Page 138 of The Lyon Whisperer
“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 waswhy 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 thetonmight 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.
