Chapter Three
S itting in a comfortable chair in The Lyon’s Den, made uncomfortable by his brooding thoughts, Marcus sipped Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s excellent port while staring at the painting of a happy couple frolicking in a bucolic wood and contemplated throwing himself into the Thames. He’d made matters worse, as he was wont to do with anything save business. And now he didn’t know what to do.
At least he’d gotten to meet Lady Joanna, dance with her, talk with her, which was more than he’d ever had a right to hope for, considering his upbringing. And it had been glorious. Like holding a dream in his arms. He could remember every moment of that dance, and even though they had only held hands, Marcus could feel the warmth of her even now. If he closed his eyes he could just persuade himself he was right beside her, that if he opened his eyes she would be right here.
Marcus sighed, the groan coming up from his very soul. Because now there was the real possibility he would never see her again. Lord Longford might be so furious, he could very well take his sister back to his estate in Middlesex and forbid her to leave until she married. Not the fate he’d wish for Lady Joanna, unless she married him, of course. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening, though.
“I’ve seen gargoyles with pleasanter expressions, Marcus.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon bustled into her office, where she’d sent him half an hour ago while she attended to some pressing business. “Perhaps another glass of port will—”
“I could drink an ocean of spirits tonight, Mrs. D-L and it wouldn’t matter a tinker’s damn. I’ve hoisted myself with my own petard, so to speak. And there’s no undoing it.” Marcus drained his second glass and reached for the decanter again.
“If you truly believed that, Marcus, you wouldn’t be here.” The black-veiled figure shook her head and took her accustomed seat behind her desk. “You’d be off somewhere doing yourself a mischief, or brawling with some poor, unsuspecting bloke who crossed your path at the wrong time.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat at attention, peering at him most likely, although the veil completely obscured her face. Over the years, however, Marcus had become rather astute at judging the expressions behind the black lace. “So tell me how I may be of service to you.”
“By making a match between me and Lady Joanna Longford.” Even the sound of the words as he spoke them was ludicrous.
“Ah, Lord Longford’s sister.” Mrs. D-L tapped her finger on the polished desk. “You might have stood a better chance before he married a woman as rich as Prinny. He was desperately in need of funds last October.”
“Trust me, I know.” Marcus squeezed the cut glass tumbler of port until the hobnail pattern dug into his palm. “I was the reason.”
“Indeed.” The lady’s head tilted slightly to the side, as if studying him anew. “I wondered at his lordship’s vigorous renewed interest in Miss Edgerton. He’d seemed so adamantly set against her when I first brought them together.”
“The threat of financial ruin will motivate many a man to desperate measures.” That had been his first folly. Trying to extort Lord Longford into allowing him to marry Lady Joanna had been a grave miscalculation on his part. Of course, he’d had no idea of Miss Edgerton’s involvement with Longford at the time. Her massive inheritance had thwarted Marcus’s all-but-sure victory. And as no man liked being threatened with expulsion from his ancestral home if he would not allow his sister to marry a scoundrel, Longford had made it absolutely clear that Marcus was to cease his pursuit of Lady Joanna because they’d be serving Gunter’s ices in hell before his lordship would allow the marriage.
“Lord Longford is a stickler for decorum, Marcus. He’s of the old school that holds that breeding is a far more valuable asset than gold or intelligence.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat back in her chair, her slumped shoulders as good as a glance of pity. “Unfortunate that you possess ample quantities of the latter two resources and none of the first.”
“It would seem that way.” Marcus leaned his head on his hand, contemplating a third glass of the port. What did it matter now if he drank himself into oblivion? “Longford himself said as much in October, when I pleaded with him to let me court her. I begged him, offered to sell of my gaming hells and The Dandy, buy an estate and move Lady Joanna to the country to live a quiet, respectable life. That’s when he called me a mongrel and asked if I’d breed a thoroughbred horse to a crossbreed.”
The comment had rankled Marcus for days. A man couldn’t help his antecedents. What should count the most was what a man was able to do with himself in the here and now. Ancestry aside, Marcus would pit himself against Longford—and most of the other gentlemen of the ton as well—for strength, wit, and shrewdness any day of the week. How else could he have risen from his wretched poverty to the incredible wealth he now possessed?
“I believe such breedings strengthen the bloodlines in many respects, don’t they?” The dark figure opposite him leaned toward him.
“Another argument I put forward that Longford shot down just as quickly.” Marcus slumped in the chair, his hand knocking the tumbler dangerously close to the edge of the desk. “He is adamant that I have no chance with her whatsoever.”
“And what does Lady Joanna have to say about the matter?”
Marcus sighed deeply. “I have no idea. Lord Longford has not, to my knowledge, allowed her a say in the proceedings.”
“Have you not spoken to her at all, then?” The inquisitive tilt to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s head told him she suspected he had.
“Not until tonight. I managed to dance with her once at Lady Hamilton’s ball before her brother put a stop to it.” But those precious minutes had been the most sublime of his life. He’d risk it all again for those fleeting moments with her.
“Marcus, I see you must start from the beginning.” The lady sat back in her chair and tugged on a bellpull. “When did you first meet Lady Joanna?”
“This evening.” Marcus cringed at the sound of the words. Mrs. Dove-Lyon would take him for a fool, make no mistake.
