Chapter Six
“I s this your first Glorious Twelfth here in Scotland, Lady Joanna?” Lord Wisbech sounded vaguely interested in her answer, although Joanna believed he was completely bored with her. And they weren’t even through the soup yet.
“Oh, no, my lord.” She smiled and lifted her spoon, filled with the creamy white soup. “I have been coming to Thorncroft ever since I was in leading strings. My family and the Braetons have been close friends for hundreds of years.”
The shocked look on the gentleman’s face made her want to giggle. Lord Wisbech had been an absolute bore at every entertainment she’d seen him at during the summer. If he were the type of suitor Geoffrey wished her to marry, she’d remain a spinster all her days. She glanced at her other dinner partner, Sir Henry Mears, and wished fervently it was time to turn. Sir Henry was a much more interesting conversationalist, but unfortunately was of a lower rank and therefore on her left side. She’d have to endure Lord Wisbech for several more dishes before she could engage Sir Henry about his latest experiments with livestock.
In truth, Joanna would prefer to be able to speak to Mr. Dandridge. She’d not had a chance to talk to him since Thomas had led him away to his study. More than anything, she wanted to know what had transpired in that interview, although it must have gone well for there Mr. Dandridge sat, across the table from her, seeming very happy to converse with Lady Marchand. That lady appeared to enjoy Mr. Dandridge’s company very much as she was laughing and flirting shamelessly with the gentleman, despite her husband’s presence just two places down from her.
Joanna sniffed and turned back to her companion. “How many birds do you think you’ll bag tomorrow, my lord? Are you a good shot?”
“Tolerable, I’d say, Lady Joanna.” The smile on Lord Wisbech’s face, however, said he thought his talents much more than tolerable. “I hope to acquit myself with a goodly count.”
“I’ve always regretted that ladies are not allowed to shoot.” Joanna sent Lord Wisbech a sideways glance, wishing to judge his reaction. She’d never really considered the idea of a lady shooting—it must be the nosiest activity ever devised—still she thought it might be fun to try to get a rise out of her partner.
By the look of horror on his lordship’s face, Joanna concluded he would certainly not be in favor of such a change to the party.
“Have ladies shooting on the Glorious Twelfth?” He gazed at her as though she might sprout horns. “Absolute madness to even entertain such an idea, Lady Joanna. No lady of quality would wish to ruin her gown in so unseemly a manner.”
“Well, I’d assume a lady would, as usual, dress appropriately for the occasion. Something like a riding habit, perhaps, without the long skirt trailing behind.” Joanna allowed herself to muse about a shooting costume, simply to see how outraged she could make Lord Wisbech. “In a nice tweed to match the gentlemen, perhaps. That would wear well and not show stains much at all.”
“Lady Joanna.” Wisbech’s voice rose above the rest of the table chatter. “Surely you do not believe a lady should traipse about the moors with a gun in her hands, no matter what she was wearing.”
Joanna glanced around at the hushed crowd, every eye now on her. Including Mr. Dandridge’s.
“What have you said now, Lady Joanna?” Thomas called out from his end of the table, his voice good-humored. “I can always count on you for some lively conversation at my dinner table.”
“Merely a jest with Lord Wisbech, my lord. I’m afraid I was having him on a bit.” She turned her gaze back to her partner to find his furious face the color of ochre. “My pardon, my lord.” She turned on all the charm she could muster. “It was all in fun.”
“I don’t think I’d call it that, my lady.” The irritated lord grabbed his wine glass and drained it. “More wine if you please,” he called to a nearby footman.
Joanna slid her gaze back to her plate and picked up her spoon. It would be a shame to let the delicious soup go to waste just because Lord Wisbech was being a pouty fool. She raised the spoon to her lips and glanced across the table to find Mr. Dandridge still staring at her. His mouth puckered as he tried to stifle a grin, then he turned to his partner and resumed his conversation.
Mollified to find someone at least thought her amusing, Joanna set to finishing the course with gusto. At least she assumed she need not worry about having to refuse a proposal from Lord Wisbech, as she’d wager her dowry none would likely be forthcoming from his lordship now. She ventured another look across the table to unexpectedly find Mr. Dandridge’s eager gaze pinning her to her seat.
