Chapter Eight #2
“Any sign of my sisters yet?” the duke asked the footman when he came to remove the remnants of their tea.
“It is my understanding that both are upstairs preparing for dinner, Your Grace,” the servant said. “Mr. Fipps said they returned only a short time ago.”
The man was lying. Duncan could tell by the way his voice hit a higher pitch, and he kept glancing at the door. Why would the footman lie? What was at play here?
“You know how women are, old man.” Brixham’s smirk was most definitely insulting.
He flicked a hand at Duncan. “They have two eligible bachelors cornered here in their home. They wish to impress us before the official start of the Season. Remember the adage: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
Duncan noted that the duke’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Good. Broadmere didn’t trust this wee bugger any more than he did.
“Since we only just arrived today,” Broadmere said, “I am sure the last thing on my sisters’ minds is impressing eligible bachelors. In fact, knowing those two, they are plotting some revenge for my inviting dinner guests on such short notice.”
“We should go, then.” Duncan shot a hard glare at the viscount, silently cutting him down before returning his focus to the duke. “’Twas rude enough that we called today and forced yer hand. Ye must forgive us, Yer Grace, and extend our apologies to the ladies.”
“Oh no, you mustn’t desert me now.” The duke shook a finger at him. “Especially if Merry already knows you are here. She will be furious if you leave without seeing her.”
“Oh?” The viscount’s tone dripped with predatory interest and a hint of jealousy.
Jutting his chin higher, Duncan gave the man an even harder scowl. “Aye, Lady Merry and I have grown quite close since our tumultuous first meeting.”
Lord Brixham shot back a scowl of his own and squared his shoulders. “I have known Lady Merry since we were children.”
“Aye, ye mentioned that already.”
Broadmere cocked his head toward the double doors leading to the hallway. He perked like a cat spotting a mouse. “I believe I hear them now.”
Not waiting for the doors to open, Duncan rose to his feet and waited. Broadmere stood beside him, but Lord Brixham remained seated. A sorrier type Duncan had never seen, but he forgot all about the insolent man as Merry swept into the room. The place brightened with her presence.
He stepped forward with a polite tip of his head. “Lady Merry, ’tis a grand thing to see ye again.”
Rather than bow her head as was usual, she smiled up at him as she curtsied. “Lord Kirkston, my courageous champion. It is indeed good to see you as well.”
Lord Brixham snorted.
“Problem?” Merry asked, the iciness of her tone pleasing Duncan immensely.
Brixham waved a hand in front of his face. “Dust, my lady. There must be dust in the air.”
“Probably so, since the servants have had little time to attend to a proper cleaning.” She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist and looped her arm through Duncan’s. “Are you and Lord Malcolm quite settled and ready for Parliament?”
“He is a Scot,” Brixham rudely interrupted, “and the elections for the sixteen Scottish seats are yet to be held.”
“Truly?” Merry stared at Duncan, feigning shock. “Are you indeed a Scot, Lord Kirkston? I hadn’t noticed.”
Duncan allowed himself a bit of gloating as he patted the Kirkston crest that pinned his plaid to his shoulder. “Indeed, I am, my lady, and quite proud of the fact as well.”
Lord Brixham snorted again, his lofty expression souring to a sneer. Apparently, the man didn’t appreciate their jest.
“Has Fipps not sounded the bell for dinner?” Serendipity twitched her nose at Merry, reminding Duncan of a nervous Highland hare. “Merry, I thought you said you heard the bell?”
Merry arched her fair brows higher, plainly looking as though she thought her sister silly.
The duke cleared his throat and attempted to wave them toward the sitting area the men had just vacated.
“It appears we have a bit longer to wait. Shall I ring for refreshments? Would everyone like a drink before supper? I am sure Cook put together some ratafia. She always does. If not, we could always enjoy some Madeira or sherry.”
Duncan preferred whisky but didn’t wish to be a bother. “Whatever yer cook has ready would be fine, Yer Grace. After all, I feel certain the woman is still settling into her kitchen.”
Merry squeezed his arm as he escorted her to a settee, waited for her to sit, then settled down next to her.
“Chance didn’t scold you for calling today, did he?” she asked.
“I did not,” Broadmere said before Duncan could answer. “I merely mentioned that the two of you were probably plotting my demise for this impromptu dinner party.”
“It is quite all right,” Serendipity said with a genuine smile at Duncan. “After all, we are always pleased to host the gentleman who saved our lives.”
