“Twynham,” he said, with just enough growl to let her know he was serious. “I was hoping my candidate would run unopposed, and now I find a challenger appearing with the Balfour name behind him.” He offered Selina his arm, which she took with a nod of apology to Lady Sturgeon. “Don’t you know you ought never to come between a man and his political ambition?”
Selina cocked her head sideways, just enough to expose an elegant length of pale neck. Malcolm would have laid any money that it would knock her from her high horse if he took off a glove and ran a teasing finger down that inviting stretch of skin. But he valued his fingers too much to risk them being bitten off.
“I wasn’t aware that you had Twynham in your pocket, Your Grace.”
“It’s half in,” he said. “And, it seems, half in yours.”
“There is nothing in my pocket at all. I don’t agree with buying and selling votes, as though the fate of the country were worth nothing more than a bribe. I particularly disagree with the notion that a powerful man can become yet more powerful simply by installing an obedient friend in the House of Commons.” She met his eyes impassively. “No offence intended.”
“Naturally.” She had meant to offend him, of course. Malcolm was caught between amusement and irritation. “But if the very concept of a pocket borough offends your honour, I fail to see why you are interested in the election at all. What do you have to gain by interfering?”
A flicker of annoyance broke her impassive gaze as she took note of that word – interfering. She recovered so smoothly that only a very careful observer would have noticed that Malcolm had landed a blow. Luckily for Malcolm, he was watching her carefully indeed.
Selina went on, speaking more crisply than before. “I have decided to support a man with a fine mind and a bright future, that’s all. My candidate, Mr Forrester, was born in Twynham. He is determined to represent the borough well.”
“Really! Martin Forrester – the lawyer?”
“The finest young legal mind in England, as some call him.”
“And you would set him against Sir Roderick March, who hails from one of England’s oldest families?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Mr Forrester has made a name for himself through talent and hard work. From the first time I heard him speak – his lectures on social reform are very popular, by the way, and I’m sure you would benefit from hearing one – I knew he deserved my patronage. Sir Roderick has achieved nothing, as far as I can see, except a rather lucrative friendship with you.”
“Careful.” It was as though she knew exactly how to set his hackles rising. “Sir Roderick was my father’s dearest friend.”
“And hasn’t he made a wonderful career out of it?” Sensing, perhaps, that she had gone too far, Selina gave Malcolm’s arm a placating squeeze. “Come, Your Grace. You have so much influence already. Would you really begrudge me this small piece of it?”
“I might begrudge it less if I knew you were not truly after it just to spite me.”
Genuine confusion creased her brows. “You really cannot believe I have another motive?”
“If you were really concerned for the people of Twynham, you’d be content making charitable visits to the poor, as other ladies do when they want people to praise their virtue. Politics is a strange hobby for a woman.”
“I could not disagree more.” Selina gestured towards Lady Sturgeon, who was fluttering her fan at a pair of lords nearby. “Why is Lady Sturgeon hosting this musicale, if not to garner support for her husband in the House of Lords?” When Malcolm was unmoved, Selina sighed and snapped her own fan closed. “I do not accept that women must be resigned to a passive role. Think of the Duchess of Devonshire. She was one of the foremost campaigners of the last generation! When I spoke out in favour of Mr Forrester, it was not you I was thinking of. It was the duchess.”
“That great lady possessed something you lack.” Malcolm could not resist a wicked grin at Selina’s flicker of alarm. “She had a duke for a husband.”
Selina’s lips pressed tight. “And very unhappy he made her too, by all accounts.”
“This competition would be entirely unnecessary if you were my wife, Selina. The particular candidate makes little difference to me, Sir Roderick’s feelings aside. It’s the seat I want, and the vote in the Commons.”
She touched the tip of her fan to her lips, as though she were actually considering it. “With so much lust for power in your heart, Your Grace, there can be little room for anything else.”
“Great men cannot afford soft hearts, my lady.”
“In that case, since you are such a very great man, I think you can withstand a little competition.” She let go of his arm and extended her hand. “May the best man win.”
