Page 7 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“I lack the wit to be obtuse,” Murdo replied. “And I’m not in the habit of insulting a lady—intentionally, at least.”
She inclined her head again—a gesture that seemed to convey the condescension of a monarch bestowing benevolence upon one of her subjects.
Heavens!Did every soul in the room possess the same degree of self-satisfaction? Or perhaps it was a trait of theperfect Society lady.
“Oh, Lord!” Miss Peacock huffed.
“Have I taken another wrong turn?” Murdo asked.
“It’s bad enough having to pay court to her mother, even though she’s a duchess—but to pay homage toheris not to be borne.”
“Are ye speaking of the Duchess of Pittchester?” Murdo asked.
“No, that daughter of hers—Miss Martingale. I suppose, being a newcomer, you aren’t aware of the scandal.”
“Scandal?”
“Miss Martingale isn’t the duke’s daughter,” Miss Peacock said. “She’s reported to be the daughter of the duchess’s first husband.”
“Reportedto be?”
“There are doubts over her parentage. The duchess had something of a reputation when she was Lady Betty Grey—my mama always remarked on how shocking her behavior was. Outrageous parties, infamous activities—she was known as theMerry Widow.”
Murdo grimaced as he thought of the bitter old man back home, numbing his self-pity—and drinking away his wealth—with whisky.
“In my experience,” he said, “widows—and widowers—are far frommerry.”
“Then you’ve never met a woman who delighted in driving her husband into the grave. We were horrified to hear thatshe’dsnared the Duke of Pittchester. He’s such a stickler for propriety. But then, even the most distinguished man can be fooled by a harlot.”
Murdo recoiled at the spite in her tone.
“As for that spawn of hers,” she continued, “she appeared out of nowhere, some weeks after her mother married the duke. My mama said she once saw her grubbing about in the dirt like an urchin—yet she’s paraded among her betters, as if she were a debutante.”
“I thought all young ladies entering into their first Season were debutantes,” Murdo said.
“Not her,” came the reply. “She’snothing but a guttersnipe who drops her aitches and never knows which fork to use. I saw her eating with herfingersonce. Poor Lady Cholmondeley must regret being forced to invite such a creature tonight. It’s no wonder she spends most balls seated at the side. Anyone wouldconsider it the worst sort of punishment to stand within ten feet of her, let alone partner her in a dance. Do you not agree?”
Murdo was spared the necessity of a response as the dance separated them for a few bars. But when they rejoined, she continued, as seamlessly as a vicar delivering a sermon. Evidently, she preferred the sound of her own voice to the music—and to anything else.
Heaven spare me from women!
Yet he was duty bound to marry one.
Well, his future wife wouldn’t be the woman standing before him now—nor any woman here tonight.
“She’s no social graces to speak of,” Miss Peacock continued as the dance concluded and the partners bowed and curtseyed before dispersing. “Stupid, ungainly, uncouth, and wild. I can’t abide a person who lacks social graces, can you, Mr. McTavish?”
“I find them—unpleasing,” he said.
“They’re more thanunpleasing. Social graces set us apart from the savage. Our world is founded on the traditions and laws by which the educated and accomplished must abide. Those traditions are manifested in social graces.”
Sweet devil’s ballocks—what was she prattling on about?
“I suppose she should command our pity,” Miss Peacock said, giving him an expectant stare. “But you’d be advised to avoid being tainted by association with her.”
“Social graces can be taught,” Murdo said. “Therefore, a lack of them can be remedied with a little tuition. But a young woman’s character cannot be remedied if it stems from her very soul.”
“I don’t understand you, sir.”
