Chapter Four #2
Duncan stepped back from the cart and ceded possession of it.
They really needn’t worry. Mother would never scold the servants for something she knew he’d purposely done to stir her ire.
Even in her dotage, the dowager was cannier than most. “Dinna fash yerself, Rob. Ye know as well as I she’d not blame ye. ”
The footman bobbed his head. “Be that as it may…”
Duncan laughed. “Ye sound just like Barclay.”
The butler cleared his throat, his staid expression never changing. “Shall we precede you into the parlor, my lord?”
“Nay. Then she would say I was late for tea.” The clock on the mantelpiece started striking the hour, warning that he was cutting it close. Duncan squared his shoulders and strode in as if he owned the place—and by birthright, he did.
His mother sat in her usual chair, her tiny feet resting on a small, round cushioned footstool.
She was dressed in black, as always, and the silver in her dark hair gleamed as brightly as the jet earrings dangling from her ears.
Seated at the head of the room between the pair of settees arranged in front of the hearth, there was no question that this was her space to rule.
Malcolm sat on the settee to the right, gloating with a smugness that would soon get his interfering arse thrashed at Duncan’s first opportunity.
Duncan pecked a kiss on Mother’s crinkled cheek, her rose perfume reminding him of all the times she had tried to console him after Father’s tirades and beatings.
While Mother might be strong and formidable now, she had not been so when her children were young.
Well, she had tried, but Father had simply been too much for her to stand against. Whenever she had fought to shield Duncan, she had paid the price for it, and Duncan would never forget it.
When Father had died, no one in the family shed a tear.
“Were there any troubles while we were away?” Duncan moved to the other settee, purposely ignoring Malcolm as Barclay and the footmen brought in the tea cart and served them.
Her eyes as dark as his own, she watched him closely while slowly petting the large, overfed cat lounging in her lap.
“All was well, son. I was expecting the two of ye back days ago. The winter storm made me worry for ye.” She gently lifted the cat and set it on the floor, much to the feline’s disgust. “Off wi’ ye now, Amos.
Ye may return when I have finished my tea. ”
Amos flipped his fluffy black tail, then marched over to the hearth, took a seat, and glared at them all as though plotting their demise.
“Thank ye, Barclay.” She accepted the cup and saucer, then returned her attention to Duncan.
He braced himself, waving the proffered tea away. “Whisky, Barclay. My bones are cold.”
“Very good, my lord.” The butler hurried over to the cabinet laden with all manner of decanters, poured a generous whisky, and brought it to him.
“Thank ye.” Duncan allowed himself a good, long sip before propping the glass on his knee and facing the inevitable. “Out with it, Mother. I ken well enough the rat has already squeaked to ye.”
“Is that any way to speak about yer brother?”
“Aye. ’Tis the nicest way to speak about him, considering he’s been more worrisome than a patch of stinging nettles.”
She sipped her tea but kept her gaze locked on him over the rim of her cup. “Ye owe that young lady an apology.”
“What young lady?”
She rolled her eyes. “Dinna play the fool. Ye know verra well what young lady.”
“Not once did I behave in an ungentlemanly manner.”
“He was a rude arse,” Malcolm said.
Mother silenced Malcolm with a look, making Duncan wish he possessed that same power. “Aloofness and refusing a generous offer to call upon a delightful young lady might not be gentlemanly behavior,” she said, “but it is not acceptable. I taught ye better than that, son.”
“She simply made the offer because we saved her and her sister from the same sort of accident that stole our Catherine from us.” Duncan hoped that would shame his mother into leaving the subject alone. It didn’t.
She merely frowned down at her teacup, then held it out to Barclay. “A bit of brandy for sweetener, Barclay. ’Tis too cold for the honey I usually prefer.”
“Yes, my lady.” Barclay returned to the cabinet and selected a glass decanter with a pale amber liquid. “Peach, my lady?”
“Aye, the peach is my favorite.”
He prepared a fresh cup of tea, added a hearty dollop of brandy, and placed it in her hands before returning to his station at the edge of the room.
Duncan downed the remainder of his whisky but waved the butler away as he stepped forward. “I can fetch it myself, man. Stand down.”
“Malcolm tells me Lady Merry took a liking to ye.” When he didn’t respond, his mother lightly coughed. “Duncan—did ye hear me?”
Clenching his teeth to keep from saying something disrespectful, Duncan filled his glass and returned to his seat. “Lady Merry was merely being kind. She was grateful for all that we had done for her.”
“Merry,” his mother repeated. “What a delightful name.”
“’Tis Merry as in jolly,” Malcolm hurried to add. “Not as in the Holy Mother.”
Duncan bared his teeth at his brother, willing him to stop his babbling.
With a grin, Malcolm added, “Her sister told me. Her name is Lady Serendipity.”
“I see.” The dowager softly chortled to herself as her enormous black cat jumped back up onto her lap. “And did Lady Serendipity like ye, Malcolm?”
Malcolm snorted. “Nay, Mother. That one there was prickly as a wee hurcheon.”
Her sleek, dark brows rose nearly to her hairline. “Were ye rude as well, Malcolm? I raised the two of ye to behave better than that.”
“Nay, Mother. Only Duncan was the rude one. Arrogant and acting as though he thought himself better than everyone else one minute, then attentive to the Lady Merry the next. At one point, she even permitted him to address her as lass or Merry, because he had charmed her so. Then he vexed her so much, she was ready to toss him out on his arse.” Malcolm scooted to the edge of his seat, shaking a finger at him.
“And as I told ye, the lady invited him to come calling, and he rebuffed her. Rebuffed her, I tell ye, and her being such a kind, lovely, marriageable lass.”