Malcolm was tempted not to shake it, but any sign of a thaw from Lady Icicle was a good thing. He pressed her hand just long enough to watch her eyes widen. “I look forward to your inevitable defeat.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” called Lady Sturgeon from the front of the room. “Do please take your seats! The entertainment is about to begin.”
Selina withdrew her hand with as much warmth as midwinter. “I hope you enjoy the music, Your Grace.” She made to sweep away but glanced back over her shoulder at the last moment. “It would be a pity if it were spoiled by the prospect of ceding to a woman.”
Malcolm took a seat at the back of the room as the musicians – a famous string quartet visiting from Germany – began to play.
He tried to pretend that he was not sitting there simply because it offered him the perfect view of Selina Balfour’s elegant profile – the graceful curve of her back – the languid poise of her shoulders – but he had never been much good at fooling himself.
Malcolm’s father had always said that the first thing to do, on facing an enemy, was seek out their weakness. Since Malcolm was his own worst enemy more often than not, the task was not difficult. He simply had to add Selina to the list of his own vulnerabilities.
To discover her Achilles’ heel, though – that would be the real challenge in the weeks ahead. It was one thing to lose control of a borough to a fellow duke. It was quite another to be bested by that duke’s sister.
Even when said lady happened to be as formidable an opponent as Lady Selina Balfour.
5
Selina had chosen her first campaigning outfit with great care. Her dress was a sober maroon, as far removed from girlish pastel as could be. She wore a grey pelisse edged with matching deep red ribbon. Atop her hat was a plume of grey feathers that would mark her out in any crowd. She could not be missed.
Nor could she be mistaken for the silly young woman many of the voters would expect her to be.
“Bravo!” she called, clapping loudly as Mr Forrester finished his speech. “Bravo!” She gently nudged Aunt Ursula, who had fallen into a doze beside her.
“Is it finished?” asked the old lady, rousing herself with difficulty. “About time, too. I’ve missed my afternoon sherry. My throat is parched!”
“Lady Selina!” called a portly gentleman, whom Selina recognised as one of the voters of the Twynham borough. He tipped his hat and nodded to Aunt Ursula. “How nice to see young gels taking an interest in politics, eh, Lady Ursula?”
“I am very glad to see you here, too, Mr Griggs,” said Selina, ignoring the phrase young gels. “I thought Mr Forrester spoke exceptionally well.”
“Yes indeed, yes indeed.” Mr Griggs’s attention drifted over Selina’s shoulder, where it caught on something that evidently surprised him. “Ah!” He made a low bow. “Good day, Your Grace!”
“Good day, Mr Griggs.” The Duke of Caversham stepped down from his carriage with a beaming smile. He bowed to Aunt Ursula, winked at Selina, and gestured expansively towards the podium where Mr Forrester was taking questions from the keener members of his audience. “Quite the spectacle. I must say, I was impressed. Mr Forrester does have a talent for public speaking.”
“I should think so, Your Grace,” said Selina
stiffly. “He is one of our finest barristers, after all.”
A second man was descending the carriage behind Malcolm – a man with a high domed forehead rising above the wisps of grey hair, and an expression that suggested he had recently trodden in manure. Selina gave him a cool nod. “I wonder if Sir Roderick shares our opinion of Mr Forrester?”
“Naturally he does!” cried Malcolm, throwing his arm about Sir Roderick’s shoulders. Sir Roderick greeted Selina with an oily smile that was not improved by its close proximity to Malcolm’s roguish grin. “In fact,” Malcolm continued, “in order to celebrate, we would like to invite Mr Forrester and his illustrious audience to dinner at my club. There’s a barrel of brandy waiting to be tapped.”
A low cheer went up from a few nearby gentlemen. Mr Griggs rubbed his ample belly in anticipation. “That’s most kind of you, Your Grace! Most kind!”
