Page 31 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

A melia’s dance partner, Mr. Putney, delivered her to the area where she and Chase, the viscount and viscountess, and several of her friends had congregated most of the evening. She noted Chase’s absence immediately. She supposed she could not be too disappointed. He had stayed by her side most of the evening.

They had even danced the waltz.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” Lady Harriet said, making room for Amelia. “Lady Georgina bid me tell you good evening.”

“She snuck out so soon? Did she agree to dance with any of the gentlemen who asked her tonight?”

“Your husband’s uncle, Mr. Brooks, Lord Denning—”

“Any of the unmarried gentlemen?” Amelia clarified.

“Not a one,” Margaret put in. “The moment she spots one coming, she’s already got her excuses ready.”

“Do you suppose she’s merely shy around the opposite sex?” Amelia wondered aloud.

“If you ask me, she behaves like a woman whose heart is spoken for,” Lady Harriet intoned in her regal manner.

Margaret murmured her assent.

“But who is the man?” Amelia asked.

The two women shook their heads in evident bemusement.

Lord Culver, the elder, sidled over. “You just missed Lady Frommer, dear. She paid us a visit, hoping to speak with you then cajoled your husband into leading her out on the dance floor. Expect they’ll return at the dance’s conclusion.”

“She wishes to speak with me? Did she say what about?”

In answer, the viscount spread his arms wide. “Say, Lady Culver and I are a bit peckish. Thinking to venture to the supper room. Anyone care to join us?”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait,” Amelia replied. Chase would probably wish to escort her to supper. In the meantime, she would take the opportunity to pay the ladies’ retiring room a much needed visit.

Amelia turned down the quiet corridor leading to the ladies’ retiring room.

In the interest of time, she visited the one nearest the back of the ballroom, away from the supper and card rooms. She had hoped to find fewer guests queued up in the less traveled part of the packed house. By the look of things, she had chosen well.

The soft, brisk footfalls of another moving down the corridor sounded behind her.

“Lady Culver? Is that you?” a woman called.

Amelia slowed her pace to glance over her shoulder.

Lady Millicent Tully, wearing a dazzling, crystal-embellished gown of deep plum, hastened toward her, a smile curving her lips.

“Good evening, Lady Tully.”

She started to turn, intending to keep moving toward the retiring room.

“I wonder if you might have a few moments to spare to speak with me on an important matter.”

Amelia hesitated. She could not imagine anything this virtual stranger might have to discuss with her, other than her husband. That alone disinclined her to speak with the woman. But she could hardly refuse, and she had always had a too-curious nature.

She waited for the countess to reach her side. Once there, the woman grasped her forearm and gave an urgent little squeeze. “Thank you. I believe I have information you will want to hear.”

“Information? For me? What is it?”

“Not here. I know a private garden where we can speak freely.”

Chase found Tully exactly where he expected to find him—lounging about on a swinging bench on the terrace, a disheveled Lady Stanton at his side, and a bottle of port in easy reach.

Chase stepped outside, clasping his hands behind his back. “Tully.”

The earl squinted up at him, his mouth gaping as if he could not quite believe his eyes. “Culver? Is that you?”

“Last time I checked.”

He sprang to his feet, sending the bench into motion.

Lady Stanton grasped the chain and erupted with giggles.

“What the devil do you want?” He faced Chase, expression simultaneously stony and wary. “I haven’t laid eyes on your wife tonight, other than to pass her on the dance floor.”

Chase inclined his head toward the young woman. “Best if we speak alone. Do you prefer to walk, or send your young friend inside to find her husband?”

“Neither,” he sneered. But he snapped his fingers at Lady Stanton and pointed inside the mansion.

Her revelry abruptly ceased. Her feet skittered on the stone floor, to halt the swing. She rose onto wobbly legs and, looking slightly miffed, disappeared through the open doors.

“Thank you. I admit I was growing bored with the empty-headed chit.”

An odd feeling reminiscent of the day he dropped Amelia off at the modiste shop on Bond Street had the hair on the back of Chase’s nape stirring. “I’ll make this quick. Did you have anything to do with the recent fires in Copsham?”

Tully frowned in evident bemusement. “Did I what? Fires in Copsham? Listen, Culver, don’t you dare try to pin your mismanagement of your properties on me.”