A flow of heat coursed through her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, warming her until her cheeks stung with fire. Joanna quickly dropped her gaze back to her soup, her appetite suddenly fled as her stomach fluttered. Lord Wisbech might not ask for her hand—no great loss that—but as sure as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow, Mr. Dandridge would find a way to make his declaration to her before the week was out. With that in mind, perhaps she should begin to frame an answer for him.
“Grant, my gamekeeper, promises good weather for tomorrow’s shoot,” Lord Braeton announced as soon as the ladies had retired to the drawing room. He finished pouring out libations for all the gentlemen then lifted his tumbler in salute. “Let us raise our glasses to the Glorious Twelfth, gentlemen and to an excellent day of shooting on the morrow.”
Marcus dutifully raised his glass along with the rest of the guests, taking a generous swallow of the excellent brandy and savoring it as it made its way to his comfortably full stomach. He’d have to give Lord Braeton his due. The man knew how to set a table and kept the best vintages in his cellars. The dinner they had just enjoyed had been outstanding—he must make a note to change his cook both at home and at The Dandy to ones more skilled—and he planned to send his compliments to Braeton’s cook as soon as he could. The company of guests, however, was not particularly to his taste.
Several of the older gentlemen were known to him from The Dandy. He’d already spoken to Lord Castlereigh and Lord Moten. They treated him with a deference born of his generosity to them in the past when they’d needed credit extended to them while at the tables, and he’d obliged them eagerly. Marcus had always believed in garnering good will and saving it up for a rainy day. And with the thunderclouds gathering over him in droves these days, he was glad to have an umbrella of sorts at hand.
The younger gentlemen, and there were more than enough of those, were a different ilk. He’d learned, via some judicious eavesdropping, that they had been invited specifically in order to give Lady Joanna an additional chance to meet and hopefully agree to marry an eligible parti . The information had actually given Marcus a bright spot of hope. It meant the lady, despite her popularity during the Season, had not met a gentleman she deemed worthy enough to wed. Or if she’d met him, she hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know him well enough.
No one who knew Marcus would ever call him an optimist, however in this one instance, he had to hope with every fiber of his being that that was, in fact, the case. That Lady Joanna had met him, found him interesting, but due to her brother’s command, hadn’t been allowed to deepen their acquaintanceship. And now, in the face of almost a dozen rivals, he clung to that hope.
“Mr. Dandridge, will you acquit yourself well tomorrow, do you suppose?” Mr. Lawrence Paine had come up to him while Marcus had been musing about Lady Joanna. Mr. Paine had been to The Dandy several times with varying success. “I didn’t know you shot, sir.”
With a shrug, Marcus tried to give the impression he was reluctant to discuss his prowess with a fowling piece. “I have had the occasion to shoot, in the past, Mr. Paine. Not, I am sure, as often nor as well as you, however.”
Paine grinned, his demeaner immediately more jovial, as Marcus had intended. “It’s a ripping sport, isn’t it? Always excited for the Glorious Twelfth, don’t you know. This is the second year Lord Braeton’s asked me to the lodge. The best shooting I’ve ever done has been here.”
“I am quite looking forward to it, myself.” Marcus smiled and sipped his brandy, sizing Paine up as part of his competition. For Lady Joanna, of course. The bloody birds could go hang so long as he could impress her before the week’s end. The gentleman was reasonably attractive, with a good height and build. On the other hand, Paine’s tailor needed to be spoken to sharply as his jacket did not have the best fit and his trousers were about a quarter inch too long, giving the gentleman a sloppy, rather relaxed look. Marcus would never set foot outside his room looking so disheveled.
“Gentlemen, we should not keep the ladies waiting any longer.” Braeton knocked back the remains of his glass and set it on the table. “We can continue our conversations on the morrow on the way to the shoot.”
