Chapter Twenty-Seven
Well, Severn certainly seemed to be in a mood, Malcolm thought, as he watched his brother prowl the perimeter of the ballroom.
Rather than his usual cool manner and easy, rakish smile, that demeanor he had learned so well in London and which had become habitual, he was scowling and avoiding conversation with all comers.
The ball was already lively, and a crush filled the room.
It was still strange to Malcolm that they had a ballroom at Parkhorne.
It was one of the improvements that Beatrice had helped pay for, along with her investments in the farm.
The room certainly wasn’t particularly grand compared to those he’d heard dotted Mayfair in London, but it was a pretty country hall for dancing.
Malcolm sipped punch to steady his nerves. His main goal for the evening was to somehow, someway, find himself alone with Scarlett. He knew that desire was probably a futile one.
But a man could dream.
He smiled at his own turn of phrase.
Yes, Scarlett was certainly his dream come to life.
Mrs. Salisbury swept up to him. “Malcolm,” she said in a soft yet insistent voice. “I must impose upon you once more. I fear there are a dearth of gentlemen here tonight. The numbers are not quite perfect.”
He sighed heavily. “You need me to dance?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” She grimaced. “Miss Marburry, right behind you, is in need of a partner, I believe.”
He turned in a manner he hoped was not too obvious—and immediately caught the girl’s eye.
Bollocks.
Not that he could have avoided dancing with her after Mrs. Salisbury’s request. If Mrs. Salisbury had addressed him in a more private location, he might have taken the opportunity to tell her that her matchmaking was not going to end where she hoped.
But he was sure Miss Marburry could hear their conversation.
He gave a tight nod.
Mrs. Salisbury reached out and squeezed his arm in thanks.
It was for the better anyway, he told himself.
Yes, he hated dancing. He always felt awkward and ill at ease when forced to do it.
But Scarlett wanted to dance and if he danced with Miss Marburry, it would look perfectly natural that he should then approach her.
He would simply look like he was doing his duty by Mrs. Salisbury, even to his own prying siblings.
“Miss Marburry, would you do me the pleasure of dancing with me?”
“You don’t have to,” she blurted out, and then brought her hands to her mouth.
He felt himself blanch. Damn, she had heard his conversation with Mrs. Salisbury.
“It would be my pleasure,” he repeated awkwardly.
She nodded stiffly and took his hand. But once they had begun the waltz, she said to him, “I know you are only asking me because Mrs. Salisbury does not want me to be a wallflower all evening.”
“You are right that Mrs. Salisbury is an attentive hostess,” he demurred, trying to make his enthusiasm sound genuine. “But I assure you that it is my pleasure to dance with you.”
That was the third my pleasure he had tendered her in as many minutes. No wonder the girl wasn’t convinced. But he supposed he did not need to convince her.
But instead of crinkling her nose in disbelief, a soft smile spread across her features. “Truly?”
Her face had an odd, hopeful expression that he didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Of course.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Of course,” he repeated again, stupidly.
“Tell me, Mr. Brown. Do you enjoy living at Parkhorne?”
This line of questioning made him slightly nervous. He saw the fingerprints of Mrs. Salisbury’s matchmaking all over it. Still, he had no choice but to respond.
He gave a single nod. “It is my home. And I manage the farm. I enjoy seeing to the estate and helping George.”
“I am rather tired of Cumbria. The rain grates on my nerves and is bad for my health. I prefer it here much more.”
“Ah, well, you must not expect that it is always so beautiful in Somerset. You have been here in the summer. June is one of its most beautiful months, although August is even better if you like warm weather. Have you enjoyed any of the scenic walks these past weeks?”
Her face brightened. “No, I haven’t, I’m afraid. I am not a strong walker. I think I would need someone to guide me. But I am very eager.”
Malcolm swore internally at his clumsiness. He had intended to steer the young lady toward a safer topic. Instead, he had hemmed himself into spending more time with her. Unchaperoned, too, he suspected.
But there could be no other response to such a statement than the one he was about to give. “Please allow me to escort you, Miss Marburry, on such a walk.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Brown! I would love to see more of the country tomorrow afternoon.”
“Perfect,” he ground out, along with a strained smile.
Minutes later, as he parted from Miss Marburry on the side of the dance floor, he nearly collided with Philip.
Relations had been strained with Philip ever since he had browbeaten him for his foolishness by the pond.
However, he didn’t want to be at odds with his youngest brother, and he realized that, perhaps, he had overreacted.
Scarlett had not been seriously hurt, and she had made a fair point that Philip hadn’t pushed anyone into the pond.
“Philip,” he said, trying to sound friendly. “Are you enjoying yourself?
Philip gave a huff. “No. Not really.”
“Oh,” Malcolm said, surprised. Usually, his brother loved a good festivity. “And why is that? Not Miss Larchman again, I hope?” He dropped this last bit as an attempt at levity.
