“Though I have not personally read Shakespeare’s play, I understand Lysander is a handsome young man from Athens who is deeply in love with Hermia and finally wins the lady’s hand,” the gaming hell’s man said.
“How do you feel about the comparison?” Richard asked.
The man smiled and winked. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.”
“He has you there, gentlemen,” Duncan declared. “Follow Lysander’s recipe for falling in love. Now, let us enjoy our meal.”
In Richard’s opinion,the meal had been passable, but he really could not tell anyone what he had eaten. His mind was on Lady Emma. After church services tomorrow morning, he would setout for Buckinghamshire. He would see her again. It felt as if it had been forever. Yet, he knew it had only been a matter of days.
“What is on your mind?” Duncan asked. “You appear deep in thought.”
Marksman chuckled. “The same thing upon which our Richard has been considering for more than a year.”
“You are a moron,” Richard groused. “I am simply worried about the lady. Graham wrote of her memory of the yellow lilies. Such is why Theodora and I called upon her ladyship’s acquaintances. Has Lady Emma recalled other parts of her life? What if remembering is too confusing? Too frightening for her?”
“Graham is there to claim your place at the woman’s side. So is Beaufort,” Marksman said with a grin of apparent mischief.
“Do not purposely torment Richard,” Duncan warned. “Someday it will be your heart which is thoroughly engaged, hopefully with my daughter, but, even if it is not, I would not have you abused by others.”
Marksman sat straighter, but he made no further comment. Richard was confident Alexander Dutton, Earl Marksman, held Lady Theodora Duncan in affection, but the young earl—and at four and twenty years of age, Marksman was one of the younger peers in the House of Lords—had set himself the task of finding his mother and sister before he started his own family, and, though Theodora knew sympathy for Alexander’s loss of family, the girl must consider whether the Earl of Marksman would ever be prepared to settle with not knowing the fate of his immediate family.
Duncan motioned the man called Lysander to the table. “If Mrs. Dove-Lyon has the time, we would be pleased to speak to her now.”
“Permit me to inform Titan,” the man said with a bow, “so he might relay the message to the mistress.”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon doesnot customarily converse with multiple gentlemen at the same time,” Titan warned as they made their way through several doors and short passageways towards the upper levels of the Lyon’s Den.
“I understand,” Duncan said as he paused briefly on the stairs to catch his breath.
Richard moved up beside him. “We may do this at another time, my lord. Unless Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s business concerns something regarding your injury, it may wait. Marksman and I will see you home, where you might rest properly. This is your first outing, and we do not wish to inflict more injury on your person from overexertion. At the beginning of the week, I was still steadying you on the stairs.”
“I should have thought,” Titan said. “If you wish to go on, my lord, I will fetch several of my men to carry you. I apologize for not anticipating your needs.”
Duncan said a bit breathily. “I would prefer to continue, assuming it is not much further.”
“Marksman,” Richard ordered. “Duncan’s weight rests on our shoulders. Your arms, sir, around our necks.”
“It will be tight,” Marksman advised.
“Nevertheless, Lord Macdonald Duncan has always found a means to carry us forward,” Richard declared. “And we will do the same for him.”
Marksman nodded his own determination, and, together, they lifted Duncan upward in a manner which would have appeared to someone above as if Lord Duncan were walking on air, for his lordship’s foot touched each step, but the man placed no weight on it. In less than a minute, Duncan, Marksman, and Richard were straightening the lines of their coats.
“Impressive-looking door,” Marksman whispered as Titan knocked on Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office door. Richard had had the same thought when he had previously called upon the woman with Hartley and Thompson.
A female voice called, “Come.”
Titan opened the door to say, “Lord Duncan, Lord Orson, and Lord Marksman, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
The woman stood, and though Richard could not view the woman’s features, he knew she frowned, for her shoulders rose and held in place. She was not best pleased to see all three of them.
Titan said softly, “I will have several men standing by when you leave, my lords.”
“It is generally easier, though slower, when his lordship descends the steps,” Richard explained. “Yet, it would do no harm to practice caution.”
“Notwithstanding, I apologize again, my lord, for my lack of forethought.” With those words and a bow, the gaming hell’s servant disappeared, closing the door behind him as we went.
“I had not expected an audience, my lord,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said with a bit of tartness in her tone.