The footman opened the door and Braeton led them down the corridor toward the drawing room. Marcus hung back, wanting to be the last one out of the dining room. He preferred to watch over a crowd, as he always did at the club, constantly assessing the situation in order to know what action to take when something inevitably went wrong. He was good at reading people, and he hoped that innate talent would stand him in good stead with these gentlemen as it did with the common folk he’d grown up with.
By the time he arrived in the drawing room, the older gentlemen had paired off with various ladies while the young ones had clustered around Lady Joanna so thickly, they had all but trapped her in the far corner of the room. Frowning, Marcus ignored his first instinct which was to march over to the gaggle of would-be suitors, wade through them, and snatch Lady Joanna away from their overpowering presence. Better perhaps to wait and see how the lady managed them on her own. However, if she did indeed need saving, he’d be close by.
By sheer dint of will, Marcus turned nonchalantly to the tea table, where cups and teapots had been laid. He busied himself with pouring out two cups of tea, all the while keeping an eye on the lady and biding his time.
“I’m surprised you do not have a wager amongst yourselves, gentlemen.” Lady Joanna’s lilting voice soared above the gravelly sound of her admirers. “Who will bring down the first grouse, who will bag the most birds.”
Marcus stood stirring his tea into which he’d added two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk, staring over the heads of the gentlemen directly at the lady.
“Who will bring down the biggest bird.” She glanced over at him and their eyes met.
For one heart stopping moment, gazing into those vivid blue eyes, Marcus felt a connection to Lady Joanna, something more powerful than ever before. It was almost as though he could hear the beating of her heart, feel her soft breath in his ear.
Her eyes widened and she jerked her gaze from him, but two hectic pink spots appeared on her cheeks. She turned her attention to Lord Tidworth, but Marcus could see she was imperceptibly shaking. Had she too felt that uncanny connection between them just now?
Heart thumping like a drum in a military parade, Marcus forced himself to take another sip of tea, his full attention still on Lady Joanna. She had continued to speak vivaciously to the gentlemen, moving her attention from Lord Tidworth to Mr. Carlton to Sir Anthony Squire in rapid succession. While switching her attention to each of those gentlemen, however, she would glance fleetingly over at him before straying back to the gentleman in question. The smile on her face, originally genuine, now held a sense of falseness about it, as though she’d grown tired of entertaining so many men. Her mouth had begun to droop, and a strain appeared at the corners of her eyes that had not been there a quarter of an hour ago.
Perhaps it was time for Marcus to step in.
He set his cup and saucer on the tea table and hastily dropped a single lump into the other cup he’d poured. Giving that cup a quick stir, Marcus continued to listen to the conversation, judged his moment, then picked up the saucer and headed for the little knot of gentlemen that showed no signs of unravelling. His height and build seemed to exude his intention for the sea of gentlemen parted swiftly and silently. Marcus continued forward, a grim set to his mouth, though none of the gentlemen made to stop his progress at all.
Only one fellow, a Mr. Newcastle, seemed not to divine Marcus’s presence. He’d gotten Lady Joanna’s ear and was avidly explaining the internal workings of a flintlock pistol—as if the lady would actually be interested in such things—and so was unaware of Marcus standing beside him, staring at him with daggers in his eyes until the lady shifted her attention from the treatise on firing mechanisms to the cup of tea in Marcus’s hand.
Slowly, with a gulp, Mr. Newcastle ground to a halt. Inch by inch, he turned his gaze upward to Marcus’s face and must have found the sight unnerving in the extreme, for he stumbled backward, running into Lord Wisbech and knocking him almost to the ground.
“Steady on, Newcastle.” The put-upon lord shoved his compatriot away and Newcastle staggered back toward Lady Joanna.
His patience at an end, Marcus grabbed Mr. Newcastle, and spun him neatly around until he faced the group of gentlemen. “I venture to say Lady Joanna is fatigued, gentlemen.” He presented her with the cup, from which not a drop had spilled, and she took it, a look of awe in her eyes.
Marcus had to fight not to let that singular look go to his head. He wanted her all to himself for a little while and so needed to keep his advantage. “May I escort you to the chaise before the fire, my lady? The air may be a bit fresher over there.”