Perhaps he should leave and go find Amelia, now. Dodd’s confession all but ruled out Tully’s involvement.

On the other hand, he was here, and he believed in being thorough. “You mentioned the fires to Amelia. How did you know of them?”

He pursed his lips and huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “If you must know, Millicent told me of your recent losses. She knows how much I relish hearing of your trials.”

Chase snorted. “I’ll leave you to your evening’s entertainment, with one final reminder. Stay away from my wife.”

“Good Lord, how maudlin of you. How perfectly common. You’ve actually fallen for your wife.”

Chase did not bother gracing Tully’s snide remark with a reply. He turned toward the door, then a quick thought occurred. “What is the name of your tailor?”

Tully blinked, then threw his tawny head back and erupted with laughter. “Why?” He asked when he could speak. “You finally wish to address your fashion limitations?”

Chase shrugged.

The earl wiped the corner of his eye. “Hoby and Shepperd, last I remember. Millicent deals with my wardrobe needs.” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Feel free to ask her. Doubtless she’s here, somewhere, searching for me. Can’t be sure though. I’ve been staying at my townhouse. So much easier to entertain… houseguests without my wife under foot.”

Lady Tully led Amelia down a dimly lit corridor to a side door that opened to what appeared to be a small courtyard. A lone oil lamp, its wick ablaze, sat atop a large stone bench to illuminate the space in a dull, golden glow.

Lady Tully grasped the lamp and gestured toward the bench.

Amelia sent a longing glance toward the now-closed door. Something about this scenario did not feel right. Lady Tully seemed to have staged things, as if she had prepared in advance to speak with her.

She also suspected Chase would be displeased when he learned of her decision to go off on her own with the countess.

But her pride would not allow her to bolt like a scared rabbit. She sat, arranging the silk skirts of her pale-lavender gown in an offhand manner.

She favored one side of the cold stone bench, expecting Lady Tully to join her.

Instead the countess approached the balustrade, lamp in hand, turning her back to the railing to face Amelia like an actress preparing to deliver a monologue.

“I assume Chase—you do not mind if I call him that? We are, after all, old friends.”

She did mind, but she refused to fall into her trap, which it clearly was. Instead, she projected an air of ennui. “Lady Tully, I need to get back. I’m expected. What did you wish to tell me?”

Her smile vanished. In the grainy lamplight, her face took on an eerie cast.

“I believe Chase told you of our history, did he not?”

“I’m not sure what history you refer to, Lady Tully.”

She chuckled. “Come now, Lady Culver. He no doubt told you how we were nearly engaged, and how he lost me to the current Earl of Tully.”

She inclined her head.

“Ah. I can see in your eyes that he shared what very few know—that the earl meant to cast me aside. He wanted to use me to hurt Chase by forcing the too-noble nobody—pardon my calling a spade a spade—to marry me, compromised.

“In the end, I did what I had to do to secure the match and got no less than I deserved. I don’t regret a single thing.”

“How very nice for you,” Amelia said stiffly. Calling her husband a nobody, indeed.

She had also had enough of sitting while the other lady loomed over her like a dark cloud. She rose to her feet.

For a split second, Lady Tully looked taken aback. “I’m coming to my point, if you’ll grant me a few moments more of your time?”

“Pray, continue.” Amelia strolled to the railing. She gazed out into the darkness as if she were not hanging on the countess’s every word.

“It is interesting, is it not, how easy it is to judge, to, say, feel pity, looking at someone’s situation from the outside.

“For instance, you might be tempted to pity me for the path I followed to become the Countess of Tully, just as I, after uncovering the truth of why Chase married you, feel a degree of pity.” She paused meaningfully before adding, “For you.”

Amelia’s stomach hollowed out. She did not want to hear another word. She knew to her bones that whatever the lady said next would crush her. Nevertheless, she managed a convincingly bored tone. “I have no notion what you mean. I have, however, had enough of this conversation—”

The lady went on, interrupting Amelia as if she had not uttered the first word. “When I learned of Chase’s marriage to you, I knew something was off. For one thing, Chase is as cold-blooded as they come. I understood that nearly from the day we met, and used the knowledge to my advantage, I assure you. So this nonsense about the two of you being a love match, I dismissed out of hand.

