Page 29 of Lyon of Scotland
Find that sorry girl a husband.What did that mean? As Mrs. Dove-Lyon came toward him, he leaned close. “Do not trust him,” he said.
“I know him better than anyone. Sit, Lord Lyon, before you fall. You look spent.”
He did feel awful again, and sat just for a moment, so he told himself. When the woman produced a tiny vial from a hidden pocket, he leaned away.
“Salts, sir. It will help.” She waved the opened vial under his nose. Recoiling at the ammoniac smell, he drew a sharp breath and felt immediately, oddly alert. The vial held what ladies called “vinaigrette” to ward off fainting spells; he was familiar with it from the field hospitals, where it was used to good purpose.
“Better,” he said. “You mentioned finding the girl a husband. Why?”
“My lord, I want you to know I did not plan this.” Speaking quietly, she glanced at Dove, who looked at some papers on her desk. “I agreed to help my cousin. Now I am invested and am owed my fee.”
“For what?”
“Tsk, he knows nothing about this? Tell him, Freddie!”
“Aye.” Dare stood, wavering, to lock his knees and stare down at Dove, taking advantage of his greater height. “Money, you say. How much?”
“Nearly five hundred pounds with what she owes me and my cousin now.”
“What fee, madam?” He looked at her.
“I am a matchmaker, a service I provide for select clients. Miss Gordon signed a contract for a marriage arrangement. My cousin brought her here in poor condition.” She glared at Frederic Dove.
“Marriage to whom? When?”
“To you,” Dove told him. “Soon. Today.”
“What?” He was stunned.
“This is what we shall do,” Dove said. “You will marry the girl and take on her debt, as the law requires. Then you will pay me and my cousin as well.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon slid open a drawer to extract a folded page. “The girl signed a contract for my matchmaking services, and Freddie promised he had a suitable fellow. He meant you. I must say, Lord Lyon, you would be an ideal match for many young women—a noble Scot with means and position, and very attractive too. Will you agree to the match?”
“He agrees,” Dove said. “We can all avoid inconvenience.”
“This is despicable,” Dare muttered.
“My lord, I did not know half of this.” She shot Frederic Dove a dark look.
“Do not play the innocent with me, Elizabeth Dove. I know you too well.”
“If you think the doctrine of coverture will solve your problem, it will not, I promise you,” Dare growled.
“Simply take on the responsibility of her debt and take her back to Scotland. What you do after that is your concern.”
“Your scheme depends on compliance.”
“She does not want to go to prison. You are the better alternative.”
“He certainly is,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon murmured.
“Comply or the girl will be consigned to prison tomorrow and you will be charged with smuggling. And I will have the whisky either way. Turn it over to me or face charges. TroublesomeScots. You see, many here easily believe them to be smugglers, savages, and unsophisticated. I know the judges in our London courts. I am confident of support if you care to pursue it.”
“How did you come up with this cruel nonsense?” Dare asked.
“It makes perfect sense! Birds with one stone, you see. When I realized you and Miss Gordon knew other, and then heard about the whisky, I saw what could be done.”
“Why? It cannot be the money she owes—if she owes it,” he added.