The group had fallen silent. Marcus peered from one to the next, silently gaining consent to steal the prize away. When not one protest sounded, he offered Lady Joanna his arm and when she took it, swiftly led her across the room to the single seat before the fires. Once she was settled there, he drew another chair up and sat across from her, his back to the fireplace, his face in shadow, hers lit by the flickering flames. He took a moment to simply drink in her beauty.
“Do you always dispatch your competition so handily, Mr. Dandridge?” The lady smiled at him over her teacup.
“Yes, usually.”
Her dark brows rose briefly, almost as in an unvoiced chuckle. “Indeed, that does not surprise me. You seem to have a knack for getting what you want. Or attempting to do so.” She paused to sip her tea and her eyes widened. “This is exactly as I take it.” She cocked her head, her gaze sharpened. “How did you know?”
“I took note yesterday when Lady Braeton was serving your tea.” Marcus had taken note of everything about Lady Joanna from the moment he’d seen her last year. He could detail each gown he’d had the pleasure of watching her wear if given the chance. “I thought it knowledge that might enable me to serve you better at some later time.”
“How kind, sir.” There was doubt in her voice, but that was to be expected.
Lady Joanna was likely still wondering at his subterfuge of the persona of Mr. James. He must needs enlighten her about that and pray the deception did not turn her from him.
“I merely wish to provide you with every comfort within my power, my lady.”
“Your power seems far reaching where I’m concerned, Mr. Dandridge.” She leaned toward him and said in a loud stage whisper, “Or are we still to call you Mr. James?”
“No, my alias has been retired.” He chuckled, not taking is gaze from her. “I explained to Lady Braeton that I had made the donation under an assumed name to assure it would be accepted. Both she and Lord Braeton have forgiven the transgression.” He paused and glanced over at Lord Braeton, who was in fact staring at him and Lady Joanna with a perturbed look on his face. “Although I fear his lordship doesn’t approve of either my methods or my intentions. He has, however, agreed to me putting forth my suit to you.”
“Has he, indeed?” Lady Joanna craned her neck around to look at their host. “That is most astonishing, Mr. Dandridge, given the close friendship between Thomas and my brother.”
“I suspect the only reason he agreed is that your brother neglected to inform him of my two previous attempts to court you.” Marcus frowned. “Which I think odd, don’t you? I would have thought Lord Longford would have made provision with Lord Braeton to keep me away from you at all costs.”
“I’d agree with you, except my brother has been most distracted recently. He and my sister-in-law are expecting their first child any day now but two months ago, in the middle of the Season, Diana began to…have problems.” Lady Joanna blushed. “Suffice it to say, the London doctor had her confined to bed and as Geoffrey wished his heir to be born at Longford, we left Town immediately for Middlesex.”
“I pray she is delivered of a healthy son, my lady.” Marcus was sincere in this wish. He knew all too well of the perils of childbirth from his mother’s ordeals when he was young.
“Thank you.” The lady sipped her tea and her cheeks returned to their normal hue. “Although I do not think it would be wise to relay your respects when next I write to her.”
“Perhaps not.” Marcus cocked his head, a sudden thought occurring. “If I may be so bold as to ask, why are you not with your family at such an auspicious time?”
Lady Joanna sighed. “Because of you, I suspect.”
“I beg your pardon?” Confused, Marcus sat back in his seat.
“My brother wished me to marry this Season, to put me out of your reach, Mr. Dandridge.” She said this matter-of-factly, without a hint of malice, which would have endeared her to him he not already been besotted by her. “However, as my Season was cut short, Geoffrey arranged for me to come here to meet additional gentlemen who I might be inclined to fall in love with.”
“And have you, Lady Joanna?”
“Have I what, sir?”
“Found a gentleman to fall in love with.” Marcus held his breath.
She gazed at him carefully before replying, “That remains to be seen, sir.”
“I ask,” he tried his best to speak nonchalantly, “because I noticed you having a spirited conversation with Lord Wisbech over dinner.”
