuss the readings?”

Amelia glanced around. She raised one hand. “You must all swear to absolute secrecy,” she said.

Everyone nodded solemnly.

“I’m helping Chase investigate a case of arson.”

After a moment of stunned silence, an excited chorus of questions rang out, ranging from what type of investigating she was doing to where and how it all came about.

Finally Lady Harriet held up one hand for silence. “Perhaps, Amelia, you should start at the beginning.”

Several minutes later, Amelia wound up her tale, leaving nothing out but Eloise’s part, as she had promised to tell no one. “And so, you see, I return in one week’s time to Hoby and Shepperd to see if he produces an exact, or even similar, match.”

“And then what? How does that tell you who has produced the cloth?” Charlotte asked.

Amelia waved a hand. “Details. Perhaps I shall simply ask to pay the vendor directly.”

Lady Harriet exchanged a troubled look with Margaret before speaking. “Lord Culver knows you made these inquiries? I’m rather surprised he did not go himself.”

Amelia took a moment to refill her teacup. “He does not know.”

“What?” Nancy burst out. “Whyever not?”

She picked up her tea. “Why are you all so concerned? The notion of visiting a haberdasher came to me when I realized exactly why Lord Culver’s solicitor had no luck, as I mentioned.”

“Yes, but we assumed you shared your theory with your husband, dear,” Margaret answered, gently.

Amelia frowned.

Lady Harriet cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you, if you do not mind me asking?”

Amelia flushed. She found speaking the answer aloud rather embarrassing. “I wanted to surprise him.”

After a moment, her friends’ eyes went soft.

“You’re in love,” Georgina breathed. “With your husband. This is your grand romantic gesture, telling him.”

She slanted her a wry look. “Leave it to the author among us to explain my actions in poetic terms.”

“Well?” asked Nancy. “Is it true? Are you in love with Lord Culver?”

Amelia licked her lips, considering the question. “As to that…” She broke off. “I don’t know. Certainly I find him…” She laughed self-consciously. “I’ve never known anyone like him. He’s utterly enthralling, terribly brave, magnificently handsome, and his moral code is above reproach.” She glanced at each of the women in turn. “Would you call that love?”

“Yes,” came the resounding answer from one and all. Several of the women dabbed handkerchiefs at eyes gone suddenly damp.

“Nevertheless,” Lady Harriet said, her tone brooking no dissent, “arson is a deadly game. I strongly suggest you involve your husband in this endeavor, Amelia, before going one step further.”

She thought of his edict concerning her behavior. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder if he might not see her recent antics as, ever-so-slightly, improper.

“I shall give your advice serious consideration. In the meantime, can we plan another meeting for one week from today? I’ll need a reason to come back to town.”

Margaret groaned.

“Why do I get the feeling you do not plan to heed my advice?” Harriet asked.

Amelia sipped her tea, deciding the question did not require an answer.

Lady Harriet sighed. “Very well. We shall meet here again in one week, if we are all in agreement?”

All were.

“Now, then. What did you all think of the last reading, the short story titled, ‘The Scandalous Affair of Mrs. X’?”