Martin Forrester was hurrying towards them, hampered by the necessity of exchanging greetings with the gentlemen who stopped to congratulate him. When he reached them, his eager young face was flushed red. He bowed deeply to Malcolm, his back stiff enough to convey his deep suspicion.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Malcolm, extending a hand. “I am the Duke of Caversham.”
“An honour, Your Grace.” Mr Forrester shook his hand firmly, voice carefully neutral. “My name is Martin Forrester.”
“So I hear. Well, I must commend you. You spoke extremely well. Sir Roderick agrees with me, don’t you, Roddy?”
Sir Roderick made a non-committal grunt. Malcolm hesitated a moment, but when no further response appeared, he turned his well-practised smile back on Mr Forrester.
“I do hope you’ll join us both for dinner.”
Mr Forrester glanced at Selina, alarm bells jangling in his eyes. “I…”
“Oh, do come, Forrester,” said Mr Griggs. “I don’t see why a bit of competition should prevent us all sharing a tot of brandy. Besides, it’ll give us the chance to talk about your schemes for relief for the poor. Or was it the needy? I admit I didn’t follow the finer points.” He let out a bray of laughter.
“Sounds fascinating,” said Malcolm, his glittering eyes fixed on Selina.
“You are very generous, Your Grace,” said Mr Forrester. Selina gave him a subtle nod. He straightened his shoulders. “I would be delighted to join you.”
“Excellent. My men will flag down a hackney for you.” The corner of Malcolm’s mouth edged upwards. “A pity the ladies can’t join us.”
“I’m sure there will be other opportunities for us all to discuss important matters in a more suitable location,” said Selina airily. Her pride would not let her reveal quite how much Malcolm had irked her, but she was certain that he knew it all the same.
“Yes, but I’m afraid there won’t be quite so much brandy and japery at the refined event you have in mind.”
“Brandy?” said Aunt Ursula, cupping a hand around her ear. “No, Your Grace! It’s sherry I’m after! Sherry!”
Selina smiled, despite herself, and took Aunt Ursula’s arm. “We mustn’t keep you gentlemen any longer. Congratulations, Mr Forrester. You put your position across marvellously today.” She nodded her goodbyes to the rest of them – a very curt nod for Malcolm – and swept away as elegantly as she could with Ursula pottering along beside her.
Her graceful exit was marred somewhat by the groom’s mournful expression as they reached the carriage. “We can’t leave yet, my lady. One of the horses has thrown a shoe.”
Selina battled down her irritation. It was not the groom’s fault that Malcolm had swept in and taken over her rally. It would not be fair to take out her frustrations on him. “How unfortunate. Have you sent for another horse?”
“Yes, my lady. But it may take a while to arrive.”
A large spot of rain landed on Selina’s nose. She wiped it off delicately and turned her eyes to the sky, where thick grey clouds were turning the afternoon prematurely to night.
“We will wait inside the carriage,” she decided. “In you get, Auntie. I don’t want you to get wet.”
Another raindrop splattered down on the cobblestones, followed swiftly by another, and another. Before Aunt Ursula had wobbled halfway into the carriage, it was lashing down.
“Not to worry, my lady!” said the groom, taking off his coat and holding it over Selina’s head. She waved him off.
“A little rain never hurt anyone.” Though it was certainly the final damp straw of a very trying afternoon. “I’ll be under cover soon enough. Keep yourself warm!”
She took a step back as the shining black wheels of a town coach rolled past. To her surprise, the enormous carriage ground to a halt at her side. The Caversham livery gleamed golden on its door.
Malcolm opened the coach door himself, glanced at the rain, and leaned out just far enough that his hat did not get wet. “Is something the matter, my lady? One of your horses is unhitched.”
“He’s thrown a shoe.” Selina sheltered her face with a hand, wishing with all her might that Malcolm would leave off his crowing and go to dissolve himself in brandy at the club. “Matters are in hand, Your Grace.”
Malcolm glanced warily at the rain and produced a large grey umbrella from under his seat. He opened it carefully, without exposing his hands to the weather, and managed to extricate himself from the carriage without a drop of rain touching him. He stood beside Selina, the umbrella sheltering them both.