“Oh, yes, Lord Wisbech.” Lady Joanna giggled. “I’m afraid I was having him on rather, and he didn’t take it very well.”
“What did you say that so offended him?” Marcus was more than curious about their conversation, which he had marked even as he spoke attentively with Lady Marchand, all the while ignoring her blatant attempts to flirt with him. He’d learned early on to leave married women strictly alone. Why risk a duel or worse a knife in the back in a dark alley just for a dalliance with a woman who was no better than she should be—and often quite unremarkable in bed. When he needed a woman’s companionship, he was more than willing to pay handsomely for it.
“I suggested that ladies should be allowed to shoot if they desired to.” Lady Joanna sipped her tea, her gaze fixed firmly on his face. As though this were a test she was eager to discover if he could pass.
“Most gentlemen would be outraged at such a suggestion, my lady.” Marcus smiled, on firm footing at last. “Your brother included, I daresay. I, however, am not.”
“You see no reason ladies shouldn’t be allowed to shoot grouse?” The lady’s cup rattled into its saucer as she leaned toward him, astonishment all over her face.
“Certainly not. I would venture to suggest, however, that there are few ladies who would actually desire to traipse about the fields killing birds in huge quantities with only gentlemen for company.” Marcus could think of so many more pleasant ways to spend a day with a beautiful woman, but if Lady Joanna wished to shoot grouse, that told him something very interesting about her. Very interesting indeed.
“Perhaps not, but those who wish to do so should be allowed.” A peeved look passed over her pretty face. “I believe the gentlemen simply would be terribly embarrassed to be outgunned by a woman.”
Chuckling, Marcus nodded, delighted to have found a topic that revealed so much about the lady. “You are likely correct. There are few gentlemen who take it well when another man bags more birds than they do, much less a woman.” He paused, then met her gaze. “Would you join us tomorrow if Society allowed it?”
The lady shrugged. “I would have to learn how to shoot first, of course. I’ve never even held a gun in my life.”
“I could teach you, if you like.”
Her big blue eyes grew impossibly wider. “You would teach me how to shoot a rifle?”
“Well, I would begin by teaching you how to shoot a flintlock pistol. You’ve received such a thorough education on the internal workings from Mr. Newcastle, I think that would be the best course.” Marcus smiled at her confounded countenance. “Once you’re a proficient shot with the smaller weapon, we could move on to a larger one.”
“Are you having me on, Mr. Dandridge?” Lady Joanna knit her brows in a most charming way. “I find it hard to believe that you would offer such instruction so readily. It is not something any gentleman of my acquaintance would agree to do, I fear.”
“Perhaps then my not being a gentleman—at least by birth—will be helpful to you, my lady. I believe you quite capable of learning the skill.” Marcus sat back in the chair once more. He believed the lady capable of doing anything she set her mind to. “However, I will ask Lord Braeton’s permission before we proceed. In the absence of your brother, I must treat him as your guardian, and I promised him I would abide by his rules.”
“Oh, Thomas will not forbid you to teach me to shoot.” Lady Joanna’s face was sunny once more. “He is not nearly so high in the instep as Geoffrey.” She set her teacup down and leaned eagerly toward him, making Marcus’s heart beat so hard, it was painful. “Shall we begin my lessons tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is the shoot, my lady.” Marcus bit back a smile at her impatience. “But the next day I believe we can make a start. If his lordship agrees.”
“As I am certain he will.” The lady’s excitement was infectious to the point Marcus bitterly regretted that they could not begin the very next day.
Patience was not a virtue he cared to practice on a regular basis, but perhaps he could mitigate the blow somewhat. “Will you come to the shooting breakfast?”
“Oh, yes. It’s the only way we ladies can participate in the festivities of the Glorious Twelfth.” Lady Joanna made a perturbed face and Marcus bit back a laugh.
“Then may I request your company during the breakfast? I can begin to tell you what to expect in your lesson.” He was certain such an enticement could not be ignored.
“With pleasure, Mr. Dandridge.” Her eyes sparkled with a promise Marcus could scarcely believe. “It will be my absolute pleasure.”