Duncan sipped his whisky, considering its mellow heat his only ally in this battle, and currently the one thing that kept him from closing Malcolm’s mouth for him. He lifted his glass in a toast. “And of course every word that falls from my brother’s lips is gospel.”
“Duncan!” The dowager startled the cat, making the great black beastie hiss.
“Now, now, Amos. I nay meant to get so loud. Ye must calm yerself as well.” Lips pursed, she leveled Duncan a glare that warned she was far from pleased.
She shifted with a deep breath, then slowly blew it out, her delicate nostrils flaring like an angry mare’s.
“Lady Merry, sister to the Duke of Broadmere, invited ye to call on her, and ye rebuffed her? Why would ye do such a thing?”
“I nay rebuffed her. I simply told her I rarely traveled south.”
“And ye know as well as I that is about to change, because ye were elected to a seat in the House of Lords for this next session of Parliament.”
“I have not been elected yet. The elections are not held until the start of the new session in February.”
Mother snorted. “Ye were requested to attend, son. That means ye are elected.”
“Be that as it may, up until recently, I rarely traveled south.” He tossed a glare at Malcolm. “’Tis yer other son who relishes London so.”
“Then visit her in the Lake District before her family returns to Town. Malcolm said the invitation included both their homes.” After another sip of her tea, Mother held the cup out to Barclay. “More brandy, please. My sons drive me to drink.”
The butler added another dollop of the spirits, then stepped back, keeping the decanter at the ready.
“Aye, a visit to Broadmere Hall would be just the thing,” Malcolm said as he hopped to his feet and fidgeted in front of the hearth. Mischief rolled off him in waves. “Besides, ye need to return the lady’s wee bag.”
Duncan stared at him. It wasn’t often that Malcolm befuddled him, but this was one of those times. “What wee bag? The ladies lost everything when their carriage washed away.”
Malcolm grinned. “Nay, brother. Both ladies had their purses on their wrists. Did ye not notice?”
“I canna say that I did. Pulling them from the carriage afore they drowned must have distracted me.”
“Malcolm.” Mother handed off her cup and saucer, then gracefully rested her hands on the armrests of her chair as if about to pass judgment on both her sons. “What have ye done?”
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small green velvet bag trimmed in gold—a bag that perfectly matched Lady Merry’s cloak. “I found myself in possession of it, Mother, and thought to keep it safe. After all, the inn was so full, we had to sleep in the common room.”
Duncan groaned and scrubbed his weary eyes. “Ye nicked the woman’s reticule? Feckin’ hell, Malcolm. Ye’re too old for that foolishness.”
As a youth, Malcolm had thought it the greatest sort of dare to pick unsuspecting pockets and make off with things even though he had no need of them.
The possibility of getting caught excited him, and he became quite adept at the annoying prank.
Poor Duncan was always saddled with dragging him along by the scruff of the neck to return whatever he had stolen, and what made matters worse was that the wee fool always charmed his way back into the good graces of his victims.
“’Tis for yer own good.” Malcolm tossed the purse at Duncan, grinning when he caught it. “Ye can say it somehow got tangled up in the layers of yer greatcoat, so ye thought to return it—and while ye were at it, ye wanted to apologize for yer boorish behavior.”
“Heaven forgive me, ye plot and lie like yer father.” Mother pressed a hand to her head as if suddenly stricken with a pain, then let it drop back to the armrest. “Ye dinna steal to manipulate yer brother, Malcolm. ’Tis most unsavory, and ye should be ashamed.”
“I need another whisky.” Leaving the purse on the settee, Duncan went to the cabinet, grabbed the decanter, and brought it back with him. After refilling his glass, he set it on the small, round table beside him. The way this conversation was going, he was sure to need more.
Unfazed, Malcolm almost danced in place across the hearthstone.
“We could leave tomorrow. The horses will be well rested by then, and ye never rest, so that doesn’t really matter.
” He bobbed his head faster. “And that way, we could also say we were checking to ensure they made it home safely, ye ken? That should impress her.”
Duncan turned to his mother. “I am going to kill him.”
She shook her head. “Dinna kill him. He is yer only brother.” With a sheepish twitch of her shoulders, she glanced at Malcolm and blew out a heavy sigh.
“He means well, son. He merely wishes to see ye happy.” A sad wistfulness fell across her.
“Ye so deserve some happiness in yer life, my fine, braw boy. Ye’ve known so little of it through all these years. ”
“Ye need Lady Merry,” Malcolm said ever so quietly. Uncharacteristically serious, he suddenly seemed years older. “Her brightness could chase away the accursed darkness that haunts ye.”
Duncan swirled his drink, staring at the golden liquid dancing in the glow of the candlelight. “Lady Merry deserves a whole man.”
“Ye are a whole man, son, if ye’d but allow yerself to be.
” His mother set her cat on the floor once again, then rose and joined him on the settee.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That cruel bastard is dead, my wee boy. The greatest revenge ye could ever know is to live in joy to spite the brutish devil.” A sad smile teased across her thin lips as she tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.
“Make sure Brown trims yer hair before ye visit Lady Merry, aye? We might be descended from wild Scots, but we know how to shine good and proper.” She cupped his chin in her hand as if he were still a small bairn.
“Live, my son. In spite of that bastard. Live for me.”
“Why did he hate me so?” Duncan asked, repeating the question he had asked her so many times as a child.
She flinched as if he had struck her. “He said his father before him did the same to him. To make him stronger. To make ye stronger.” She slowly shook her head.
“But I think he behaved the way he did because he enjoyed it.” She pushed up from the settee and returned to her chair, but didn’t sit.
Instead, she turned and faced him. “I’ll not speak of the devil again, ye ken?
He’s burning in hell, where he belongs.” Pulling in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders.
“Dinna give him another moment of yer life, Duncan. ’Tis time to take back yer power. ”