Page 2 of The Lyon Returns
They both took milk.
She poured a last cup for herself.
A comforting, earthy aroma scented the air. Gwen took a bracing sip of the piping hot beverage and felt herself settle. No one would force her to do anything. There really was no harm in listening to what Mrs. Dove-Lyon had to say.
“Now, then,” the Den’s proprietress began. “Tell me about this husband you need but do not wish to have, Mrs. Barnes. I assume you are no longer married?”
Gwen took another sip, then set her cup in its saucer. “I am a widow.”
“How recent?” The woman asked as if interviewing her for a post.
“Three years ago, last May.”
“I see. Was yours a love match, or an arrangement more along the normal course of things?”
Gwen blinked at her, uncertain what she meant.
“Most marriages are business transactions at heart.” She flicked a brief glance at Harriet, who made no comment.
Harriet was a widow of some years, Gwen knew. A wealthy one, at that, like Gwen.
Gwen answered, “I lived my entire life in the small town of Little Giddingford. I knew my husband from childhood. It was understood for as long as I can recall the two of us would marry.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon gave a humorless smile. “That does not answermy question.”
“We were close. It was not a business arrangement.”
“How long were you married?”
Gwen shifted in her seat. She did not wish to discuss her previous marriage. “Six years. What has this to do with—”
“Six years?” The woman tapped her chin with one black-gloved finger. “How old are you?”
“I am twenty-nine years old, madam. Practically in my dotage. Is that a problem?” Just as well. If Mrs. Dove-Lyon deemed her un-weddable, she could put this nonsense behind her. On the other hand, she would depart with the problem which had led her here, unsolved.
The widow’s mouth curved in the slightest of smiles. “Not necessarily. Married at twenty?”
Gwen cast a quick glance at Harriet and Amelia. “Just.”
It was time to take charge of the conversation, insofar as Gwen’s past was concerned. “My mother died several years after we married, leaving my father on his own. We moved him into my husband’s family home with us, and that’s really where this story begins.” She clasped her hands before her and went on. “My father was an esteemed editor for J. Stern Publishing.”
“Was? He passed?”
With all the activity surrounding her move, the ever-present grief had ebbed, but at the thought of her beloved father, it washed over her in a torrent. She swallowed down a sudden, hard lump. “Eight weeks ago.”
Gwen had stayed in Little Giddingford long enough to see him properly buried and his estate settled, then off she’d gone.
“I’m sorry. You have suffered more than your share of loss.” Sincerity etched her words.
“Thank you,” Gwen murmured. She did miss Reggie and her mother, but she felt her father’s absence most keenly. The two of them had been birds of a feather.
Amelia rubbed her shoulder in a comforting gesture, and she sent the raven-haired beauty a grateful smile.
Forcing her tender feelings aside, she went on. “As I was saying, Father was an esteemed editor. Highly sought after by the most prestigious publishers in England.
“His eyesight began to fade many years back, however, and I stepped in to assist him. Eventually, I took over his workload. I developed an abiding passion for the business.”
“Was the publishing house that employed him aware?”
