Chapter Three

B en had had rather more than his usual three or four glasses of wine last night, as he celebrated with a friend whose youngest sister had just been wed. He was here at the Lyon's Den today to retrieve his overcoat, his top hat, and his muffler, all forgotten when he and his friends had lurched out of the club to carry their victorious friend home to a townhouse now empty of female relatives.

Though why they were celebrating the fact was beyond Ben. His house had been a much warmer and decidedly more comfortable place when Laurel had still lived at home to plan the menus, instruct the housekeeper, arrange the flowers, and work whatever other magic was required to convert a bachelor's perch into a home.

One of the servants had just gone to fetch his clothing items when another appeared at Ben's elbow. "Lord Somerford, Mrs. Dove-Lyon requests a few minutes of your time."

That was unexpected. Ben followed the servant up the stairs, wondering what the Black Widow of Whitehall wanted with him. She hadn't found him a bride, had she? Surely not. He did not want that. Did he?

He was shown into a comfortable sitting room, where Mrs. Dove-Lyon immediately approached him, her hand outstretched in greeting. "Lord Somerford, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I need your help, my lord."

He bowed over her hand, then found himself examining her face. He had met the lady many times, but never before had he seen her without a veil. She had the visage of a lady in her middle years, or perhaps a little beyond. As a young woman, she must have been an outstanding beauty. She was still strikingly attractive.

Worried, though, her brow creased. She had taken her hand back and was tossing something from that one hand to the other.

"How may I be of service, ma'am?" he asked.

"A friend of mine has been wrongfully arrested, Lord Somerford. Apparently, Lord Augustus Seward accused her of stealing an apple from him. She and her little son are at the Bow Street Magistrate's Court. Not, as yet, in the cells thankfully. She has a sympathetic constable who believes her to be innocent and who is stalling by asking her questions. But the matter is of some urgency. No one should be shut up like that, especially not a gently-born lady and her small child. I would go myself, Lord Somerford, but time is of the essence, and they are more likely to listen to a peer of the realm."

"What is she to Lord Augustus?" Ben asked.

"Her sister-in-law, she says," Mrs. Dove-Lyon revealed.

Ben narrowed his eyes, his memory supplying a sudden image of a gallant female figure in a soldier's cast-off great coat, a tiny baby slung on her back, singing a marching song as she walked alongside the baggage train. That had been in Spain, perhaps four years ago. Surely it wasn't…?

"You do not mean Mrs. Dorcas Anderson?" he asked.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon's eyebrows shot up. "I do. Do you know Mrs. Anderson?" She did not wait for an answer but continued. "That is excellent, Lord Somerford. I am so glad you called by today. Will you go and rescue Mrs. Anderson and her son? Bring her back here, Lord Somerford. I wish to assure myself that she and the child are unharmed."

Laurel insisted that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had a heart. Ben had never seen a sign of it. Until now. He gave her one short nod. "I shall," he promised. He turned on his heel and set off for Bow Street, stopping on his way out to tell his carriage driver to meet him at the magistrate's court. It was quicker for him to walk, but Mrs. Anderson and her child should have the protection of the carriage.

The more he thought about that little baby in Spain the faster Ben walked. No child, and certainly not the child of a gently-born lady like Mrs. Anderson, should be thrown into a magistrate's cell.

Some would think—Lord Augustus Seward among them—that Mrs. Anderson had lost all right to the designation "lady" when she'd married Sergeant Anderson. Indeed, in Seward's view, the girl ceased to be a lady when she had just turned seventeen, and allowed Lord Vespasian Seward to persuade her into an elopement.

Some pompous two-faced idiots. Which description fitted Lord Augustus.

Augustus and Vespasian Seward were the twin sons of the Duke of Kempbury by his second wife—the current Duke of Kempbury was the son of his first marriage. Twins were never less alike, in appearance and personality.

Lord Augustus was cruel, entitled, and unpleasant. He thought being heir presumptive to a duke made him untouchable, even after the duke had cut off his allowance out of disapproval of his lifestyle.

Lord Vespasian had been a careless boy but a brave and effective officer. His wife was far too good for him, but it was at least to his credit that he had married her. Less admirable was his failure to make plans to protect Lady Vespasian if he died—something every serving officer should know was possible, even probable.

Before her eighteenth birthday, Lady Vespasian was with child and a widow. She sought financial help from the commanding officer of the regiment to which her husband's company of riflemen had been attached. That senior officer was Lord Vespasian's twin brother, and she asked him for the cost of passage back to Britain.

