What a Devilish Duke Desires

by Vicky Dreiling

  Lady Castlereagh cleared her throat. “The only thing that entices gentlemen is their clubs. They gamble, they drink, and they take snuff. How many lose and win fortunes every night? It is scandalous.”

  Mrs. Norcliffe smoothed her skirts. “I had hoped that he would accept Lady Bellingham’s invitation to dine. She had meant to invite Miss Lingley and her parents, but apparently my son begged off due to other commitments.”

  “Well, we all know what that means,” Lady Sefton said.

  Mrs. Norcliffe sighed. “Indeed, the clubs.”

  “I think they would live in them if possible,” Lady Cowper said.

  “Perish the thought,” Countess Lieven said.

  Lady Sefton pursed her lips. “I heard Lord Percival was found snoring beneath a gaming table at White’s—the next morning.”

  Mrs. Norcliffe clutched the arms of her chair. “God save Lady Percival.”

  “No need to worry,” Countess Lieven said. “They have an arrangement whereby he only comes home for the occasional dinner party in town. In autumn, he’s much taken with his hunting and dogs. Lady Percival is quite satisfied with her circumstances.”

  Lady Cowper snorted. “And with her young Italian lover who plays the harp.”

  Mrs. Norcliffe fanned her face. “How risqué.”

  Lady Cowper lifted her brows. “One hears he plays his instrument well.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “We must take care not to venture into indecent topics.”

  Mrs. Norcliffe would never admit it, but she wished to hear more about the illicit Italian lover.

  “I pity you, Mrs. Norcliffe, but something must be done about Granfield,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “A dukedom is too important. However, I have a suggestion. Mrs. Osterham’s daughter Hortense is quite accomplished, and at eighteen, she is biddable. You could take her in hand and mold her into the perfect bride for your son.”

  Mrs. Norcliffe clasped her hands to her heart. “Thank you, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. I’m much obliged.”

  “Perhaps you could introduce your son at the opening of Almack’s,” Countess Lieven said.

  Mrs. Norcliffe knew her son wouldn’t go near Almack’s unless there was an inducement. If something didn’t change soon, she feared Harry would end up a lifelong bachelor like his freewheeling pigheaded uncle before him, God rest his soul.

  “Do not fret, Mrs. Norcliffe,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “Dancing is the mode of courtship, is it not? Do we not encourage our fair offspring to find their perfectly suitable partners for life at a ball?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Sefton said, “but, Mrs. Norcliffe, I suspect you wish to make a point, do you not?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “The problem is how to lure the gentlemen away from their dice, liquor, and clubs? We need to make the experience exciting for them.”

  “No spirits,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “The gentlemen will huddle around the sideboard all evening and become foxed.”

  “Mrs. Norcliffe, how do you propose to create excitement?” Lady Cowper said.

  “It is rather daring,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. Anxiety gripped her as she struggled to invent a plan. When it popped into her head, she knew the patronesses would proclaim it either brilliant or utter rubbish. She’d managed to become one of the patronesses, and she meant to secure her place. Sometimes one had to be bold.

  “One thing we know about gentlemen is that they are fond of competition,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

  All of the ladies leaned the slightest bit forward.

  “I propose a dancing competition, one that would stir up passions not only for the dancers, but for the observers as well.”

  When there was no immediate reply, Mrs. Norcliffe resisted the urge to squirm.

  “Your point, Mrs. Norcliffe?” Lady Jersey said.

  “I hope to find my dear son a wife during the competition.”

  Princess Esterhazy applied her fan. “How can you be sure the dancing competition will work?”

  “Indeed,” Lady Castlereagh said. “Suppose the gentlemen refuse to participate. What then?”

  “We need an incentive to entice them,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Otherwise, they will return to their clubs.”

  “An incentive implies commerce.” Lady Cowper fanned her face as if money were akin to devilment.

