Page 41 of The Lyon’s Paw

“You did, sir, but the caller is here on a personal matter.” The tension in the butler was almost palpable. “It is Lord Longford, sir.”

There was a pause during which Geoffrey could almost see the surprised look on Dandridge’s face. “Of course, Woodson. Show his lordship in.”

The butler reappeared, looking less tense. “This way, my lord.”

Geoffrey entered the elegantly appointed chamber—he’d seen gentlemen’s offices far less opulent—and marched straight up to the large, mahogany desk behind which Mr. Dandridge was now standing.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” He cocked his head. “What a surprise to see you here. Will you have a seat?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “Thank you, no. This won’t take long.”

“Then to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“This conversation will be anything but pleasant, Dandridge.” Geoffrey stared straight into the man’s face. He didn’t plan to mince words at all. “But it will be brief. I am here to tell you in no uncertain terms that you will never be allowed to court my sister Joanna.”

“I am not aware that I’ve been attempting to do so, my lord.” The insolent man’s voice held an undertone of mirth. “For the past several weeks, I’ve been here in London. Anyone you ask will tell you so. All that while your sister has been in the country at Longford.”

“How do you know that?” By God, was Dandridge having his home watched?

Dandridge shrugged. “Merely a surmise, my lord. She has not been in London or I would have heard of it.”

“What?” Incensed, Geoffrey balled his hand into a fist. “Are you having my sister followed?”

“Of course not.” Dandridge held up a hand and shook his head. “I simply meant that the gossip in London would have informed me of her presence. Therefore, I supposed she had remained at home in Middlesex.”

“Where she will stay, sir, under guard.” That was a step he’d already planned to implement when they came to London in the spring, using family and friends to keep an eye on his sister. Before he left London, however, he’d hire two men—preferably Bow Street Runners, or former Runners—to keep watch at Longford. “And you needn’t play the innocent with me, sir. I know you were watching my sister the day you tracked me to the oyster house.” Geoffrey took a step toward the scoundrel. “Do you deny it?”

“I do not, my lord.” Again he shrugged, but his nonchalance was false. “However, one may see a person on the street without being said to be ‘watching’ them.”

“That is not how the encounter was described to me.” With difficulty, Geoffrey reined in his anger. “However, the point I wish to make, sir, is that you must stop entertaining thoughts of having an association of any sort with my sister. They will come to nothing, I promise you.”

“Why?”

Geoffrey blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why will you not allow my suit to Lady Joanna? I have wealth enough to enable me to take care for the lady for all of her life.” He paused, as if gathering strength. “And though you obviously do not believe it true, I bear the lady nothing but the utmost respect and affection. I,” another pause and he swallowed, “I believe I could make her happy.”

Geoffrey bit back the laugh that almost leaped from his mouth. “You think you could make her happy? Dandridge, I made the observation before you should be a comic on the stage.” He shook his head. Perhaps, against all Geoffrey believed, Dandridge truly did not understand what he was saying. “Dandridge, you have money enough, that is true. In creature comforts you could amply provide for a wife, and depending on the woman and your disposition you might even make her happy. But something that you will never have, no matter your fortune or intentions is breeding.”

The gambler behind the desk blinked, as though he hadn’t believed Geoffrey would play that vital card.

“Mine and my sisters’ lineage goes back before the knights of the Crusades. Our title was conferred not long after William the Conqueror arrived. We have been considered nobility for hundreds of years. Don’t you think my sister deserves a husband who is a gentleman, with a lineage more worthy than that of a dock worker?”

Dandridge looked as though Geoffrey had hit him below the belt. But as distasteful as his words might be, they were nothing but truth. One did not breed a thoroughbred to a mongrel.

“I grant you my family is of the humblest of beginnings.” His jaw clenched. “However, my family has made an honest living, and not one person who knows them will gainsay that.” Dandridge studied Geoffrey’ face, calculating the odds perhaps of touching his heart. “When I was young, I discovered I had a head for numbers and cards. Fate was kind to me in that respect. I have taken a talent for calculating odds and turned it into one of the most profitable gambling empires in England. But I knew that wasn’t enough. I needed more.”

“And you certainly have gotten it, sir. I will not deny it.”

“No, not more money.” Dandridge sat down at last and stared up at Geoffrey. “I’ve always wanted more out of life than cards and dice. So I began to better myself. I engaged a tutor, an elocution master, a man to teach me the social niceties, a dancing master. I swore I would receive the same education the young gentlemen who came in to line my pockets had. And I have done that. I will not be an embarrassment to anyone at a social engagement.”

That bit of information answered Geoffrey’s nagging question about why Dandridge sounded so refined when he came from such an inferior background. It always came back to the same problem, though Dandridge could not or refused to see it. “Dandridge, do you keep a stable?”

“I do, my lord.” The man’s ears pricked up, wary now with the innocuous change of subject.

“Then tell me, would you breed one of your thoroughbred horses to a mongrel?” Geoffrey’s words had the effect of a blow below the belt, though he’d not meant the remark as an insult. Merely truth.

Dandridge’s face drained of color, his hands clenching into tight fists. After a moment, slowly, his hands unfurled, and he drew a deep breath. “Most would not, no. But those who do condone such a thing find the offspring stronger, more resilient, and intelligent, my lord.” He met Geoffrey’s gaze dead on. “An infusion of new blood often makes the line itself better for it.”