Seward not only refused her but blocked her path to appeal to his own commanders. Furthermore, he told her she was no longer eligible for a portion of the army's rations since she was no longer married to an officer.

She was close to her time and desperate. By the time the other officers in the regiment learned of Seward's actions, the little boy had been born and, a few days later, she had married one of the sergeants who had served under her husband.

In Spain, Ben, who was in another regiment, was only aware of her as Sergeant Anderson's surprisingly refined wife. But he had investigated Seward last year, when the man was a competitor for Laurel's hand. What he'd heard had disgusted him, and he'd been pleased when Laurel agreed with his recommendation to reject the man without him having to tell her the whole sordid story.

Seward had responded to her action by spreading gossip about her all over town. It was not surprising, and in fact, was predictable—though perhaps that was hindsight talking.

Here was the magistrate's court. He mounted the short flight of stairs and let himself in the door. "Mrs. Anderson and her child. I have come to see her released."

The person behind the reception desk sniffed. "The Anderson female has been accused of theft by a reputable gentleman," he intoned.

"Lord Augustus Seward," Ben noted. "Or, as we in the aristocracy like to call him, ‘Lord Disgusting Sewer'. He dislikes his sister-in-law and has been making trouble for her since his brother married her. But why am I telling you?"

He manufactured a glare that, he hoped, combined the scowl of an irritated commanding officer with the lethal glower his father used to turn on recalcitrant sons and obtuse servants. "Take me to someone with the authority to release Mrs. Anderson on my recognizance."

The clerk quailed, whether at the tone of command or the glare, Ben couldn't have said. "Sir—" he began to protest.

Ben interrupted. "The correct form of address for an earl of the realm is ‘my lord'."

It was his trump card, and it worked. The clerk bobbed a bow and scurried around the desk. "I shall fetch someone for you, my lord."

It took twenty minutes more, but eventually, they produced Mrs. Anderson, none-the-worse for wear, apart from looking pale and anxious. She carried the child—Stephen, Ben remembered—who was asleep on her shoulder.

She stopped when she saw him, and her eyes lit up. "Major Barclay," she said. She paused and frowned slightly. "But no. It is Lord Somerford now, is it not? My condolences, Lord Somerford, on your losses."

Most people would have congratulated Ben on becoming an earl, ignoring that the title had cost him a father, two older brothers, and his career in the army. Mrs. Anderson was as intelligent and sensitive as he'd always thought her.

"Mrs. Dove-Lyon sent me, ma'am," he said. "She is very concerned about you and about Master Stephen. She has asked me to take you to her. My carriage should be here by now. May I escort you?"

Mrs. Anderson nodded thoughtfully. "I must thank her," she agreed. She turned to the constable who had followed her into the large open entry hall. "Mr. Fairlie, I thank you for your kindness. You have made what could have been a dreadful ordeal into merely an inconvenience. Lord Somerford, Mr. Fairlie has been interviewing me for the past hour in order to keep me from being sent to the cells." She frowned then. "Oh, I could just shake Augustus. What on earth was he thinking?"

"I shall ask him," Ben said, grimly, and Fairlie, the constable, gave him an approving nod. "Making false accusations is against the law," he commented.

The clerk, who was hovering, sniffed. "The guilt or innocence of Anderson—" He noticed Ben's narrowed eyes and amended his words—"Of Mrs. Anderson, has not been established. She is being released into Lord Somerford's custody pending further inquiries."

Fairlie looked up at the ceiling as if seeking divine inspiration or comfort.

"If we could find the men who gave Stephen the apple," Mrs. Anderson said, with a sigh, "we could put this whole matter beyond doubt."

Stephen stirred and opened his eyes. "Apple," he commented.

Ben had noticed a few words amiss in what the clerk said. "On my recognizance," he corrected. "Not in my custody. That would be most improper."

The clerk shrugged. "The release terms are ‘in Lord Somerford's custody.' Or you can leave her here. My lord."

Pompous muckworm . Ben held out his hand for the paper the clerk was brandishing. Sure enough, the magistrate had approved Mrs. Anderson's release on a bond of fifty pounds provided she lived in the custody of the Earl of Somerford, who would be responsible for ensuring she presented herself to the magistrate's court on a date to be determined.

Damn. Ben tried to think of a female relative he could prevail upon to stay with him to give Mrs. Anderson countenance. His stepmother? But she was firmly ensconced in Sussex, fluttering around her daughter and Angel, and hovering over little Richard.

"What does that mean," Mrs. Anderson demanded. "‘In Lord Somerford's custody'?"

