Chapter Thirteen
“Thank you foragreeing to accompany me this evening,” Duncan said as they crossed the open area before the Lyon’s Den together. Without discussing their actions, Richard and Alexander Dutton flanked Duncan as they entered the gaming hell.
“Good evening, my lords,” Titan said with a bow. “If I might say so, sir, it is excellent to view you out and about, Lord Duncan.”
“Good evening, Titan,” Duncan said. “I do not believe I ever thanked you properly for the personal care you provided me the night of the shooting. If you ever require a favor from my family, do not hesitate to ask. I am your servant.”
“I was honored to be of service to you, my lord,” the man said with a small bow and a large smile. “Though you are likely better off with Mr. Rheem’s care, I was quite ill-struck not to be in a position to remove the bullet myself.” The man held up his maimed hand as part of his jest.
“At the time, I would have been thankful for your attempt,” Duncan said with a nod of approval.
Titan bowed again. “I am to tell you Mrs. Dove-Lyon is exceedingly glad to view your return to the Den.”
“If the lady would care to join us, my ‘sons’ and I would be joyous for her company,” Duncan said graciously.
“I will relay your sentiments, my lord,” Titan assured, “and your pleasure tonight.”
“If I know anything of Lords Orson and Marksman, a proper meal is our first requirement,” Duncan ordered.
“Permit me to have Theseus to show you the way. As it is Saturday, both the gentlemen’s smoking room and lounge are a bit loud and active. I pray they shan’t disturb you too much. Several bets are progressing simultaneously. I beg your tolerance.”
“We will be satisfied to permit the others their frivolity,” Duncan declared with a smile of goodwill.
Finally settled at their table, having endured multiple stops for a variety of gentlemen to greet Duncan and comment on his quick return to health, though Richard was well aware that a man of lesser fortitude and stubbornness, would still be in his bed, and some of them in their graves, they were able to discuss what was truly on their minds.
Once they were settled at their table, Marksman asked, “What did you and Theodora learn today?”
“Not as much as either of us would have liked,” Richard explained, leaning forward a bit so others within the room could not overhear him, “but, as I expected, the women with whom Lady Emma has associated of late are very loyal to her and are willing to ask questions and report back to either Theodora or me. One thing of significance we learned is someone has been sending Lady Emma messages. I do not yet know the nature of these messages, and none of the women repeated the contents of them to me or Theodora, but they seemed to think the man sending Lady Emma these notes meant her harm. At a minimum the women characterized them as ‘threatening.’”
“Demanding a ransom perhaps,” Marksman surmised.
“For what?” Duncan asked. “It is true that Lady Emma’s reticule is missing, but I cannot imagine her ladyship carrying more than a few coins upon her. Unless she required the services of a hackney, everything else she wished to purchase would be sent to an account with her father’s man of business to pay.”
“What of her mention of missing three of something?” Marksman asked. “Three gold coins? Three bracelets? Three ribbons? Three vials of smelling salts? What else might a lady carry in her reticule?”
“I doubt if someone would threaten to kill her for three vials of smelling salts,” Duncan said sarcastically. “Moreover, we do not know when the reticule was cut from her wrist. Was it an actual robbery or was the cloth removed to make her ladyship’s attack appear to be one?”
“All excellent questions,” Richard summarized. “Until Lady Emma can recall at least some of the details, we are casting our lines into a pond with no fish.”
“Speaking of fish,” Duncan warned, “our meal has arrived, as well as a few more lords, who are working their way towards our table. Let us hold the rest of our conversation regarding Lady Emma until our coach ride home.”
The words were barely out of Duncan’s mouth before two very inebriated young lords staggered their way. “Marksman, you’ll join us in a game, will you not?”
“I have yet to have my supper,” Marksman responded. “Perhaps later.”
“Do not be...” one of the men began his protest, but a member of the Lyon’s Den staff appeared at the pair’s sides. “Your friends be waitin’ for you, my lords. They asked me to discover to where you’d disappeared.”
The two men frowned, but a simple shrug said they would return to the gaming room. As they walked away, the Lyon’s Den’s man said, “Mrs. Dove-Lyon has presented me with ordersto see that your meal is pleasurable, my lords.” He motioned to where the woman stood by the entrance to the dining room.
“The lady may join us if she wishes,” Duncan told the man, before nodding his greeting to the woman.
“I will present Mrs. Dove-Lyon with your invitation, my lord, but the lady is, generally, very regimented as to when she eats and what. Moreover, she refuses to remove her veil in public, making it more problematic to eat in a public room such as this one. Additionally, she cannot appear to show any of her patrons favoritism, but she did instruct me to tell you when you are prepared to speak to her, she will await you in her office. I will gladly make the necessary arrangements for an escort when you have finished your meal.”
“Your name, sir?” Duncan asked.
“At the Lyon’s Den, I am known as ‘Lysander.’”
“As inA Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Marksman stated the obvious.