Lord Brixham snorted yet again. “Yes. Your brother and Lord Kirkston regaled me with your harrowing tale.”
“Almost drowning is quite harrowing,” Merry said. “You should try it sometime.”
“Merry!” Serendipity and the duke scolded her in unison.
The viscount threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, my dear Lady Merry, will you never get past our childhood?”
“No. I will not.”
Duncan couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a dinner party so much.
Fipps appeared at the doorway that led to what Duncan supposed was the dining room. “Dinner is served, Your Grace.”
“Well done, Fipps,” the duke said before muttering, “Just in time.”
Duncan rose and offered Lady Merry his hand.
Once again, his heart soared when she didn’t hesitate to take it and move to his side, sliding her arm through his.
They entered the dining room, following Broadmere and Lady Serendipity, with Lord Brixham at the rear of their party.
Just as it should be. Duncan might be a Scot, but he was still a marquess and outranked a viscount.
The duke directed Duncan to the seat to his left.
Merry seated herself next to him. Lady Serendipity sat at the other end of the table, and the unbearable Lord Brixham sat next to Merry, directly to Lady Serendipity’s right.
Duncan ached to grab the man by the scruff of his neck and toss him out the window, but didn’t wish to cause a scene.
Instead, he clenched his teeth until his jaws ached.
“Thank you again for the dinner invitation,” Brixham said, directing his appreciation to Merry.
“Thank my brother,” she said without batting an eye.
“Lady Merry. Why must you hate me so?”
“History, my lord. If we do not heed history, it tends to repeat itself, and I do not wish to revisit the history of you and our childhood.” She turned to Duncan, effectively giving Lord Brixham her back. “Do extend our warmest welcome to Mayfair to your brother. Lord Malcolm is such a jolly soul.”
“He is at that, my lady.” Duncan eyed the bowl of white soup the footman placed in front of him.
The creamy concoction with its specks of black pepper smelled of chicken and leeks—a soup he had never particularly liked, no matter how much salt, cream, or rice their cook, Mrs. Oxworthy, had added to it.
But he would be polite and make do, since Mother had ingrained in him that one never rejected the first course.
As everyone else dipped into their bowls, he coated his spoon with just enough to make it seem as though he was eating it.
“Did your niece, little Rorie, ever find her doll?” he asked, priding himself on remembering the child’s name. He was trying to do better in that regard.
“Quill had kidnapped it and was holding it for ransom,” the duke said, chortling as he reached for a crust of bread. “Fortuity and Matthew were not pleased with their son.”
“So, all the lovely sisters are married except for the two of you?” Lord Brixham appeared determined to take control of the conversation.
“So it would seem.” Serendipity held her butter knife as if ready to stab him with it.
“I intend to choose my viscountess this Season,” he announced, behaving as though everyone should applaud.
“I am sure there will be many lovely ladies excited to learn that.” Merry set her spoon aside and turned to her brother. “Carve the joint, Chance. Man does not live by soup alone.”
“I have already set my sights on her,” Lord Brixham continued as if Merry hadn’t spoken. “My viscountess is beyond compare.”
The short hairs on Duncan’s nape slowly rose until they stood on end. If that fool knew what served him well, Lady Merry’s name best not come out of his mouth.
“Do we know her?” Broadmere asked, his tone weary with forced politeness.
“Indeed, you do.” Brixham tipped the barest nod at Merry and smiled.
Duncan did his best to remain calm. Even though the duke appeared to have grown as tired of the viscount as he had, Brixham’s insinuations caused him to fist his fork so tightly that it bent.
Merry barely brushed her arm against his, gently nudging as she whispered, “Ignore him.”
He stared at her for a long moment, willing her to see what was in his heart.
She smiled ever so faintly, but it was the look in her eyes that made him able to breathe again. She understood. He felt it as surely as if she had said so aloud.
Picking up her plate, she handed it to him. “Would you be so kind as to serve me some meat and vegetables, my lord?”
“Gladly, my lady.” He would serve her anything she wished.
“And I shall happily serve you, Lady Serendipity,” Lord Brixham said, finally behaving as a gentleman should.
“Thank you, my lord.” The color rose high on Lady Serendipity’s cheeks, making Duncan wonder if it stemmed from overseeing the tense dinner or if she felt unwell.
“I look forward to Lady Atterley’s Valentine’s Ball.” Brixham toyed with the food on his plate before turning to Lady Merry. “I am sure you will be a vision in whatever the modiste creates.”