"It means you are in his charge and control," the muckworm explained, loftily. "He will decide where you live, where you go, and what you do."

She paled and her worried, large brown eyes searched Ben's face as if frightened of what she might find there. She was only a tiny creature, short and slightly built. Ben, who was himself slender and of average height, felt enormous beside her.

It crossed his mind that he could sweep her up, child and all, and not be discomposed by the weight. Her eyes were her best feature, but she also had a pleasing countenance and enough curves to explain the near riot that apparently ensued when Seward, the abominable cad, announced he renounced her as a family member and expected her to make her way like any other army widow without the means to return to England. Those widows who did not find another husband or a respectable paying position were doomed to a life of trading intimate favors for food and shelter.

Which meant that Noah Anderson had saved her from a dreadful fate. Rumor insisted that Seward had forbidden his officers, or anyone else in his battalion, to offer for her. Anderson was a rifleman, and so not under Seward's direct command.

Ben's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of several constables with a noisy and belligerent contingent of men, all loudly protesting their arrests in terms quite unsuited to a lady's ears.

Or a child's, he realized, as Stephen began crying again.

"Shall we discuss in the carriage how we might meet the terms of the release?" Ben said to Mrs. Anderson and cupped her elbow to conduct her away from the turmoil.

"I have not given you my address," Dorcas said in alarm once she had soothed Stephen. His distress had distracted her until after they were settled in the carriage, but she was relieved to see that he was quickly absorbed in the features of the conveyance and was busy bouncing on the well-sprung seat, the trauma of losing his apple forgotten. If only it was as easy for adults to forget trauma.

"Mrs. Dove-Lyon charged me with bringing you to her at the Lyon's Den, Mrs. Anderson," Lord Somerford said. He had been Major Barclay when she had known him—when Noah's company of riflemen had been posted to serve with Barclay's regiment. He had the air of command that all successful officers learned, but she was determined he would soon discover she was not one of his soldiers.

"It is kind of Mrs. Dove-Lyon to take an interest and to send you, my lord. But Stephen and I prefer to go home to our own rooms." She told him the address.

Lord Somerford shook his head. "It is not a safe place for you and the little boy," he insisted, using the one argument against which she had no defense. "It may take us time to find evidence to present to the magistrate. I do not trust Seward not to try something else. He has shown he is prepared to lie in order to prosecute his grudge against you, especially now that you appear to be in his sights once again. Of what else might he be capable?"

Bother it. The man was correct. Still, where else was she to go? "I cannot stay with you, Lord Somerford," Dorcas insisted. She did not believe he was not the sort of man to take advantage of this dreadful situation. Was he? No, for he immediately agreed.

"Quite ineligible. Do you have family you could stay with?"

Dorcas shook her head. She was an only child. Her father had cut her off after her marriage, refusing to receive her when she and Ves visited, and not replying to her letters. She wrote to him again after she returned to England, twice widowed. The letter was returned with a note that said he had died a year earlier.

"My father died while I was overseas," she told Lord Somerford, "and I have no other family."

"Perhaps Mrs. Dove-Lyon will have an idea."

Dorcas did not want to depend on Mrs. Dove-Lyon, either, but at least the lady believed herself in Dorcas's debt. That made the imposition slightly easier to bear.

At the Lyon's Den, Dorcas and the earl were escorted up several flights of stairs to a small but cozy sitting room, where Mrs. Dove-Lyon awaited. She was dressed for an afternoon at home, in rich black silk brocade, with a heavy veil over her face.

Stephen hid his face in Dorcas's skirt. Mrs. Dove-Lyon invited Dorcas and Lord Somerford to sit. Stephen climbed onto Dorcas's knee and reclined against her, from which safe place he regarded Mrs. Dove-Lyon with wide eyes—eyes that frequently drifted to the tea things set out on the table, and particularly the plate of biscuits.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon poured them each a cup of tea. "And one for Master Stephen," she said. Stephen sat up at that and watched her half fill a china cup with milk and add a splash of tea.

"There is a chair for Stephen by the hearth," the lady told Dorcas, "and here is a plate of chocolate biscuits for him to enjoy." Surprisingly—or perhaps not so surprisingly—Mrs. Dove-Lyon seemed to understand how to manipulate children as easily as she managed the men and women of the ton. With his fear of the strange lady forgotten, Stephen took the seat he was offered and proceeded to enjoy the treat. Dorcas wished she'd been able to provide it for him herself but told herself to be grateful no matter how it came about. Instead, she enjoyed the sight of her son's expression at his first taste of chocolate.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon returned her attention to the adults in the room. "I trust you had no trouble?" Lord Somerford explained that Dorcas and Stephen had been kept from the cells by a sympathetic constable and that they had been released on his recognizance. "They will need somewhere to stay while we look for witnesses to confirm Mrs. Anderson's account of how they came by the apple," he said. "She has two rooms in a boarding house on Derby Street, and I cannot think them secure against intruders should Seward, who is to blame for her arrest, decide to make further trouble for her."