“I must offer you a lift home.”
“I won’t put you to the trouble.” Selina could not keep the twist of bitterness from her voice. “You have taken such effort to woo the Twynham voters. I know you don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Nonsense. I am not the candidate. My manners are not the ones under scrutiny.” He turned back to shout at the hunched grey man inside the carriage. “Roddy? Roddy, you must get yourself a hackney. I am taking the Balfour ladies home.” He beckoned to a footman. “Hail a hackney for Sir Roderick, there’s a good man.”
He turned back to Selina. She realised that she had taken two steps too many into the shelter of the umbrella. His face was dangerously close to hers.
She could see every strong-jawed, finely carved reason the young ladies had christened him His Gorgeous Grace. The shadow of masculine hair beginning to roughen a chin that must have been shaved only that morning. The flecks of green deep within the startling blue of his eyes, like the refracted light at the heart of a crystal.
Malcolm caught her by the elbow as she took a step back. “You’ll get wet,” he said quietly.
Selina glanced up at the tented black oilcloth. “My father always told me never to trust a man who carried an umbrella.”
“Fortunately, we live in more enlightened times. They aren’t only for Frenchmen and dandies these days.” He gave the polished handle an ironic shake, sending droplets of rain sparkling to the ground around them. “They are also useful for those too wealthy to care what other men think of them.”
Sir Roderick descended, grumbling, from the carriage behind him. Within moments, Malcolm had handed Selina and Ursula inside, and they were dry and warm and making swift progress through the winding streets.
Aunt Ursula propped her feet up on the seat opposite, tipped back her head against the cushioned backrest, and was snoring uproariously within moments. Selina tried not to meet Malcolm’s eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to contain her laughter if she did.
“I thought I’d be in for a lecture,” he said. Selina risked a glance and found him watching her with another of his teasing smiles. “I’d wager you have a gift for rhetoric every bit as potent as your Mr Forrester. And here I am, a captive audience, and as deserving of a tongue-lashing as I’ve ever been. And yet you are silent.”
“I’d tell you exactly what I thought of you if I didn’t suspect you’d enjoy it,” said Selina stiffly. “Or find some way to turn it against me.” She patted the back of her hair, where the curls had caught the rain and were beginning to
unfurl themselves. “You thought of the perfect way to usurp my rally, and you want me to congratulate you by way of getting angry. I don’t see why I should give you the satisfaction.”
He leaned closer. “If you’ve made one thing clear, Selina, it is that I’ll get no satisfaction from you whatsoever.”
Selina glanced at Aunt Ursula, who let rip another rumbling snore. Her shoulders tensed. “I think silence was the better option.”
He sat back, a thoughtful finger stroking his chin. “You despise me, don’t you.”
“I don’t think of you enough to despise you.”
“Why?” A genuine note of hurt coarsened his voice. At least, she thought it was genuine. She was certain that Malcolm could feign any emotion he chose – particularly when in pursuit of a conquest – but when she met his eyes, she saw no hint of guile.
Only interest, and an endless azure blue.
“What have I done to make you dislike me?” he pressed. “It can’t be the politics. You’ve given me enough set downs over the years that I know it’s not a new aversion.”
Selina took a slow breath. “Why do you want to know?”
He glanced down, jaw tightening, then gave a careless shrug. “If I’ve been in the habit of making accidental enemies throughout the ton, I ought to know about it. It doesn’t do a man any good to be disliked.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I confess I’ve always thought of myself as rather charming.”
“Yes. I know.” Selina shook her head. A cold drip of rain fell from her sodden hair and traced its way down her neck. She gave a little shiver. “That’s part of the problem. The rest of it is… Oh, it isn’t anything you’ve done.”
“Well, that’s promising.”
“It’s who you are.”
“Ah.”
Selina didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t another of his devil’s grins.
“Let me guess,” said Malcolm, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “You think me vain, arrogant, frivolous and undeserving of my station in life.”
No Dukes Need Apply (The Impossible Balfours Book 4) Page 3
