No Dukes Need Apply (The Impossible Balfours Book 4)

by Gemma Blackwood

  “Really?” Louis cared as much about politics as a horse cared about learning to fly, but Malcolm knew he supported all his friends without question. “Surely he can’t have meant it!”

  “Oh, he meant it, all right.” Malcolm rubbed his jaw, which was clenching tight as a vice. “’The Duke of Caversham?’, he said, looking me up and down as if I was a prize pig in a farmer’s market. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard about you!’ And he laughed, and I pretended to laugh, and that was it.”

  “Perhaps he meant it kindly?”

  “He meant to tell me that he doesn’t consider me half as important as the Duke of Loxwell,” said Malcolm grimly. “Loxwell’s his dear friend now, and Loxwell will be taking the lead on our diplomatic relations with Austria. Aided, no doubt, by his sister Lady Icicle. One smile from her ought to turn the ambassador into putty – until he realises she’ll freeze him to death like all the others.”

  “Now, Caversham, I wish you wouldn’t speak about our hosts that way. Especially not Lady Selina,” protested Lord Louis. “It’s not the done thing, you know.”

  Malcolm supposed it wasn’t the done thing to seek solace in Loxwell’s prickly-but-lovely sister, either, but he had tried that all the same. And received a worse snub than the one he’d taken from the ambassador.

  Certainly not something he cared to admit to Lord Louis.

  “You’re right,” he said, begrudgingly. “As you usually are.”

  “Less work and more play, that’s what I suggest,” said Louis. “I’m off to the card room. Care to join me?”

  Louis was not a naturally gifted dancer, and he had trampled on enough dainty slippers – and the feet within them – to make a youthful retirement from the sport.

  “No,” said Malcolm, his attention caught by the flash of blue silk on the other side of the room. “No, I’ll cheer myself up somehow.”

  Selina was standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching the dancers with an expression of pure delight on her face. It was a thousand times removed from the glare she had sported when she was talking to him.

  The lady clearly enjoyed dancing. And yet, for years now, she had gracefully declined every invitation to dance. It wasn’t only Malcolm. The first time she’d rejected him, the experience was unusual enough that he took careful note of her afterward. Selina Balfour didn’t dance with anyone.

  Malcolm was not in the habit of denying himself life’s pleasures, and he was at a loss to understand why Selina was.

  He narrowed his eyes as a frown crossed Selina’s distant face. Something had disturbed her. But what?

  He followed her gaze to the girl sitting quietly in a corner beside Lady Ursula Balfour, the elderly aunt Selina had praised for her spinsterhood. The old lady was gesticulating forcefully as she spoke to the girl, whom Malcolm recognised as Lady Isobel, one of Selina’s sisters.

  “Excuse me, Louis,” he said, and made his way briskly across the room towards the seated Balfour ladies.

  Lady Ursula fixed him with a distressingly knowing look. “Ah, if it isn’t the young Duke of Caversham. Are you enjoying the evening, Your Grace?”

  He cleared his throat. “I would enjoy it much more if Lady Isobel would give me the honour of the next dance.”

  Isobel’s pale blue eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at her aunt as though asking for help. “I’m afraid I have finished dancing for the evening, Your Grace. I have been unwell lately, and I am tired.”

  Rejected by two Balfour heiresses in the space of ten minutes! Malcolm could not suppress a rueful smile. He supposed he had it coming. His offers were so rarely declined. “I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps, then, you would allow me to accompany you in to supper?”

  “He’s terribly keen, Isobel,” said Ursula, in a painfully obvious whisper. “And terribly handsome!”

  Isobel frowned, fixing Malcolm with a look that was almost suspicious. “You are keen,” she said. She left it there, neither a refusal nor an acceptance.

  Malcolm shrugged. “I’d hate to see you without a partner at supper simply because you cannot dance.”

  She sighed. “Selina told you to ask me, didn’t she? I saw you talking to her.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing over his shoulder to find Selina fixing him with an icy stare. “As it happens, Lady Selina turned down my invitation and poured the glass of champagne I offered her into a vase.”

