Chapter Two

P hillip Eversley, Earl of Markham, sat in the chair opposite his solicitor's tidy desk and stared at the papers Joshua Barnham had just given him.

"I assume these figures are all correct," Phillip said, hoping his solicitor would say they required further investigation. Instead, Barnham's answer sucked the air from Phillip's lungs.

"Unfortunately, I regret to say they are. I went over them several times."

Phillip rose and stepped into the room's window cove. He watched carriage after carriage drive by, carrying their passengers to their appointments, or simply to the shops, as if this were a regular day in London. But it was anything but ordinary for Phillip. His world had just come crashing down around his ears.

"I had no idea our financial situation was so dire."

"I was afraid that was the case, my lord, although with your fighting the war on the Continent, there would have been nothing you could have done about any of it."

Phillip pounded his fist against the window frame. "I could have tried to convince my father and brother to curb their spending. I could have tried to stop them both from gambling away everything they'd been given. I could have—"

Phillip raked his fingers through his hair, then lowered his head and released an agonized sigh.

"There was nothing you could have done, my lord. Your father and brother both had a penchant for gambling away more money than they had available. They both thought they would win the next hand of cards or the next roll of the dice. What is regrettable is that you are left to contend with the losses they accrued."

Phillip looked over his shoulder and focused on his solicitor. "Do you have any suggestions as to what I can do to extract myself from this travesty?"

Barnham rose from behind his desk and poured brandy into two glasses. He handed one to Phillip and motioned for him to sit, then took his own glass and resumed the seat behind his desk. "There are only two options open to you, as I see it. The first option is, of course, marriage."

"No! I refuse to marry a wealthy woman just so I can use her money to pay off my father's gambling debts. I swore a long time ago that I would never marry, and going to fight in the war only convinced me that my decision was correct."

"Marriage is quite usual, my lord. Many impoverished gentlemen do it."

"Well, I'm not one of those gentlemen." Phillip took a long swallow of the brandy in his glass. "You said there was a second option. What is it?"

Barnham reached for a paper on his desk and handed it to Phillip. "This is a list of all the properties you own that are not entailed. These can be sold and the profits used to pay your debts. I regret to tell you, however, that even if you sell all your unentailed properties, it is doubtful that you will acquire enough to cover all debts. It will only make a dent in the amount."

Phillip looked at the list of properties that were unentailed, and his stomach churned. He would be left with nothing except the estate he cared least about. The Markham family seat—Markham Valley.

And at the top of the list was the estate he would do anything he could to protect—his grandmother's estate, Parkwood Manor.

"Would you care if I took these papers with me and studied my options for a day or two?" Phillip asked.

"Of course not," Barnham answered. "But you haven't much time to consider what you'd like to do."

"One question, Mr. Barnham. Is it possible to sell my unentailed properties and use the money to save one or two properties?"

"That would all depend," his solicitor answered.

"On what?"

"On who holds the debts and what property you are talking about."

"I'm talking about Parkwood Manor."

"That is a very sought-after estate. I'm sure that will go for more than you can make from the sale of your unentailed properties. It's just that…" The man paused and coughed, as if considering whether he should say more.

"Don't hold out on me, man. I've not the stomach for it at the moment."

"Well, then, it's also possible that the same person holds more than one IOU. Or perhaps even all of them."

"I see," Phillip said. That would be disastrous. If one person held them all, he would never be able to strike a decent bargain.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"I appreciate all you've done, Mr. Barnham. Thank you," Phillip said, then gathered all the information the solicitor had shared with him and walked toward the door. "I will return when I've considered what to do."

Barnham rounded his desk and met his client at the door. He smiled and laid a hand on Phillip's shoulder. "Make it soon, son. As soon as you possibly can."

Phillip nodded and made a hasty retreat into the street. He didn't know why he should want time to consider his plight. If he was staring at the only option he had open to him, his decision was obvious. He would have to sell everything he could and hope he received enough money to hold his creditors off long enough to find another way out of this mess. Or buy Parkwood Manor from his creditors.

Phillip Eversley, new Earl of Markham, walked away from his solicitor's office with no direction in mind. He simply needed to walk, and think.

He arrived home several hours later, knowing he wouldn't sleep. He had too many thoughts rolling around in his head. Unfortunately, he had no solutions for the nagging question that refused to go away: How was he going to save Parkwood Manor?

Phillip spent two sleepless nights walking the floor, then drinking whiskey to try to dull the anguish. He woke every morning the same as if he were still in the army, then rose and dressed and started a day that would end the same as the one before. He told himself that today would be different. Today he'd go see Barnham and tell him to start selling all his unentailed property. It would kill him to lose Parkwood Manor, but he'd get over it. He'd still have Markham Valley.

