8
If Malcolm had been asked to describe his perfect evening’s entertainment, the delights on offer at the Duke of Loxwell’s London residence would not even have made the list. And yet, as dessert was served at the dinner Selina had somehow persuaded him to attend, he had to admit that – against all the odds – he was enjoying himself.
The Balfours had an easy, familial warmth about them which Malcolm was observing the way a naturalist might observe a new species discovered in the heart of the jungle. The young duke, that stern new addition to the House of Lords, was a different creature entirely amidst the comforts of his own home. He had shed the cocoon of his dour exterior and emerged, not quite a butterfly, but a warm and genial man. His duchess was far from the silly social climber Malcolm had assumed her to be. By the way she gazed at Loxwell, it seemed the rumours were true. Theirs was a love match.
What a very peculiar idea, that a duke with all the pressure the title implied might marry for love.
Malcolm was seated between the duchess and Lady Ursula, which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he had expected that Selina would harangue him about the Twynham election until he was quite put off his food, and a curse because – for some unfathomable reason – he was disappointed to find that she could not.
Though he was soon to discover that Lady Ursula was not about to let him escape the subject of politics entirely.
“I must tell you, dear boy, that I do not approve of your Sir Roderick the least bit.” Having caught his attention with this pronouncement, she immediately turned from him to catch the butler’s attention, the wine in her glass at a dangerously low ebb.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Malcolm. He felt, rather than saw, Selina’s eyes on him from lower down the table. He was forced to imagine the mischievous smile on her lips. He knew that if he turned to see it, he would laugh. “May I ask how he has offended?”
“You may!” Ursula pounded her refilled glass onto the table, the red wine nearly spilling over the edge. “My niece has told me the way he spoke to her in Twynham last week. Upon my life, I have never heard such impudence!” A wicked glimmer lit her eyes. “Only let the man spout such nonsense in my presence, and I shall show him that nobody is ever too old to be spanked!”
The Duke of Loxwell choked on his mouthful. As he coughed, Malcolm stole a glance at Selina. She was fastidiously dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. Malcolm suspected it was to hide her delight.
“Really, Auntie,” she said.
“No, no.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair, watching Loxwell turn purple with a great deal of enjoyment. “Roddy has been properly chastised, I assure you. If he ever speaks of Lady Selina in that unpleasant way again, I shall deliver the – ah – spanking myself.”
“Selina tells us you took in a wounded dog after Anthea’s card party,” said Isobel, changing the subject in response to a look of desperation from her brother. “I think it was very kind of you.”
Malcolm couldn’t resist. “My word. You all make it sound as though Lady Selina talks of nothing but me.”
That earned him a glare that would have set a lesser man aflame. He took a sip of wine. “The dog is much improved. He’ll never make much of a coach dog again, but I have discovered that he possesses an innate talent for idleness.”
“That is good news,” said the duchess, with a smile. “Anthea was very distressed to hear an animal had been hurt outside her house.”
“I am surprised you did not bring little Percival with you to aid in your defence of Sir Roderick,” said Selina. “He certainly made the best impression of the three of you on the people of Twynham.”
“He barks with great eloquence, it is true,” Malcolm admitted. “But his table manners leave something to be desired.”
“I wonder which is better,” Selina mused aloud. “To speak eloquently, yet lack manners, or to have impeccable deportment and no conversation?”
“Of which sin am I guilty, my lady?”
“Don’t answer that, Selina,” warned Lady Ursula. “It’s a trap.”
Selina’s eyes were wide and innocent. “I’m sure no one would dare criticise His Grace for either fault, Auntie.”
“That’s not the same thing as saying I am faultless,” he observed. Selina met his gaze for a moment. Something simmered in the air between them. Perhaps dislike, perhaps not.
“No,” she admitted. “It is not the same.”
“Ladies,” said the duchess, rising to her feet. “Shall we withdraw?”
The ladies rose and departed to the drawing room. The duchess’s timing had saved Selina from expanding on her judgement of Malcolm. But nothing could save Malcolm from the task of conversing with the Duke of Loxwell after he had done his best to flirt with Loxwell’s sister.
Loxwell offered a brandy, which Malcolm accepted. With the women out of the room, Malcolm was expecting Loxwell to return to his solemn self, and he was surprised – even a little gratified – to find that he did not.
“You’re a brave man, to take on Selina,” said the young duke, raising his glass in an ironic toast.
Malcolm’s thoughts skittered down quite a different route before he realised that Loxwell was speaking of Twynham. “I make no allowances for her feminine delicacy. Lady Selina strikes me as an opponent deserving of the best fight I can give her.”
Loxwell smiled wryly. “I imagine she would tell you that delicacy is not the only way to be feminine.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Malcolm studied the man sitting opposite him over the top of his brandy glass. He had given some consideration to Loxwell’s character before, of course, as one did when faced with a rival in Parliament. He had looked over the younger duke
