Chapter Five
M arcus followed Lord Braeton down the corridor to a comfortable study, furnished in a rustic style with older leather chairs, warm wood paneling, and an impressive series of deer heads lined up on the walls around the room. He hoped his own head would not be joining those staring at him with pitying eyes. “You have a wonderful property here, my lord. I envy you such a retreat from the world.”
“Save your pleasantries, Dandridge.” Lord Braeton stomped over to a sideboard and splashed what looked to be an excellent cognac into a crystal glass and tossed it down his throat. “What the devil are you doing here under a false name? How dare you lie to my wife?”
“I admit I did not give her my whole name. James is my middle name. I assumed it as my last name when I donated to your wife’s charity because I didn’t wish the donation to be rejected.” Not the whole reason for the subterfuge, but it was one of them. “My reputation has made me persona non grata in some circles. I hoped by using a name other than Dandridge, that would avoid a problem.”
“And why did you decide out of the blue to make a donation to Lady Braeton’s charity?” Voice hard, Lord Braeton’s piercing gaze never left Marcus’s face.
“It was the suggestion of a mutual friend, my lord.”
“What mutual friend could we have, Dandridge?”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
Lord Braeton’s brows shot up.
“She knows of my desire to become more respectable, so my family will hopefully find their paths smoother in the world than mine was.” Marcus allowed a small smile to play across his lips. “I did Mrs. Dove-Lyon a great service several years ago and she was eager to repay the favor by helping me attempt to become a proper gentleman.”
“Can’t be done, Dandridge.” Lord Braeton shook his head. “A gentleman’s a gentleman due to his breeding.” He eyed Marcus skeptically. “Unless you’re telling me you’re not the son of a dock worker.”
“Actually, I’m not.”
His lordship’s hand froze in the act of taking a sip of brandy and he stared at Marcus. “Is that so?”
“My father held a tenancy from the Newell family at Little Croft Manor near Sudbury in Suffolk. We lived on the tenant farm until I was about ten years old. My father was killed when a tree fell on him during a storm.” Did he see a flicker of sympathy in the earl’s unfathomable eyes? “My mother tried to keep the tenancy herself, but I was only a boy and she was increasing with my youngest sister at the time. When she lost the farm, we moved to London where she eventually married Mr. Parker, a dock worker.”
“A tenant farmer may be a rung or two above Mr. Parker’s occupation, Dandridge, however either one is a far cry from the status of a true gentleman.” Lord Braeton upended his glass and drained it.
“That I know very well, my lord. I have had that very fact pointed out to me on numerous occasions.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon herself had tried to persuade him it was folly to attempt such a transformation, to which he had stubbornly replied that he knew what he was doing. But did he? His wealth was substantial, but it would likely never gain him entry to the respectable houses he was determined would be opened to him and his brothers and sisters. He could help his brothers financially and likely they’d land on their feet. Anthony, the next oldest, was already through university and had made some good social ties there. His sisters, Aurora and Lavinia, however, would need to come out in Society once they were of age. That wouldn’t happen unless he found a way to change his family’s status. Once he paved the way, with a solid connection to a noble house, the others should have much less trouble. If only he could find a way to marry Lady Joanna. “Still, it hurts no one if I try to act like a gentleman, with a gentleman’s sensibilities and generosity. At least, Lady Braeton was very appreciative when I became a patron of the orphanage.”
“Giving to charity isn’t the only thing makes the measure of a gentleman, Dandridge. A gentleman’s income accrues from land. No man who is truly a gentleman does manual labor.” Braeton watched him, keen as a hawk, perhaps for his next argument.
“Although I suspect centuries ago, at least some men from humbler means amassed enough wealth to buy a manor house—or marry into a family with one if we are being honest—and over time he became a gentleman by virtue of his wealthy position, not because he was descended from a medieval knight.”
Braeton’s face turned red. Before embarking on his trek to Scotland, Marcus had taken the precaution of doing some investigating about Lord Braeton’s ancestry.
His lordship sputtered, the brandy wasted as it cascaded down over his chin.
“In any case, I am more than willing to do whatever it takes to prove that I am a gentleman by actions and temperament, if not by birth. I’ve bettered myself already with tutors who have instructed me in the social graces and a more cultured way of speaking.” He’d been a quick learner, perhaps because he wanted so much to be like the men he served every night at The Dandy. “I’ve even started the process of selling my gaming establishments, with the intent of investing in a manor house and lands that would bring in sufficient income of a more genteel nature.”
Braeton stared at him across the desk, then rose and strode to the sideboard once more. “You sound serious about putting your past behind you, Dandridge. I cannot fault a man for trying to make a better life for himself.” He poured another splash of the brandy into his glass and then poured a like amount into a second one. “From the look Lady Joanna gave me, I assume she knows your true identity.”