Phillip dressed, then went down to breakfast. At least he had enough food to last for a while and wouldn't go hungry. He sat at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee just as his batman brought him a plate of food. The man had served him admirably throughout the war, and was doing a more than adequate job as butler, footman, and valet. Before he'd eaten the first mouthful, Jeffers reentered the room and held out a message.

"Thank you, Jeffers." Phillip took the message but didn't open it. He knew it couldn't be good. None of his acquaintances knew he was back in London, and he'd been gone so long, most of his friends from school had estates to manage that kept them away from the city.

If he had to guess, it was probably a reminder of one of his father's gambling debts, or an overdue bill from one of his brother's extravagant purchases.

Phillip put the missive on the table, intending not to open it, then changed his mind. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away. He might as well know which blasted pile of impatient correspondence to put it in.

He looked at the wax seal but didn't recognize it, then opened the letter and scanned the contents.

Lord Markham,

I am Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, owner of the Lyon's Den. We have never met, but I feel as though I know you. I was well acquainted with your father and your brother.

I know the difficulty in which you find yourself and can imagine your desperation to rid yourself of this ruinous dilemma.

Please, call on me at your earliest convenience. I have allotted a specific time to meet with you this afternoon at five o'clock.

Do not keep me waiting.

Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon

Phillip read the letter several times, then folded it and placed it in his pocket. If the woman thought she might help him, she clearly had no idea the extent of his indebtedness. She couldn't possibly know she was asking him to choose slow torture. Spewing the details in front of the woman would be like standing still on a bed of coals.

But what choice did he have? If the woman had information of which he was unaware, he'd be a fool to ignore her. Why else would she contact him? He would go and see what this Dove-Lyon woman was about.

Phillip noted the directions written on the bottom of the message, and several hours later found himself at the end of Cleveland Row. Ahead of him was a large five-story building known as the Lyon's Den. It stood out from its neighbors, not because of its size or architecture, but because some misguided owner had painted the whole thing a wretched shade of blue.

He was drawn to investigate the establishment, not only because he was intrigued by Mrs. Dove-Lyon's message, but also because it was a place his brother had frequented for gambling and female entertainment. He had no doubt that when he entered the place, he would be informed that the amount his father and brother owed their creditors had increased substantially. There would be a late payment fine, or some insane bit of interest. Enough time had passed that they would not have to be creative in their efforts to increase the sum owed.

But this was a day for discovery. Phillip adjusted his carelessly tied neckcloth and rapped with the massive brass door knocker.

"Your name?" a burly man asked after opening the door.

"Phillip Eversley, Earl of Markham."

"Come in," the fellow said, opening the door wider. "Wait here." He gave Phillip a brutish look that clearly said, Don't even think about following me, then trudged up the stairs to the second floor.

Phillip didn't wait where he'd been told, but stepped over to the nearest table and watched the players lift their cards. The player in front of him had a fair hand. The player next to him had a losing hand, and the man opposite him had the best hand. But Phillip would bet everything he had that the dealer held the best hand of all. There was no way any of the card holders would win.

He watched as each player threw money to the center of the table, then waited for the second round to begin.

The play at the table reminded him vividly how his father and brother had played—having hands that were not winnable, yet continuing to bet more money on them as if the spots would change and a miracle would happen.

He continued to watch as if his father and brother would magically appear at the table and he could shake them to their senses and stop them from wagering more money on their losing hands.

Fortunately, he was cut short when the giant doorman returned.

"Follow me," he ordered Phillip in a low, gruff voice. "Mrs. Dove-Lyon will see you now."

The man turned, and Phillip was forced to follow him.

"Lord Markham," a lady greeted him when they entered a well-appointed room. Phillip gathered this was Mrs. Dove-Lyon's office. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The lady wasn't tall. In fact, she was rather petite. Nor was she young, but bordering on middle age. Her hair was expertly coiffed, and she was dressed as if she was about to attend a ball, or the opera. And Phillip was certain that the jewels on her wrist and around her neck could pay the entire amount of his debt. She looked exquisite. She appeared as if she could out-sparkle any queen.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Although I'm not sure how much of a pleasure it is, considering the amount of money my father and brother must owe you." It seemed a matter of dignity for him to voice the embarrassing fact first.

The small lady lifted her lips to form a sincere smile. "I'm afraid that since returning from the war, you have had a shocking revelation considering the state in which your father left his properties."

"That is without a doubt an understatement. I had no idea he and my brother were such incessant gamblers."

"Do you share their enthusiasm for the tables, Lord Markham?"

Phillip wanted to laugh. Instead, he simply smiled. "I'm afraid you would quickly go out of business if you were to rely upon my patronage, Mrs. Dove-Lyon."

The lady studied him for several minutes. "Has anyone told you that you are a very handsome man, my lord?"