But his brother’s face instantly clouded over. “Yes, actually. Maven—she’s impossible. There is no making her happy. That is certain.”
“I can’t say I understand the nature of the conflict between the two of you,” Malcolm said in a lowered tone.
And it was true. Despite talking around the topic to Philip on numerous occasions, he had gained no real insight into their conflict beyond its broadest dimensions.
“She doesn’t want me to marry,” he hissed, waving his hand in frustration.
“Who?” Malcolm said, confused.
“Any of these women!”
Malcolm looked around the ballroom. He knew Philip had been interested in getting to know the different women who had arrived at the house party, that he had wanted to snare one of the heiresses for himself, potentially.
But Malcolm had not had much confidence that his brother would be successful in that endeavor.
“Yes, you’ve said that Maven disapproves of your plans.”
“She doesn’t want me to marry for money,” Philip whispered. “And it’s deuced inconvenient. Because I am half sure that Miss Jones or Lady Daisy would have me. Maybe not Lady Daisy. But Miss Jones, certainly. Or at least with a little more devotion.”
This assessment of probable success rather surprised Malcolm. “Doesn’t Miss Jones want to marry George?”
Philip rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so na?ve, Malcolm.
She wants to marry someone, first and foremost. She’s four-and-twenty, which is a different matter for a lady than it is for a gentleman.
And a brother to a marchioness would do quite nicely.
Even an illegitimate one. Yes, I’m sure she would prefer George, and the estate that comes with him.
But if she can’t get George, then she wouldn’t mind settling for me. ”
“Would you really want to marry a woman who would merely be settling for you?”
Philip’s eyes goggled. “If she has thirty thousand pounds, Malcolm, certainly. I would be leisured for life.”
“And that is all you care for?”
Philip crossed his arms. “You do not consider my situation, Malcolm. You do not understand. You have a purpose here at Parkhorne. You’ve always known what you wanted.
And even you have connections, of a sort.
Your grandfather was a gentleman, or near enough.
And I know about the fine little bundle that you’ve saved.
You’re not the penniless steward you pretend to be. ”
Malcolm was caught between sympathy and irritation.
He didn’t like his brother referencing what he had managed to save for himself, as if it were some great advantage.
It wasn’t nearly enough to be meaningful in society.
For a lady like Scarlett, for instance. And he didn’t want to think about that. Not now.
And yet he knew Philip was not totally wrong.
Of all of them, only Sally’s and Philip’s mothers had truly come from the lower orders.
Philip’s mother was the lowest of all, perhaps.
She had been a poor cottager’s daughter, a young thing, whom their father had ruined one fine spring day.
Unlike his mother, she had survived giving birth to him, but then she and her whole family had been killed by a fever weeks later.
Philip had been raised by a local woman who took in orphans until Beatrice had been able to extract him and bring him to the hall.
In this respect, he understood Philip’s hunger. He wanted a place, a foothold, to finally belong in the new world he had been ushered into at the age of six.
He clasped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Then marry Miss Jones, brother. Why should it matter what Miss Larchman has to say of it?”
To his surprise, his brother didn’t look mollified. Instead, he batted off his hand and walked away.
And that was when he saw her.
Scarlett.
She had changed into a gown he had never seen before—and she looked…
Well, he wanted to get down on his hands and knees and crawl to her. He wanted to beg her to tell him what it would take for her to never leave his side.
Money? Jewels? Rank?
He would give it all to her, somehow, if it meant she would choose him.
Malcolm moved toward her, his movement across the room feeling involuntary.
When he arrived in front of her, there was only one thing to say. “Will you dance with me, Miss Perkins?”
She smiled at him nervously, as if she didn’t know how beautiful she looked, as if she had no idea he would give anything he had to be hers.
“Yes, please.”
He swept her onto the floor, where the strains of a waltz were just now picking up.
Her dress was a deep bluish-green with a bodice cut lower than any other he had ever seen her wear. God, what he wouldn’t give to strip it off her and bury his head between her breasts. He would worship her forever if only she would let him.
“Have you just arrived?”
“Yes,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It took Tilly and I longer to dress than we anticipated.”
“You are so beautiful, Scarlett.”
She blushed, that becoming flush that so undid him. “You do not need to flatter me.”
“You don’t believe me?” he said, his tone almost angry.
He couldn’t stand the idea that she didn’t believe him.
“I know I am not the most beautiful woman in this room.”
“I see no other women in this room, Scarlett. I only see you. And all I can think of is how I might find a collection of minutes alone with you. So that I can convince you so thoroughly of that fact that you forget any other man exists.”
“Malcolm,” she said, his name a plea and a hope on her lips.
“I know, darling. I will find a way.”
In truth, he had no idea how they would. Parkhorne was filled with people, and everyone was watching.
But tonight, he would do anything to have her to himself.
Right now, though, all he had was this waltz, so he held her closer than proper.
It was all he could do at the moment, and for the moment, it had to be enough.