  Isobel covered her mouth to hide a smile. “Oh dear. Well, if you dare risk irritating her further, Your Grace, I would be glad of your company for a while. Though please don’t think I was sitting here wishing for someone to notice me. I am quite content as I am.”

  “That strikes me as a lucky thing,” said Malcolm, taking the seat beside her. “I have never managed to be content as I am.” His gaze returned to Selina, who had been drawn aside by her brother for a conversation that looked extremely animated.

  He was not sure whether he had set out to irritate or to please her, but either way, he had failed. She clearly had no attention to spare for him any longer.

  The Duke of Loxwell glanced in Isobel’s direction and made a signal that Malcolm could not decipher. Isobel rose to her feet. “Please excuse me,” she said. “It is very kind of you to sit with me, but –”

  “Go,” said Malcolm, with a smile. Isobel dropped a hasty curtsey and went to join her brother and sister.

  “I’ll give you three guesses what that’s about,” croaked Lady Ursula. Malcolm fought not to jump out of his skin. She had brought her wrinkled mouth so close that her gossipy whisper tickled his ear.

  “I’m no good at guessing games.”

  Ursula waved her cane towards her nieces and nephew. “Another wedding afoot!”

  “My word.” No wonder Selina had reacted so scornfully when he’d suggested she might be Duchess of Caversham.

  Nothing would explain Selina Balfour better than a secret love affair.

  But when the Duke of Loxwell called for the room’s attention, he stepped aside to reveal Nathaniel Townsend, Lord Rotherham, hand in hand with the blushing and smiling Lady Edith.

  As the duke announced his youngest sister’s engagement and cheers rang out around the room, Malcolm rose to his feet with the rest of them. To all appearances, he was watching the happy young couple with the greatest of pleasure.

  But Edith and Lord Rotherham were no more than a blur as his eyes focused on Selina, clapping and beaming behind them. There was nothing on her face but joy.

  She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want power. She didn’t care that her younger siblings were all marrying off before her.

  She didn’t want a duke.

  What the devil did Selina Balfour want?

  3

  Edith and Nathaniel were married with a speed the gossips described as alarming, but which all who knew them found perfectly natural. Within a month, he had whisked her away to Florence, where he had taken up a position as an aide to the Minister to Tuscany.

  The remaining Balfour ladies waved them off with smiles and damp handkerchiefs and retired to the duchess’s private drawing room, which now seemed unnaturally quiet for lack of Edith.

  “It is true what they say about good luck coming in threes,” said Daisy, as she leafed through some samples of fabric the dressmaker had delivered for clothes for the baby. Daisy’s confinement was fast approaching, and with every passing day she grew more serene, more composed, as though focusing all her energies on the task ahead. “First Alexander and I married, then Anthea and darling George, and now Edith, too!” She glanced up at Isobel, Selina, and Aunt Ursula with a mischievous smile. “And three Balfour ladies remaining. I wonder who shall be next?”

  “Heaven forbid!” Aunt Ursula rammed her cane into the carpet with such force that it seemed she was determined to pierce the floorboards. “Spare me from this plague of eligible men! I have kept my fortune to myself these past eighty years, and I’ll be hanged if I let anybody at it now!” She turned her frown from Isobel to Selina. “If yo
u have any sense, girls, you’ll do as I do. Men are not worth the trouble.”

  “I quite agree, Auntie,” said Selina, taking out the pin she was holding between her teeth as she completed a tricky piece of embroidery. “I intend to expend my efforts on worthier pursuits. You know I have never thought much of love.”

  “Ah! Love!” Aunt Ursula sat back in her armchair with a heavy sigh. “Love is a different matter entirely! Girls, I encourage you to fall in love as often as possible. Nothing is more beneficial for the body and mind than a little amour. Only refrain from marriage, and all will be well.”

  “Your advice has come too late for me, I fear,” said Daisy, catching Isobel’s eye with a grin.