Phillip's eyebrows shot upward. "I have been out of Polite Society for so long that any female who mentions my looks isn't the kind of woman I wish to look at twice. And I'm afraid I'd plant a facer on any soldier in my regiment who told me I was handsome or commented on my looks."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon laughed. "My goodness, a man with an abundance of good looks and a sense of humor." The lady turned to a cupboard behind her and drew out a decanter of brandy. She filled two glasses and handed one to Phillip. "I venture being an officer in the army doesn't preclude you from enjoying a drink, my lord."

Phillip reached for the glass she handed him. "It does not," he said, starting out slowly, but finishing the contents of his glass before Mrs. Dove-Lyon had finished hers. Without asking if he wanted more, she reached for her crystal decanter and refilled his glass.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but I prefer not giving you the impression that I'm overly fond of drinking. It's just that your brandy is the finest I've tasted in a very long time."

"It should be, Markham," she said before taking another sip of her brandy. "It's imported. There's nothing I enjoy more after a long day than a good brandy."

"That's a positive way to end any day." The Earl of Markham took another taste.

"So, my lord. What are you going to do?"

"Excuse me?" he said, feigning ignorance. He knew what the lady was asking, but he wasn't quite sure how much he wanted to divulge. She was, after all, a stranger.

"That wasn't a difficult question, my lord. Considering the enormous debt your father amassed, there are not many options open to you. You will have to marry a female with an extraordinary dowry to get you out of debt, or auction off every unentailed property at your disposal to come close to half of what you owe. So, which is it?"

The woman was impeccably informed, and Phillip fought to keep from squirming like a schoolboy.

"I have no intention of ever marrying. That is a decision I made long ago, and one I will have no difficulty keeping."

"Is there a reason for your decision?"

"There is. It's written down right here." Phillip lifted the paper he'd received from Barnham. "The numbers are accurate. The amount I would have to spend of some innocent young wife's inheritance would leave her destitute and force her to live in a state of penury for several years before I could begin to repay her."

"What if I could assure you that I know of a certain woman who has just the amount you need, plus a little more?"

Phillip smiled a disbelieving grin. "I would question the veracity of your statement, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. You haven't seen the staggering amount my father left me to pay. It's beyond comprehension."

"I don't need to see it, my lord. I know the amount I am offering is several thousand pounds more than you owe."

Phillip's breath caught. "How can you know that?"

"I know all things, my lord. Especially when it comes to the amounts members who gamble in my establishment owe around Town."

Phillip couldn't help but be surprised. He'd asked around and heard several fantastic stories about Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but didn't believe many of them because they seemed too implausible. Now he began to doubt his skepticism.

"Nevertheless, I decided a long time ago that marriage isn't for me. And now I've become even more convinced of my decision after discovering how deeply into debt my father has taken my family. I am not a perfect man by any means, but I'm not sure I could live with myself if my only purpose for marrying was for the money I would get from the woman I took as my wife."

"Do you not believe that you could learn to enjoy the company of the woman you marry?"

Phillip finished his brandy and set his empty glass on the corner of the desk. His thoughts shifted from the streets of London and the quaint little park he'd traveled through on his way here. There was a time when he'd dreamed of marrying and having children and thought that was the life he would live—on the edge of just such a park.

Until the war. That had changed everything.

He'd watched men who were still boys die on the battlefield, crying out for their mothers. That was when he realized he didn't want to bring children up to watch them sacrifice their lives for no good reason. That was when he decided he didn't want his heart to be ripped from his chest when one of his children died for a cause he wasn't sure he believed in any longer. And yet…

He remembered the intense pride he experienced when he saw men in uniform march through the streets with their flags flying high and pride on their faces. But those were the same men whose blood soaked into the earth whether the battle was won or lost.

"What if I told you that you would be doing the woman a great favor by marrying her, that you were even rescuing her, saving her from a lifetime of heartache and suffering?"

"How can that be? How can I do a woman who has that amount of money a favor by marrying her?"

"That is something you will have to trust me to know, but when you hear her reasons for wanting to part with her money, I am sure you will understand."

"No, my conscience will not allow me to throw away her money to pay for my father and brother's folly."

"Would you at least speak with this young lady?"

Phillip considered Mrs. Dove-Lyon's words. "Very well, I will listen to her, but it will do no good. I will not agree to marry her. I've seen too much of the evil in this world, and I'm not sure I have any love left in me to give to anyone else."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. "That is not a hindrance, since falling in love is not one of the lady's requirements. The only stipulation is taking care of her money."

Phillip thought over Mrs. Dove-Lyon's request and, over his inner objections, decided to meet with the lady.

"Very well," he said. "I will meet with her. But I cannot make any promises."

"None are required. May I suggest a meeting tomorrow night, here at the Lyon's Den? Eight o'clock."

Phillip agreed, then left Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He walked past the gambling tables without pausing to watch any of the action. He had no desire to pay attention to other gamblers throwing away their money the same as the Markham men had done.