Page 4 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)

I t had been two days since her mother told Whitney of the plan she and her father had put in place. She still wasn’t happy about it, but after giving it some thought, she really couldn’t fault her parents for taking such drastic measures. Surely, no viable prospects were knocking down their door and she most definitely did not want to marry someone her grandfather’s age.

Just the thought turned her stomach and she shuddered.

“What do you think of this material? This color?” Her mother asked, trying to engage Whitney in choosing her new clothes—day dresses, gowns—her wedding dress.

They had arrived at the modiste almost an hour earlier and Whitney was bored. She could think of much more exciting ways to spend her day.

But her mother insisted that she be fitted for a new wardrobe for her soon to be husband.

Whitney sighed and shrugged at the rose-colored swath of material dangled in front of her face. “It’s fine.” She wasn’t lying. It would serve its purpose. The color would go well with her brown hair and blue eyes.

Her mother rolled her eyes at her obvious disinterest but turned to the modiste and ordered a gown no doubt in the latest style of fashion.

“Are we almost finished, mama? I think I would like to take a stroll. Maybe we can get a lemon fizz?” She asked hopefully. She did love the tart treat and tried to talk her mother into getting one every time they were out.

“Just a few moments longer. A few more items need to be ordered.”

Whitney wanted to slump in a chair while she waited, but that would make her look like a petulant child, and as bored as she was, she had manners and knew how to behave. Instead she stood at the window looking out at the street bustling with people.

A tall man, with hair dark as the night sky, paused in front of the shop, reading the sign, before glancing in the window.

Their eyes clashed and her breath hitched. Broad shoulders strained the seams of his jacket, promising bunched muscles underneath. Fair skin, brown eyes, and high cheekbones made him most fetching to the eye. And when he smiled at her, dimples appeared.

Realizing she was staring, she quickly backed away from the window and out of sight of the stranger. How rude he must have thought she was. Or uncouth.

Probably the latter. But why should he be any different than everyone else in the city?

She had never seen him before, so maybe he hadn’t yet been tainted by the reputation that followed her around like a gray, rainy storm cloud, always dashing away any sunshine she might find in something. When she’d dared a glance back at the window, the stranger was gone.

She wondered who he was. What family he was from. Not that it mattered since her parents had already secured her a husband.

The idea still felt foreign to her and it wasn’t something that she was looking forward to. Quite the contrary. And whoever it was, once he found out she was the person he was going to marry, he would probably back out of the proposition anyway.

The city had done an excellent job of ensuring that she would remain single. An old maid. It was hard to think of herself in such terms, but truly, a few more years and she would practically be too old to marry.

Well, one was never too old to marry. But men preferred wives that were young. Pleasant to look at. More prone to bear their husbands a child. Or two. Or three.

Whitney grimaced. She really didn’t mind children. As a matter of fact, when she and Harold talked about their future, children were always part of the conversation. He had never learned of the babe they’d made. Nor would he ever be privy to that information. But since that loss, children weren’t on her mind. She wasn’t even sure she wanted them now—if she could even bear a child. Mayhap she was barren. What kind of man would want a woman like that?

What if her husband ended up being the perfect man, she pondered wistfully, and she could get over the heartbreak, and think about having a child. Those were all very big ifs, but if she really could and they conceived and had a child. She thought back to everything she’d put her parents through and shook her head. She didn’t look forward to having to deal with such things from a child of her own. She wasn’t sure she had the strength.

“Come, Whitney.” Her mother called. “We are done here for the day. Let us walk as you’ve requested.”

Whitney spun to the modiste. “Thank you for your efforts. I know I don’t appear to appreciate them, but I do. Your work is lovely.”

Outside, she and her mother walked arm and arm as they passed the banker and then the jeweler.

“It is a beautiful day. I don’t blame you for wanting to enjoy it, my dear. Before we know it, winter will be here and all the cold that comes with it.”

Whitney shivered at the thought. “I don’t care to have such thoughts. Maybe we can talk papa into traveling to some place tropical for the winter months.”

Her mother laughed and patted her hand. “Dear child, there are times you amuse me. I don’t think you could convince your father of such an outing. He has too much work here in the city. The only place you could probably talk him into would be the country house. And the weather there will be even colder than here.” Her mother’s brows drew together and her mouth turned down.

“What is wrong, mama?”

She shook her head and gave a small smile. “I was just thinking that it wouldn’t matter if your father agreed to go away. You wouldn’t be joining us. By the time winter rolls around, you will be married and living with your husband.”

Whitney’s heart sank. “You haven’t told me anything about my husband-to-be. Can’t you tell me something? Anything?”

Her mother remained silent.

“What if he’s a monster? How well do you know him? Of his character? Where did you find him?”

“Your father would never allow you to be married to someone of ill-repute, Whitney. You know that. But, also, you must understand that your, er, situation left us with few prospects. We don’t know exactly who your husband will be, but it is between two men.”

Whitney brightened. “So I get to choose?”

Her mother chuckled. “Unfortunately, no. Your father and I do not get to choose either. It will be left to the fates and a game of luck.”

“Pardon?” What did that even mean? “Surely you jest, mama. Something this serious should be given deep thought. Are you saying my marriage will be decided with a game of chance?” Whitney was mortified.

“That is exactly what I am saying. But rest assured. Your father and I have seen each of these men. We know of their backgrounds. Their reputations. Both are good matches. Now, how about that lemon fizzy you were so craving?”

Whitney allowed her mother to try to distract her with her favorite drink, but as she sipped, she couldn’t help but ponder the information she’d just been given.