  “Well, you were lucky to be caught by my nephew. He is far better than other men.” Ursula seized the arms of her chair and pushed herself up with a heavy groan. “And that is all the wisdom I care to dispense today. It is time for my nap.”

  Isobel hurried to assist her. She bore the old lady’s litany of complaints with her usual calm smile as they shuffled out of the drawing room. Selina often wondered what lay beneath Isobel’s endless patience. Surely no one could really be as content and tranquil as she seemed to be.

  Selina picked up her embroidery again but could not settle to it. It had not escaped her that Daisy kept glancing her way, a frown creasing her brow, and opening her mouth as if to speak, only to think better of it and return to her fabric samples.

  Selina set the embroidery aside. “Is something the matter, Daisy?”

  “Oh, no. Not the matter, exactly. It’s only…” Daisy rubbed her thumb anxiously over a square of soft white cotton. She swallowed, evidently summoning up a great deal of courage. “Selina, I don’t want you to think that Alexander and I are not happy to have you here. If you stayed with us forever, we would be glad of it. But at the same time, it pains me to hear you speak as though you will never have a family of your own.”

  “Well, I am sorry to cause you pain. Would it reassure you to know that I do not suffer over it at all?”

  “No,” said Daisy. “No, it would not. Partly because it would be a shame to think you had given up all hope, and partly because I don’t quite believe that you have.” She glanced behind her to check that there was no one to overhear them. Selina realised, with a sinking heart, that Daisy was about to allude to a secret that only three people in all the world knew – Selina, Alexander, and now Daisy, as Alex’s wife. “You have loved before,” Daisy said quietly. “Why should you not hope to love again?”

  “It is not a question of hope.” Selina sighed, wondering how she could persuade a younger woman so much in love that romance was not as essential as the air they breathed. “Yes, it’s true that if Jeffrey had lived, I would have married him and been happy. But all that was such a long time ago now. In the years since his death, I have learned that there is a much better sort of contentment to aim for. My greatest joy in life comes from seeing the happiness of my siblings. You have made Alexander happy, George has made Anthea happy, and now Edith is finally married to the man I always thought would suit her best. With any luck, Isobel will soon be equally well settled, and I can turn my attention to being the maiden aunt I have long dreamed of being.” She smiled. “I’m afraid I will spoil your children terribly.”

  Daisy looked down at her own round stomach. “Is that truly enough for you, Selina?”

  “Enough? It is plenty! I already have more blessings than I ever dreamed of.” Selina returned her attention to the embroidery. “I am very pleased that I was once in love. It means I have no need to sigh over missed experiences. But Jeffrey died, I shed my tears for him, and now I am quite content as I am. I truly have no wish to risk my heart again. And, thank goodness, I have no need to marry where I do not love.”

  “No,” said Daisy, with a strange, almost guilty expression. “But you may yet find there are reasons to consider it.” She withdrew a letter from beneath her pile of fabric. “A letter has arrived for you. It was delivered by a footman wearing the Duke of Caversham’s livery.”

  Selina almost stabbed herself with the needle. “The Duke of Caversham?”

  “I haven’t read it,” said Daisy quickly. “It seems ridiculous that I should be your chaperone simply because I am married and you are not, especially since I look to you for guidance in so many things. I admit I was surprised. You have never mentioned any partiality between you.”

  Selina glared at the letter as though it was a spider that had fallen into Daisy’s lap. “No partiality exists. Quite the opposite, in fact. How dare that man presume –” Realising that she was on the verge of losing her temper, she swallowed her outrage and deliberately turned her head away from the letter. “I will send it back unopened.”

  “Are you sure?” Daisy held it towards her. “Selina, the Duke of Caversham! Only think –”

  “Let me make one thing clear.” She remembered Malcolm’s smirk as he asked her to dance at the ambassador’s ball, and something flickered in her stomach – something a little like nerves, and not quite like anger. Something she remembered feeling many years before.

  Selina was no blushing debutante. She knew what lay behind his sort of smile.

  “If I did wish to marry,” she said, “the Duke of Caversham is the last man on earth I would choose.” She shook her head ruefully. “If he thought he would gain my friendship by writing to me uninvited, he is mistaken. Please, Daisy. Send the letter back.”

