And all he had to do was ask her brother. A trifling detail, really. A simple conversation between one duke and another.
Malcolm ran a finger around the inside of his cravat, which suddenly felt just a little too tight.
Percy bounded in the moment the butler opened the door, to squeals of delight from Lady Isobel, who was crossing the hallway with a sheaf of music in hand. “Oh, the sweet little creature! Good morning, Duke.” She held her music out of the way of Percy’s enthusiastic pawing. Malcolm passed his hat to the butler and hastened to rescue her from the dog’s attentions.
“Good morning, Lady Isobel. Are the ladies of the house at home to visitors?”
She raised an eyebrow, looking him over with far more perspicacity than he was comfortable with. “To certain, particular visitors, yes.” She passed him the sheaf of music and gathered Percy up in her arms. “Come with me to the drawing room. We are going to see which composer makes the best lullabies for the baby. Anthea thinks Haydn, but I say it will be Bach.” She glanced back over her shoulder before opening the drawing room door. “George is here, by the way.”
Perfect. Another witness to Malcolm’s trial by Balfour. He took a moment to square his shoulders before following her inside.
The scene that greeted him was enough to soothe the most agitated heart. The Duchess of Loxwell sat propped up by cushions, cradling a wide-eyed baby to her chest. The duke bent over her, reaching down a finger for the infant to grasp. The Earl of Streatham and his countess stood arm in arm by the fireplace, not quite so rapt by their burbling niece that they forgot to steal loving glances at each other, and Lady Ursula sat in a nearby armchair, her clacking needles providing a counterpoint to the murmur of baby-talk as she worked on what appeared to be the world’s largest blanket.
But all of this was nothing to the sight of Selina, standing at an easel to sketch the happy scene, and the way her head lifted the moment he walked into the room, as though she’d been counting the seconds until his arrival. Her eyes glowed, and Malcolm’s chest swelled.
He would slay dragons for that woman. Never mind contend with the Duke of Loxwell.
“Caversham’s here,” said Isobel casually, and the little tableau was broken by exclamations of welcome and surprise. Streatham, in particular, shattered the domestic atmosphere with an especially wicked grin.
“Morning, Caversham,” he said, cocking a meaningful eyebrow. Malcolm ignored him.
“Caversham,” said Loxwell, coming to greet him with politely contained surprise. “How good of you to call. We did not expect it.”
Malcolm made an offhand gesture with the sheaf of music Isobel had foisted on him. “I was in the neighbourhood. I thought I’d stop by and offer my congratulations.”
Percy, the faithless animal, jumped from Isobel’s arms and ran to Selina’s feet, where he nestled in instantaneous repose. Some creatures had all the luck.
Loxwell laid a friendly hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Come and meet my daughter.”
He breathed that word, daughter, with such reverence that Malcolm’s indifference to babies was overcome.
He was very soon relieved of the music, seated in an armchair, supplied with a cup of tea, and agreeing warmly that Lady Erica was, indeed, the most charming infant ever to grace the earth. Since Malcolm did not have a vast amount of experience with children, it was an easy assertion to make.
Selina remained at her easel, maddeningly near. She glanced up every so often, taking in Malcolm’s expression along with the curve of the baby’s cheek, and returned her attention to her work with the most alluring hint of a smile on her lips.
“Caversham?” The Duchess of Loxwell’s polite insistence dragged Malcolm’s attention away from Selina. She had clearly asked a question which Malcolm had not even heard, but her serene expression was unchanged. “You seem very deep in thought.”
“I was only thinking of how I admire you, Duchess. It strikes me as a rare talent to be both a great force in society and an excellent mother.”
Daisy looked down at the baby cradled in her arms. Malcolm had the impression that she was hiding a knowing grin. “I hardly think my skills as a mother have been put to the test yet. But I think you did not always admire me, Caversham.”
Malcolm glanced urgently at Selina, who returned his gaze with a sparkling challenge in her eyes. Of course. He’d called Daisy a social climber to Selina’s face. He doubted that those thoughtless words had been reported in full, but the sentiment must have been mentioned after the ambassador’s ball. Selina would never allow Daisy to go through society unarmed.
“I have recently learned a thing or two about which qualities are truly admirable, Duchess,” he said. “And what sort of life is worth pursuing.”
“Then I am glad for you. I think it is a very good thing to know what you really want.”
At the piano, Isobel began to play a tune that was achingly familiar. Malcolm’s spine jolted straighter.
The lilting waltz transported him back to a dower house drawing room, the glow of candlelight, Selina soft and light in his arms.
He didn’t dare look at her now. But he desperately wanted to.
Streatham was leaning against the mantelpiece, grinning mercilessly. He caught Malcolm’s eye, nodded to the Duke of Loxwell, and dragged a slow finger across his throat. “Good luck,” he mouthed.
Anthea noticed what her husband was doing and gave him a gentle rap on the arm.
Malcolm couldn’t bear it any longer. He couldn’t spend another second on social niceties with Selina so close to hand, so out of reach. He cleared his throat.
“Loxwell, I hate to tear you away from your family, but there’s a particular matter…”
If Loxwell was annoyed, he was too well-mannered to show it. “Certainly, certainly. The world
