Page 21 of Seducing an Earl under the Mistletoe
As Arthur approached a shelf, gently picking out a book that had caught his fancy, he heard Marcus’ voice.
“You know, you should have come here with Cate,” Marcus whispered, in an effort not to disturb the other visitors around them. “She has quite an affinity for the written word.”
“I remember hearing something of the sort,” Arthur commented, pulling his hand away from the book, now more focused on the comment instead of his desired reading material for the evening.
“Speaking of your sister and her affinity for the written word…Lady Birdside mentioned something interesting during the dinner party, something about her being involved in a business of some sort, along with Catherine, but as soon as she mentioned it, she corrected herself hastily, trying to convince me otherwise.”
“Business?” Marcus wondered. He pondered it for a few seconds, then continued. “The writing business?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Arthur shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t getting any answers to the questions that burned inside his mind, but hopefully, he would soon.
“Well, you know,” Marcus said, hesitating a little, almost as if he just inadvertently revealed something he was not supposed to, “Catherine once dreamed of becoming a writer. It was all she could talk about when we were little children. She used to write in her diary, but I suspect it was more than just everyday occurrences.”
“Does she still write?” Arthur raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
Marcus shook his head. “It was a dream she said she put behind her, but you don’t know with what passion she always talked about becoming a writer. Her eyes…they would sparkle at the mere idea. She talked of writing as an escape, a solace of some sort. So, you tell me, how does one put such a desire to rest so easily?” he asked.
Arthur didn’t have a response to that, but fortunately, he didn’t need one because his friend immediately continued. “I’ve always suspected that she continued to write and does so even to this day…in secret.”
“Have you asked her about this?” Arthur was intrigued by this point more than he was willing to admit. The more he found out about Catherine, the more he was drawn to her.
“Of course,” Marcus replied. “But she would never dare admit it openly, especially not to our father. He would never accept it.”
Artur couldn’t help but smile, imagining Catherine lost in a world of words and imagination. “No one with a talent for writing should be compelled to keep it a secret. Literature is such a powerful means of expression.”
“Indeed,” Marcus nodded. “But you know how our family is, you’ve seen it. Expectations, reputations, and all that. It is a burden to be a gentleman, but ladies…they also carry a different sort of a burden.”
“That they do.” Arthur nodded, wondering if Marcus was right about his sister.
Was Catherine really a writer? She certainly seemed like the sort of person who would do her best to reconcile personal dreams with societal demands. But perhaps it was a dream she had to leave behind. He himself had a few that were lost in the dust of the past, relinquished in the moment when he had to step into his brother’s shoes.
Arthur suddenly had an idea, pointing in the opposite direction. “There are a few books there I would like to take a look at.”
Arthur’s fingers glided along the spines, reading titles and authors, envisioning how each narrative might capture Catherine’s imagination. He selected classic novels, historical fiction with strong female protagonists, and collections of poetry that he believed would kindle her literary soul.
He imagined her eyes lighting up as she delved into the stories, her mind venturing into the realms of creativity and imagination. These books would give them something to talk about, but more importantly, they would be a reason for him to see her, which was what he wanted more than anything.
About an hour after Arthur had chosen the books, both for himself as well as Catherine, the two friends found themselves in Arthur’s carriage.
“Where to now, old boy?” Arthur inquired.
“To take care of business,” Marcus said mysteriously, tapping the roof of the carriage and giving the footman instructions on where to go. “The Lion’s Den.”
Arthur frowned. He had never been there, but he knew of it. It was a much seedier establishment thanWhite’sorBoodle’s,the two places he knew well. Marcus seemed to notice the look of confusion in his friend’s eyes.
“It is Father’s old club,” Marcus explained as the carriage rocked them down the cobbled streets of London. “There is a man there we need to find, a man who can help you with Margot.”
The carriage soon came to a halt, and the two men exited, their feet landing on the wet sidewalk. Arthur, usually accustomed to the refined and polished establishments of the city, found himself unexpectedly standing in front of a place that starkly contrasted the elegance he was accustomed to. It was much worse than he had imagined it.
The building itself was weathered and worn, its exterior showing signs of age and neglect. The paint on the signboard, depicting a fierce lion, was faded and chipped, barely recognizable. The once-grand wooden door had seen better days, now bearing scars and marks from years of use and misuse.
A flickering lantern above the entrance attempted to pierce through the gathering darkness, casting eerie, shifting shadows on the cobblestones below. The scant light barely reached the murky windows, giving the impression of secrets concealed within.
The two men exchanged a meaningful look, then ventured inside. As soon as he did so, Arthur was hit by a mixture of odors. He could distinguish stale tobacco, dampness, and the lingering scent of cheap spirits emanating from sweaty human bodies. The air was thick and suffused with the murmurs of shady men occupying dimly lit corners, their faces often concealed by the shadows.
It was obvious that this place was notorious for attracting a rather questionable clientele, including but not limited to gamblers, smugglers, and individuals of all sorts of dubious reputations. The bar, the focal point of the room, was a worn counter with a stained surface, displaying an array of liquor bottles, some bearing counterfeit labels.
When Arthur locked eyes with Marcus, he could see that his friend was as stunned as he was. It was true thatThe Lion’s Denhad never boasted a good reputation, but this was far worse than Arthur could have imagined from the stories he had heard.