  “As you wish.” Daisy tucked the letter into her reticule. “Now, which do you prefer for the baby’s christening gown? The white with a hint of cream, or the cream with a hint of white?”

  4

  Political power in London was as much about society as it was about the goings-on in the Houses of Parliament. Those who wanted to alter the course of the country had to see and be seen, to talk to the right people, to attend the right lectures, receive invitations to the right dinner parties – in short, to climb the slippery uphill slope of the ton’s affections to its peak.

  It was an area in which Malcolm had always excelled. He might not have the iron-fisted authority people remembered of his father, nor the Duke of Loxwell’s reputation for steadiness, but given enough time to work his magic he could have the surliest of voters eating out of the palm of his hand.

  Which made it particularly irksome when one of his rivals broke the unspoken covenants of their political conflict. Not only did it cause him problems in Parliament, but it made his social engagements decidedly awkward.

  “My dear Loxwell,” he said, when they met at Lady Sturgeon’s musicale. Nobody was less dear to him than the Duke of Loxwell at that moment, but he’d be damned if he’d show it. He turned on his most brotherly smile. “I’m afraid we’ve found ourselves in a rather difficult spot.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the young duke, countering Malcolm’s smile with his trademark frown. “I hope I haven’t done anything to offend you, Caversham.”

  Malcolm’s thoughts flickered to the letter addressed to the duke’s sister which was now lying in a crumpled ball in the wastepaper basket beside his desk. He would never know, of course, whether Loxwell was aware that Selina had sent back the letter unread. And Loxwell would certainly never tell him.

  Best to focus on the problem at hand. “It seems that you have put your name behind a candidate for the by-election in the Twynham borough. I’m afraid that I’ve invested quite a bit of time and energy courting the voters of Twynham. That seat was once in my father’s control, and I had a man in mind to bring it back into the Caversham pocket, as it were. I am running an old friend as the candidate – Sir Roderick March.”

  “Twynham?” Loxwell shook his head, the frown clearing. “You are mistaken, Caversham. I have no interest in having Twynham in my pocket.”

  Malcolm nodded, relieved. “I am glad to hear it. I should hate for us to be at odds with one another.”

  “It’s my sister, Selina, who’s taken the interest in it.”

  Mal
colm blinked. For a moment, he wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly. Selina had been on his mind only moments before, after all. Had he been thinking of her so much that he’d started imagining he heard her name?

  “Forgive me.” He cleared his throat. “Did you say –”

  “Selina, yes. She’s throwing her full support behind the Whigs this year.” Loxwell shrugged, smiling ruefully. “I admit, there are times when I feel I am not the major political player in the family.”

  “Lady Selina.” Malcolm’s teeth gritted together beneath his amiable smile. There were times when it was appropriate for a woman to have a name that sounded like music, and this was not one of them. “Well, that’s certainly an interesting development. Good day, Loxwell. Enjoy the music.”

  Selina Balfour was never hard to find, even in a crowd. There was something about her that drew the eye, no matter which corner of the room Malcolm was in. Today, she was wearing a gown the colour of the Cornish sea in summer. A gold comb with turquoise detailing was nestled in her dark hair.

  She turned from her conversation with Lady Sturgeon, her eyebrow rising when she saw Malcolm.

  “Your Grace.” She and Lady Sturgeon matched each other for the depth of their curtsey. But Selina, unlike their hostess, did not lower her eyes, but kept them fixed firmly on Malcolm’s. A challenge? A declaration of defiance?

  Or simply a warning that he was, once again, about to be brushed off as carelessly as she’d shake the dust from a glove?

  He took her hand, though she hadn’t held it out, and pressed it to his lips. Selina withdrew it rapidly, mouth tightening.

  “You are hell-bent on driving me mad,” he said. Selina’s eyes widened in alarm, gratifyingly enough. He knew she could only think that he was referring to the letter, and there would be nothing she wanted Lady Sturgeon to hear about less.