“Excuse me? What widow are we talking about?” Evan questioned, confused and frustrated.
“The Lyon’s Den . . . the Black Widow has requested your presence.”
He laughed. “You have to be bamboozling me! Too many people are requesting my presence today. My sister and brother-in-law have given me until Friday to take over the care of my son, and Lady Charlotte would not leave until she had an audience with me. And you, you are bringing the message from the Widow?” He eyed his friend with curiosity.
“I promise. ’Tis true. That is one reason I am here. Mrs. Dove-Lyon has asked to see you. For reasons only she can address, she sent word to me. One of her managers, a man named Luke Cross—he goes by the name Titan—witnessed your near accident yesterday. He recognized you, and now she wants to see you.”
Evan had only ever seen the woman wearing black and veils. No one knew what her face looked like. Word was she kept a very close watch on her business. “Do you find it unusual that she has asked to see me?”
“I do. I should add, she has asked to see you soon.”
Evan’s resolve to leave off the brandy ended, and he grabbed two clean glasses from the cabinet in the corner of his office. Pouring a measure of refreshment into each, he handed one to his friend and took a long drink from his own.
“Do you think you should start that today?” Banbury ventured.
“Do not judge me,” Evan snapped. “I know that I have been on the cut and spent more time in my cups this year than out of them. Nevertheless, I do not plan to become foxed. I still have a measure of control. And I do intend to enjoy a fortifying glass.” He took a slow sip while his body demanded more. Whilst he had only been a member for a year, he had heard no good ever came from having to see the Widow.
Chapter Four
“That was the Earl of Clarendon’s carriage that just pulled away. I recognize the emblem on the front. Why is he dropping you off? Unchaperoned, no less!” Charlotte’s mother hissed as she pulled her head from the window and looked at her daughter. “What were you up to, Charlotte?” she asked, arms crossed.
Mama spent all day, every day in this room. Charlotte stared at the pink room, looking for something on which to focus her attention. Her mother had insisted that the pink color in the room made the small room look larger than when it had been green. She had added a little yellow with the small pink and yellow floral drapes, but everything else was pink—walls, upholstery, carpet. For Charlotte’s tastes, it was not comfortable enough to spend all day there. She consistently failed to interest Mama in any outing, picnic—anything.
Charlotte nibbled her lower lip, unsure of how much to say to her mother. “It was the Clarendon carriage. I had been to see him.” She reminded herself that she wanted to look at her brother’s letters. She was most curious about the man now that she had met him.
“Why did you go by yourself?” Her mother fairly shrieked the words before lowering her voice. “Beyond the fact that you could be ruined without a chaperone, you know his reputation of late. And your uncle—”
“Uncle does not have to know, Mama,” Charlotte insisted. “Please let us keep this between the two of us.”
Her mother’s eyes watered, and she stiffened her shoulders. Charlotte prepared herself.
“Young lady, I do not know when you became so uppity, but I am your mother and deserve your respect. You would never act thus if your father was still here. Even so, you could make a worse match.” Her mother sniffed.
“I apologize, Mama. Of course you are right. I should not have snapped. I am afraid I acted impulsively,” Charlotte continued, “but Uncle does not need to know.” She had lost quite a lot of respect for her uncle in the months that had followed Papa’s death. She and Mama had gone from a life of ease while her father was around to one where every farthing was checked and accounted for with her uncle.
“I had purpose to my meeting, Mama. Lord Clarendon’s horse nearly ran me over yesterday in Mayfair, and I gave him a piece of my mind. His sister and brother-in-law were there, so I was not alone.” It was a stretch, but not really a lie. His family had pulled up when she arrived and left only a short while before she did. “Surely Lord and Lady Rivers qualify as adequate chaperones,” she pressed. No way would she volunteer any information about her brother because that would put her mother over the top. Each day since Papa’s death, her mother had eaten and dressed, but only sat in her parlor staring out the window. She barely paid attention to anything, and quite startled Charlotte with her observation of the carriage.
“Oh darling, you should mind your cheekiness in public. You know how your father felt about the sharpness of your tongue.”
Her father would not have been happy.
“Certainly they would qualify as chaperones. The Dowager Clarendon and I are friends, you know.” She looked at her daughter. “And no, I do not feel like speaking with my brother. He is always in such an ill temper of late.” Her mother stopped. “He does not listen to what I have to say and says the harshest things to me. Your Papa . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Charlotte waited, careful not to cut her mother off again. She had never seen her mother as distraught as she had been since Papa’s death. “Mama, I cannot help but wonder why we are not able to buy new clothes. Uncle limited us to two dresses each to observe Papa’s mourning period. I had Jane dye some of my lighter dresses black so I would have a
