“History, my lord. If we do not heed history, it tends to repeatitself, 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 bestnot 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.”
“I am sure there will be many visions that night.” Merry stabbed a chunk of meat with her knife while glaring at the viscount. “Make it known to Lady Atterley that you are in search of your viscountess, and she will line up dozens of likely prospects for you, I am sure.”
Brixham twitched a nonchalant shrug. “There is no need for a line. The lady I have already chosen is far above all the rest.”
Duncan nearly choked on his wine and barely stopped himself from snapping the crystal goblet’s stem. He cleared his throat and carefully set the glass back on the table. “Ye speak as if ye ordered the woman from a shop window. Does she have no say in the matter?”
“She will come around. After all, as a wealthy viscount, I am in great demand with the marriage-minded mamas of theton.”
“Again, it seems as though the lady’s wishes dinna matter to ye. Ye speak of yerself and the mothers of Polite Society, but not of the lady herself.”
Lord Brixham leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Should we step into the library or another parlor, my lord, so I might make myself clearer?”
“Gladly.” Duncan shoved away from the table, champing at the bit to teach this sorry bit of horse shite a lesson.
“This will stop immediately.” Broadmere rose and glowered at them both. “How dare you behave in such a manner in front of my sisters?”
Clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles popped, Duncan bowed his head first to the duke, then to Merry and her sister. “His Grace is quite correct. I beg yer forgiveness, ladies.”