  “In this case, it implies competition, and that is something no gentleman can resist,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Imagine how many will be envious of those who are able to participate or observe at close hand. Almack’s will once again rise as the temple of exclusivity.”

  “How are we to spread the word?” Princess Esterhazy said.

  “It is easy enough to tip off the scandal sheets,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Imagine all of London anticipating the competition each week. News will circulate far and wide. Everyone who is anyone will not want to miss the weekly winners.”

  “Winners?” Lady Sefton said in a faint tone.

  Mrs. Norcliffe’s stomach tightened, but she’d learned long ago to feign her way through almost any situation. “Each week the couples will dance and compete to stay in the competition another week,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Some will be eliminated and others will remain until the very last.”

  “We are to judge them?” Lady Jersey asked.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Who better than the patronesses to make the decisions?”

  “It is rather bold,” Lady Jersey said, “but we are the patronesses. Who will dare criticize if we sanction the competition?”

  “Indeed, it could result in the loss of one’s voucher,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

  “What will the prize be?” Lady Jersey asked. “It must be sufficient to draw the gentlemen away from their liquor, cards, and dice.”

  “Ladies, what do you say to five hundred pounds as the prize for the most elegant dancing couple? Are we prepared to contribute seventy-two pounds each?” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

  “That leaves four pounds unaccounted for,” Lady Sefton said.

  “We will buy extra lemonade and buttered sandwiches,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

  “I must admit this is all rather exciting,” Princess Esterhazy said.

  “Indeed,” Lady Jersey said. “Everyone will be anxious to get a voucher on Wednesday nights.”

  “Of course, only the most elite will have their vouchers approved,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell said. “We must maintain our high standards.”

  “Well, ladies, I believe we are all prepared for the first annual Almack’s dancing competition,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

  Lady Jersey observed Mrs. Norcliffe with a sly expression. “Pray tell, how do you propose to tempt your son into participating?”

  Mrs. Norcliffe smiled. “What every mother resorts to when faced with an obstinate son. I will make him feel guilty.”

  Chapter Three

  The next day

  Lucy donned her bonnet and set out for the Mayfair address. She dreaded the scene that would arise when she confronted Buckley after the dance lesson today, but once it ended, she would never have to see him again. She made her way to the elegant town house in Grosvenor Square and knocked at the servant’s door. A squat housekeeper admitted her and took her cloak. “Follow me upstairs,” the housekeeper said. “They’re waitin’ in the first-floor drawing room.”

  When Lucy entered, Buckley narrowed his bloodshot eyes. He’d probably drunk himself into a stupor the previous night. It reminded her too much of her late father’s nasty temper when he’d started drinking heavily after her mother’s death.

  “You are late, Lucy,” he said. “It is disrespectful to Mrs. Vernon.”

  She ground her teeth. Oh, how she despised him for his unfair criticism, but she must control her reactions in front of Mrs. Vernon.

  The clock struck the hour, proving she had actually arrived a bit early.

  The two young misses covered their mouths and giggled.

  “Girls, mind your manners,”
Mrs. Vernon said.

  “Yes, Mama,” they said in unison.

  Lucy stood still, waiting for Buckley’s instruction.

  He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Vernon, with your permission, my assistant will show the fleuret steps to Miss Marie Vernon and Miss Anne Vernon.”

  Mrs. Vernon took a seat and sipped her tea. “Very well. My daughters are not acquainted with the steps. They need basic instruction.”

  Buckley snapped his fingers. “Lucy, will you demonstrate?”

  She inclined her head. “Of course.”

  Naturally he ignored the young ladies and hovered near Mrs. Vernon, no doubt trying to curry favor with the lady, who paid him scarce attention. Lucy wasn’t surprised. Buckley seldom exerted himself. After today, he would have no choice, unless he found a new assistant.

  Lucy faced the young ladies. “The steps of the fleuret are in three/four time.” She demonstrated slowly, saying, “Step, step, step, plié.” She paused and said, “Now perform the steps with me.”

