“And that is even better,” she said.
“Most definitely.” Serendipity linked arms with her and tugged. “Come along. We should join them and celebrate with a toast.”
Another shiver of excitement swept across Merry. A toast to her very own forever. She hoped Mama and Papa were smiling down at her and pleased with her choice. She grinned as she and Serendipity hurried down the hall. Mama and Papa would definitely choose Duncan over the insufferable Lord Brixham. Of that, she had no doubt.
Chapter Nine
Safely backed againstthe wall of the ballroom, Duncan watched the entrance for his precious Merry. She was the only reason he would ever consider attending one of these bloody things. In his opinion, these social gatherings, put on for the sole purpose of elevating one’s standing, whether politically, matrimonially, or among theton’s elite, were a waste of time.
He sniffed, doing his best not to sneeze or rub his nose. The room, though quite large and accommodating, was suffocating with the strong scent of hothouse flowers. Overwhelming swaths of pale pink tulle joined the floral assault, along with so many statues of cupids in various poses that he’d be having nightmares about those wee bare arses.
“Did ye even have the good manners to speak to the hostess?” Malcolm asked as he handed Duncan a drink.
“I did. Thankfully, she and Mother remembered each other from years ago.” Duncan took a sip of the reddish-brown liquid in the glass and barely kept himself from gagging. “What the devil is this?”
“Lady Atterley’s infamous ratafia. It was either that or lemonade, and I know how ye feel about lemonade. Besides, I thought ye could do with something stronger. There’s a wee drop of brandy in it.”
“Wee drop, my arse.”
“Ye drink whisky. Are ye telling me ye canna handle some brandy?”
“I am telling ye I dinna care for the sweetness of that swill.” Duncan glanced around, searching for an inconspicuous place to set the glass. “Where is Mother now?” Whenever Merry arrived, he wished to introduce them. Merry meeting his outspoken mother at the crowded first ball of the Season was preferable to their meeting in the privacy of a parlor. Knowing Mother, the first thing she’d be asking Merry was how many bairns she intended to bring into this world, and he was none too certain about that prospect. While he knew Merry wanted as many children as the Almighty would bless them with, Duncan worried such wishes would steal her from him. So many women died while trying to bring wee ones into the world. The thought of losing Merry, having her ripped away just as he had finally discovered the true meaning of happiness, made his gut churn. Even though it would make her sad, he’d just as soon that they didn’t have any bairns at all. At least then, she would be safe and alive.
“Did ye hear me, brother?” Malcolm nudged him.
“Sorry. Where did ye say she was?”
“Up there. On the balcony with Lady Atterley. It appears they were indeed close when they were both lasses.” Malcolm pointed at the entrance with his glass. “There be yer lovely lady. Since I am sure ye will be in her company the rest of the evening, I’m off to tend to my own adventures.”
“Aye.” Duncan barely heard his brother. Merry was a vision that made him forget how to breathe. An angel, even. Descended from the heavens to claim his heart and soul.
Her diaphanous gown of white shimmered and sparkled as it swirled around her, setting off her curves in a mouthwatering manner. Her golden-blonde hair, swept up with diamonds and pearls, shone just as brightly as the jewels. She moved with ethereal grace, seeming to float across the floor, and when her gaze met his, she smiled, welcoming him home.
In but a few long strides, he reached her and offered his arm. “My lady—ye take my breath away.”
“My handsome champion,” she said as she linked her arm through his. “I had hoped you would be the first I would see.” A dance card hung from her wrist, tied with a silvery ribbon that matched her gown. “I took the liberty of filling my card with your name.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and so much more. “I hope you do not mind.”
“I look forward to our every dance, my own, from now to eternity.”
She stiffened, making him turn to follow her gaze.
Lord Brixham was headed their way.
“Chance is supposed to have spoken to that fool,” she said. “Seri promised he had.”
“That man respects no one.” Duncan covered her hand with his. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. I will always protect ye.”
“Kirkston.” Brixham barely acknowledged Duncan with a rude tip of his head before turning his full attention to Merry. “Lady Merry. You are a vision. A work of art meant to be set on a pedestal and worshipped.” He held out his hand. “Might I add my name to your dance card? I would love the first waltz.”
“Thank you, but no. My dance card is full.”
Duncan noticed she didn’t bother to curtsy, nor did she smile.
Brixham’s smile turned forced, colder. “But you only just arrived. I have been watching for you.”
“And yet my dance card is still full.” She offered him a dismissive curtsy. “Enjoy the party, Lord Brixham. I am sure your viscountess is out there somewhere waiting for you.”
Smile gone and his face reddening, Brixham moved closer. “This is not over, Lady Merry.”