“An exchange of money—Chase needs it, you have it—seemed the most reasonable basis for the wedding. What I could not fathom was why the haste? No one with whom I spoke had any answers, none that satisfied me, at any rate.

“I even went to the age-old, tried-and-true source for information—the servants. As I’m sure you’re aware, gossip flows between houses like water with many of the grand houses’ servants being related.

“Still, I got precisely nowhere until”—she clapped her hands together, and a gloating smile curved her lips—“someone on your staff overheard a conversation between your father and Culver. An argument, really, and it troubled them enough it all came out.”

Amelia regarded Lady Tully, expressionless. It was her only defense. Inside, her nerves were a tangled mess.

The countess’s smile turned coy. “Did you know your father won a bet against Lord Culver—the viscount? I am guessing you did not. Evidently the two men frequented the Lyon’s Den together. Have you heard of the establishment?”

“Of course,” Amelia murmured. She congratulated herself on how calm, cool, and collected she still sounded even as her mouth watered as if she would soon retch.

The Lyon’s Den was the gambling hell owned by the Black Widow of Whitehall, Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, who also happened to be the woman who had provided her with information to rid herself of her first two potential suitors.

She had also given Chase her stamp of approval.

Amelia recalled with sickening clarity how Mrs. Dove-Lyon had known of the impending engagement before she herself had.

“You know of it.” The countess sounded impressed. “Not so naive as I had assumed, eh? That simplifies matters. Suffice it to say, your father and the viscount gambled. Your father won.”

“Is that all? If so, I really must go.”

Her fair brows snapped together. She began speaking in a rapid-fire manner. “No, not quite all. Your father won a hefty sum. I’m not privy to the exact amount, but enough to nearly bankrupt the viscountcy.

“The viscount proposed a double or nothing counteroffer, whereby his nephew and heir would marry you—immediately—with one stipulation. He must make a proper lady out of you within six months, or forfeit twice the amount.”

For a moment, Amelia stopped breathing. She wanted to believe none of this was true. Unfortunately, Lady Tully’s rendition of events filled in the gaps Amelia had grappled with from day one. Why Chase had agreed to marry her so swiftly. The delay in her dowry disbursement, the specifics of which no one saw fit to share with her, and the reason her husband demanded she not broach the subject with her father.

“So you see, Lady Culver, do not deign to pity me, and do not for one moment consider sharing what you know of my past, or I shall be forced to put it about that you were married off to satisfy a bet—which your father won.

“I’m not sure what kind of thorn in your father’s side you were—I could not get at that information by carrot or stick—but you must have caused quite a bit of mayhem for him to risk such substantial winnings to not only rid himself of you, but to despair of you ever becoming the sort of lady of which he and your mother would have been proud.”

Only years of practice saw her standing firm in spite of the direct hit. Drawing on every ounce of will she possessed, Amelia laughed and glided to the door.

Hand resting on the brass lever, she fixed the countess with a look of amused disdain. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lady Tully, as you, evidently, went to a lot of trouble to ruin my evening with your dramatic revelation.” She gave a mock shiver of horror.

“I’ve known of the wager nearly from day one. Do feel free to, as you say, put it about, though. Only know I shall feel at equal liberty to share your sordid past.”

She held her index finger to her chin. “I wonder which story the ton might find more titillating? The one which, in essence, amounts to little more than a business transaction, or the one where a young woman compromised and lowered herself to using blackmail to bring her unwilling husband up to scratch?

“By the way, it was a clever scheme.”

“Scheme?”

Amelia sent the lady a slow, coy smile. “You always had your sights set on Tully, did you not? You chose my husband as a tool from the start. You made yourself into his perfect match in order to later offer him as a prize to the future Earl of Tully, who you knew hated him. I doubt you expected to have to resort to blackmail after that.” She shrugged. “I hope you truly do not regret your choice. He does not seem to have made a very good husband, what with all the extramarital affairs he engages in.”

The countess gasped. The lamp wobbled in her hand and her eyes glittered with icy malice. More importantly, her previous air of superiority vanished like vapor.

“Good evening, Lady Tully.” She let herself into the manse and shut the door very softly behind her.