Daphne narrowed her eyes on the knight.
Lord Fitzwell began by pushing out his neck in what Daphne could only describe as a very odd manner. His arms were tucked up to his sides and his head ducked forward and back as if he were experiencing convulsions. From time to time he would cock his head to the side and open his mouth.
“A dandy,” Cass guessed.
“The Prince Regent,” Lucy shouted.
“Lucy!” Claringdon’s voice rang out.
“Oh, sorry, darling,” Lucy replied, tossing a black curl off her forehead.
“A madman,” Sir Roderick offered, turning the room’s attention back to the performance. Daphne elbowed him again.
Lord Fitzwell shook his head to indicate they were incorrect before continuing his same strange antics.
“Beau Brummel,” Mother said.
“Pengree,” Julian called, and quickly earned himself a frown from that very man who’d been standing at attention at the back of the room. “Sorry, Peng,” Julian added with a shrug.
More head shaking from Lord Fitzwell.
Daphne glanced at Rafe. He sat with his arms folded, his eyes narrowed on Lord Fitzwell as if he were watching an escapee from Bedlam. He didn’t bother to offer any guess.
“A bird!” shouted Delilah finally.
Vigorous nodding ensued from Lord Fitzwell.
“What type of bird?” Mother asked.
More nodding from Lord Fitzwell.
“An owl,” Cass offered.
“A canary,” Daphne said, wanting to contribute something in an effort to make the poor man stop.
“A rooster?” Upton offered.
“APhasianus colchicus,” Jane called out.
“No one’s ever heard of that, Jane,” Lucy said, shaking her head.
“Honestly, Lucy, it’s just a pheasant,” Jane shot back, also shaking her head.
“Then say ‘pheasant,’” Lucy replied. “Latin is uncalled for during charades.”
“Don’t make me stick my tongue out at you, Lucy,” Jane replied.
“Please make it end,” Sir Roderick murmured under his breath. “I already said it but”—he raised his voice so the room could hear—“a peacock!”
All of these guesses earned more head shaking from Lord Fitzwell. He continued to strut about in front of the fireplace with his arms tucked to his sides and his mouth intermittently falling open. Daphne cocked her head to the side and stared at him. Was that what a bird looked like?
“A popinjay!” Delilah shouted next.
Lord Fitzwell straightened up, smiled, and pointed at Delilah. “Exactly right, Miss Montbank.”
“Ah, a popinjay, I was close.” Sir Roderick shrugged.
Delilah looked exceedingly pleased with herself, her smile reached from ear to ear. Daphne had no earthly idea how the girl had been able to guess based on Lord Fitzwell’s odd posturing. In fact, she shook her head to remove the memory of it.