“We met and danced at Lady Hamilton’s ball in May.” Lord Braeton’s mild manner could mean that his friend, Lord Longford, had not informed him of the debacle at the ball, but this opening should give him the opportunity to dismiss Marcus from the lodge if he had. “I was rather surprised when she did not give me away to Lady Braeton.”
“She is a formidable young lady with a mind of her own.” Braeton turned and handed him the brandy, his face wiped of all expression. “Perhaps she wished to find out the explanation for your subterfuge before she revealed who you are.”
“Then I will be certain to inform her of it at dinner.” Marcus tossed the cognac down his throat, relishing the burn but all the while keenly listening for Braeton’s next words. Would he in fact be staying for the evening meal?
“See that you do, Dandridge. As a guest here you will be given due respect, however, know that you skate on thin ice.” The earl’s gaze had turned hard. “Lady Joanna is my friend and more importantly my best friend’s sister. As such, I will not hesitate to protect her from anyone making inappropriate advances or attempting to upset her in any way.”
“You need have no worry on that account, my lord. I would never, under any circumstances, do anything that would be detrimental to Lady Joanna’s health or happiness.” He hoped Lord Braeton took his words at their face value, for they were nothing but the truth from his heart.
“Very well then. You will make your apology to my wife for your misrepresentation of yourself before we gather for dinner, and I will consider the matter ended.” The earl set his glass down on the desk.
“Thank you, my lord. I will find Lady Braeton immediately and make my confession and contrition known to her.” Marcus rose and set his glass down as well. This interview had gone much better than he’d ever expected. He turned to go, relieved that a major hurdle had been cleared.
“He will not allow her to marry you, you know.”
Marcus spun back around to find Lord Braeton staring at him calmly, as if unaware of the cannonball he’d just lobbed at Marcus’s heart. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lord Longford. He’s a high stickler when it comes to his family lineage. I doubt there’s any argument you can put forth that will make him forget your lack of breeding.” Braeton shrugged. “I thought it kindest to warn you of that now.”
“And why would you think I needed such a warning, my lord?” Marcus’s mantle of cool disinterest—the one that had been instrumental in winning an untold number of card games—descended like a steel trap. “I met Lady Joanna once and while we enjoyed a dance together, that would scarcely be enough to infer that I wished to marry her.”
A smile puckered Lord Braeton’s mouth. “Perhaps not, however when you looked at her in the drawing room just now, your face spoke volumes about your intentions. I’ve heard you’re inscrutable when you play cards, Dandridge. No player can tell your hand by looking at your face.” Braeton shook his head. “The same cannot be said when you gaze at Lady Joanna.”
Marcus sighed. There were some things one simply could not control. “All I wish is a chance to speak with her, to further our acquaintance. To see if she wishes the same with me. If she does not, I will leave and there is the end to it.”
“I fear there will be an end to it whether the lady is interested in furthering your acquaintance or not. She cannot marry without her brother’s permission for the next three years.”
Of course, the earl wasn’t thinking perhaps that permission was needed if the lady’s dowry were of a concern, which in this case it certainly wasn’t. All Marcus had to do was convince her to marry him. And they were also very conveniently situated in Scotland at present…
“That is true, my lord, however let us not put the cart before the horse.” Marcus presented his most engaging smile. “Allow me to further our acquaintanceship if possible and we will see where we stand at the end of the week.”
Lord Braeton rose and extended his hand. “You will give me your word you will attempt nothing beyond the bounds of the prescribed activities of courtship?”
“I do, my lord.” He grasped the offered hand and shook it. “I will behave as any gentleman would when courting a young lady whose affection he seeks.”
“Very well.” His lordship took his seat once more. “I will write to Lord Longford today and inform him of your suit. I do not hold out much hope for you, Dandridge, but I have no objection to you courting Lady Joanna as long as the boundaries of courtship are not breached.”
The sickening drop in the pit of Marcus’s stomach felt as though he’d plummeted through the trap of the gallows and was merely waiting for the noose to tighten around his neck. “Very good, my lord.” God, he hoped his countenance didn’t give away his panic now. He managed to bow, rather stiffly, and saunter out of the study instead of the full-fledged rout he’d have preferred to take.
Once he entered the corridor, he quickened his pace toward the drawing room in search of his hostess to render his apology. His courtship of Lady Joanna was just as doomed here as it had been in London. The only shred of hope left to him now was that he could woo the lady and bring her affections to fruition before Lord Longford appeared and pounded him into the cold Scottish ground.