“You met her this evening, but you tried to extort a promise of marriage from her brother more than six months ago?” The reproach in her voice made Marcus sigh again. He’d best come clean to Mrs. D-L.
“I hadn’t met her formally until this evening when I persuaded Lady Hamilton to do the honors. But I’d seen Lady Joanna almost a year ago—at a garden party given by Lord and Lady Braeton.” He could close his eyes and the manicured lawn rose before him, the fragrance of newly mown grass, the cheerful chatter of the guests milling around the earl’s ancestral property in Sussex all as vivid as though he once again stood in the hot sun, stunned speechless by his first sight of Lady Joanna.
“The Braetons invited you?” The doubt in her voice was almost palpable.
“Of course not. I’d never met Braeton before that day. However, Lord Carberry had persuaded me to accompany him to the party, to keep him from making an utter fool of himself with Lady Mary Carstairs.” Instead, Marcus had landed himself in a hornet’s nest of hurt.
“Go on.” The sharp command made him flinch.
“We had been there around a half an hour, long enough for Carberry to be soundly rebuffed by Lady Mary, when I heard laughter behind me, the sweetest voice I’d ever heard.” The way he imagined an angel would sound. “I turned around and saw a young lady, a mere slip of a girl, in a pink sprigged gown, playing croquet. She’d just hit the final peg and stood there giggling as the rest of the players raced to catch her up. There was something about the pure joy in her face…” Marcus’s knees had gone weak, and he’d feared he’d drop to the ground. All he could do was stare at the lady, his whole world turned upside down in an instant.
“Some people say there’s no such thing as love at first sight.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon shook her head. “I call those people fools.” She cocked her head. “Why didn’t you beg an introduction then?”
“I did. Carberry offered. He knew Longford and his sister, even though she wasn’t out yet. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was…afraid.” Fear had paralyzed him at the mere thought of speaking to her.
“Of what?”
Memory of his cowardice that day still sickened him so much Marcus had to force the words out. “That I wouldn’t be able to say the right words. That I’d make a damned fool of myself so she’d never want to speak to me again.”
The lady sat silent, as though he’d stunned her. When she finally spoke, it was with a softness he’d rarely heard from her. “That doesn’t sound much like the Marcus Dandridge I know.”
He hung his head. “It’s not. I don’t know what came over me. There was so much at stake and I wasn’t prepared. I wanted to make the best impression on her that I could.”
“So instead you tried to extort her brother into letting you marry her?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s razor-honed voice had returned. “Really, Marcus, what were you thinking?”
“That sharp dealing was likely the only way I’d ever be able to get her brother to agree to the marriage.” The ploy had been born of desperation, not having been able to think of any other way to force Longford’s hand. Given his history of unsavory business deals and lack of family connections, Marcus had had no illusions about his chances. So when he’d learned of the earl’s financial woes, the scheme had immediately presented itself to him and he’d acted impulsively, without considering the consequences should he fail to win the day. “I made a miscalculation, for which I am paying the highest price.”
“Which leads us to your conduct tonight.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon leaned forward on her desk. “What did you do that has brought you to me?”
With a sigh as deep as the ocean, Marcus launched into a detailed account of the debacle at Lady Hamilton’s ball. When he’d finished with this long walk to The Lyon’s Den, Marcus sat back, wishing the bottle of port was full again. “So I am left without any options.”
“I can think of several, Marcus, the first of them being the most sensible. Forget your feelings for Lady Joanna, find another woman who would be happy to return your affections, and settle down to a life of respectability.” The dark figure leaned back in her chair, her tone matter-of-fact.
That had, in fact, been a possibility Marcus had entertained in the six months since Lord Longford had forbade him to see Lady Joanna. There were any number of women, some of them ladies of the ton , who he understood would be eager to accept a proposal from him. His heart, however, would not let him entertain that notion for a moment. Not only would he be miserable for all of his days, but he would inflict an equal despair on the unsuspecting woman he married. And that he would not condone. He therefore feared if he was unable to marry Lady Joanna, he would likely remain a confirmed bachelor for the rest of his days. A hardship, both mentally and physically, but less of one than marrying a woman he did not love. “All things being equal, I will pass on that option, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“Yes, I somehow suspected that would be the case.” The smile in her voice told Marcus she was still on his side in this. “And you are certain Lord Longford cannot be persuaded?”
“He called me a mongrel, ma’am. I somehow think he cannot be persuaded.” This was getting him nowhere. Marcus rose. “I am sorry to have trespassed on your time, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. You were my final hope that something could be done, but I believe this match is beyond your even powers to achieve.”
“Sit down, Marcus. For a gambler, you have the worst patience I have ever seen.” The draped figure nodded at him and he sank slowly back down in his chair. “Now tell me, how much ready cash can you put your hands on in the next week or so?”
Wary for the first time, Marcus did a swift calculation. “Five thousand by the end of this week. If more is required, I believe I can call in some gentlemen’s vowels and raise a like sum the week following.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What do you need this money for, ma’am?”
“Oh, I do not need that much, Marcus. Only my normal fee. The rest is to help you buy a precious commodity: respectability.” She rose, bringing him to his feet again. “Are you willing to spend a fortune to gain paradise?”
“Yes.” He spoke the word without thought. He’d give every cent he possessed in order to make Lady Joanna his wife. Marcus only hoped he wasn’t going to need to sell his soul to do it.
Not that that was a deal breaker.
“What do you need me to do?”