Page 5 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“Women aren’t wild horses to be broken in, Murdo.”
“What’s a man to do with a woman, then?”
“Woo her with delicacy and patience.”
“Such as sauntering about a ballroom in a girlish pattern to the strains of a violin?” Murdo laughed.
“Don’t criticize dancing until you’ve tried it.”
“What ye English do isn’tdancing,” Murdo said. “It’s nothing more than walking from one end of the room to the other. Now a reel—that’sdancing. But the lasses here would faint at the thought of such savagery, given that it would make them break out in a sweat.”
“Ladies don’tsweat, Murdo,” Simon said. “They exude a healthy glow.”
“Ha! Next, ye’ll be telling me they don’t take a shi—”
“Hush, cousin! Do you want to be thrown out before the first dance?”
“It’d liven the place up,” Murdo said. “I’ve never been to a duller party in my life.”
“Then I’ll introduce you to some of the more interesting guests,” Simon said. “The Duke and Duchess of Pittchester are here, with their sons.”
“Why would I want to meetthem?”
“They’re my brother’s best friends at Oxford. Henry spent a fortnight at Pittchester Castle last vacation. The duke’s fortunes have taken a turn for the better since he remarried. His wife’s one of the wealthiest women in England, so Henry says.”
“What could I stand to gain from simpering to a duchess?” Murdo asked. “Unless ye think she’s in need of a real man between her thighs.”
“No, you fool!” Simon laughed. “She has a daughter from her first marriage. I’ll wager there’s a dowry there that could restore your fortunes and leave room to purchase a small county.”
“Devil’s ballocks, is that why you brought me here—to broker the purchase of a mare?”
“I doubt the duchess would appreciate your referring to her daughter as amare,” Simon said, chuckling. “But there’s no harm in looking at the goods.”
He gestured toward a party standing across the ballroom—a couple arm in arm and two young men. In contrast to the eye-wateringly bright silks adorning the other guests, the woman’s gown was a muted gold, reminiscent of a setting sun on a summer’s evening. Her granite-colored hair was fashioned into a simple style, with a curl cascading down either side of her face.
A handsome creature, even though her face was lined with age—in her prime she must have been an extraordinary beauty. Her eyes carried an expression of determination—of a heart of iron and a will of granite.
Her husband looked even more formidable. He wore a jacket the color of pale charcoal, matching the color of his hair. But despite his age, his form exuded athleticism and filled his suit to perfection. He cast his gaze about the ballroom, and for a heartbeat, clear blue eyes stared directly at Murdo, before his gaze resumed its journey about the company.
They were not a couple to be crossed.
Their companions were barely out of boyhood, with rounded, fresh-complexioned faces and the bright-eyed expressions of hopeful adolescence. It was plain to see they were related to the older man—the shape and color of their eyes was identical. But their hair, rather than iron gray, was jet black.
“Magnificent, isn’t she?” Simon whispered. “She was something of a sensation in her younger days. Papa says thatevery man was in love with her. If you ask me, I thinkhewas in love with her, though he’d never admit it.”
“I’d hope not,” Murdo said.
Aunt Fiona wasn’t the type to suffer fools—or philanderers. Uncle Adam would be minus his ballocks if she caught him sniffing around other women.
The musicians tuned their instruments, and Miss Goodchild returned with another young lady. But while Miss Goodchild smiled, her companion’s expression was bitter enough to turn even the sweetest dessert sour. Pretty enough, but her nose seemed permanently wrinkled into a sneer, as if she found everyone in the vicinity beneath her.
“Miss Goodchild,” Simon said. “And you’ve brought Miss Peacock. To what do we owe the pleasure of the company oftwosuch beauties?”
“It’s time for our dance, Mr. Tuffington,” Miss Goodchild said. She held out her hand, and Simon took it, then she glanced at Murdo. “I wanted to introduce your cousin to my friend, Miss Peacock.” She turned toward the sour-faced miss. “Louise—this is Mr. McTavish. Are you fond of dancing, Mr. McTavish?”
“I lack the talent for it,” Murdo said.
“I’m sure you’re being overly modest,” she replied. “Besides, onlyonepartner needs to be talented on the dance floor. My friend’s an excellent dancer, aren’t you, Louise?”