"Lord Augustus Seward," Mrs. Dove-Lyon commented. "He is the one who had you arrested, you said in your note. Do you know why?"

"He is my brother-in-law," Dorcas explained. "My first husband's brother. The family never approved of Lord Vespasian's marriage to me. But I do not understand why Augustus has decided to persecute me like this. My existence cannot be of any consequence to him, surely?"

Mrs. Dove-Lyon's face could not be seen through the veil, but the way she tipped her head to one side suggested she was thinking. After a moment, she said, "I shall see what I can discover, Mrs. Anderson. In the meanwhile, I suggest you and your son stay with me, in my apartment on the top floor of the Lyon's Den. I have more than enough room. I will instruct my housekeeper to set up a bedroom and a sitting room for you and young Master Stephen."

Lord Somerford thought that, too, was ineligible, though he stumbled over explaining precisely why. "The gaming, the men, the—er—other activities…"

Other activities? It was Lord Somerford's embarrassment that gave her the clue. Oh. Those sorts of activities.

"I have a private entry, Lord Somerford. Mrs. Anderson and her son shall be perfectly safe in my private apartment. From both danger and embarrassment." Some level of amusement hummed in Mrs. Dove-Lyon's voice. "And," she added, "Lord Augustus Seward was banned from these premises some time ago. He will not be able to bother you in any way, Mrs. Anderson."

Dorcas was not certain whether she appreciated Lord Somerford's concern for her sensibilities or found it confining. It was ridiculous in either case. Beyond ridiculous. "Lord Somerford, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I did follow the drum for several years. There is little I could see that would embarrass me. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I shall only accept your offer if you do not believe Stephen and I will be in your way."

The earl was not pleased, Dorcas could tell, but he offered no further objections. "That is settled then. Mrs. Anderson, may I offer my escort to collect those of your belongings you need for your stay?"

"First," said Mrs. Dove-Lyons, "I shall show Mrs. Anderson the rooms in question, and perhaps Master Stephen might be persuaded to stay with my servants while Mrs. Anderson goes to her rooms. Derby Street is not far, so you will not be gone long, Mrs. Anderson. Lord Somerford, I shall have my servants bring you something to drink while you wait."

Stephen liked the rooms to which they were shown, and so did Dorcas. She had never slept in such richly-appointed rooms, except when she and Ves had visited the Duke of Kempbury, Ves's half-brother, at his London townhouse after their runaway marriage. Kempbury had been away from town, so they instead had had to deal with the Duchess of Kempbury, Ves's mother. And that had been a grim and sober visit, with both the duchess and Ves coldly furious and Dorcas doing her best to sink into the wainscoting and become invisible.

When she'd visited the same townhouse after Noah died and she and Stephen returned to England, the duke was not at home again. Only Ves's mother, the duchess. Dorcas had been roundly abused and rejected. She did not try again. The one thing that Ves and Augustus had ever agreed upon was that the Duke of Kempbury was cold, arrogant, and heartless.

"Sweetheart, we shall be staying here for a few days, with Mrs. Dove-Lyon," she explained to her son. "I am just going to our rooms to fetch some clothes for you and me, and my sewing."

"And Sharpie," Stephen reminded her. Sharpie was a cloth doll, dressed like a rifleman, that Dorcas had made for the little boy when he was a baby. Noah had named him, saying he looked as if he had a sharp eye, and would hit any target at which he aimed.

"And Sharpie," she agreed. Dear Noah. It had never been a love match, but in Noah, she had found a kindness she had never before known in a man. Her father had been a harsh taskmaster, and Ves had been exciting and carelessly generous, but could not have been described as kind.

She left Stephen with a maid and several wooden puzzles, which had his full focus. He waved an absent goodbye when she told him she was going. "Get Sharpie, please," he said again.

Lord Somerford stood when she entered as if she was still the lady she had been rather than the poor seamstress she had become. "We shall take the carriage, Mrs. Anderson, so you may bring anything you wish."

Dorcas stifled a laugh. As if she owned enough possessions to require a carriage!