Page 11 of The Dandy Lyon

“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.