  Both girls made the mistake of taking a fourth step.

  Lucy leaned down and smiled. “One thing you must remember is that it takes everyone a bit of time to learn a new dance. When I was a girl, I practiced a great deal. So please do not become discouraged. The more you practice, the easier it will become,” she said.

  The relief on the girls’ faces told her that she’d succeeded in making them feel that there was no shame in making mistakes.

  “Let us try it very slowly,” Lucy said. “Watch and perform with me.”

  The girls practiced three times slowly, though they had a bit of trouble with the plié.

  “Very good,” Lucy said. “Now we will dance the steps at the correct tempo.”

  The girls floundered at the quicker pace the first time, but they improved quickly.

  She worked with the young ladies for another half hour and praised them for their efforts. She leaned down to be closer to their level. “Continued practice will serve you well,” Lucy said. “Again, the most important thing is not to become discouraged. I have confidence in both of you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Longmore,” the girls said in unison.

  Lucy glanced over at Buckley for further instruction.

  When he leaned closer to Mrs. Vernon, Lucy winced because she’d smelled the spirits on his breath earlier. Mrs. Vernon’s expression registered repugnance, and she stood abruptly. Naturally, Buckley rose as well. “Is anything amiss, Mrs. Vernon?” he asked.

  “Pardon me.” She marched over to her daughters. “Anne, Marie, please return to your rooms immediately,” Mrs. Vernon said, her voice shaking.

  “Yes, Mama,” they said, and quit the room.

  Lucy’s heart thudded. She was certain Mrs. Vernon would dismiss them both without pay.

  Mrs. Vernon returned her attention to Buckley. “Sir, you are dismissed.”

  His fleshy lips parted. “Mrs. Vernon, clearly you are distressed that my assistant was unable to teach the girls properly. I assure you it will never happen again.”

  “I have no quarrel with your assistant, but I smelled the liquor on your breath. I do not tolerate drunkards,” Mrs. Vernon said.

  He mopped his forehead with a dingy handkerchief. “Madame, this has all been a terrible misunderstanding. It is the tonic for my sore throat you smelled.”

  “I understand drunkards perfectly,” Mrs. Vernon said. “You smell like a brew house. I will not allow you in my home ever again. You are dismissed without pay.”

  Lucy sighed inwardly. The moment Buckley had accused her of being tardy, she’d known he wouldn’t pay her full wages, but now she would receive nothing.

  “Madam, please reconsider,” Buckley said.

  “You are dismissed,” Mrs. Vernon said tersely. “I suggest you leave immediately.”

  Lucy started to follow him, but Mrs. Vernon spoke. “Miss Longmore, may I have a word with you?”

  Buckley glared at Lucy as if she were responsible for his inebriated state. She kept her expression as neutral as possible as he walked unsteadily out of the drawing room.

  Mrs. Vernon closed the drawing room doors and faced Lucy. “You acquitted yourself in a patient and excellent manner while teaching the dance steps to my girls, but I wonder why you work for a man of Mr. Buckley’s ilk.”

  “I have only been in London for six months,” Lucy said. “I did not know his character well when I accepted the position.” Truthfully, she would have taken it regardless, because she’d needed the money.

  “Will you return next week at the same time to teach my daughters?” Mrs. Vernon asked. “I will pay you two shillings per lesson, the same as Mr. Buckley.”

  She schooled her expression, but inside she rejoiced, because Buckley had paid her only a sixpence, when he didn’t short her. “Thank you, madame. I’m pleased to accept.”

  “Very good.” Mrs. Vernon’s brows furrowed. “One moment please.” She opened the doors and signaled a footman. Mrs. Vernon spoke quietly to him there. Lucy turned to the view of the green lawn and the trees so that it wouldn’t appear she was eavesdropping. She wondered why Mrs. Vernon had continued to detain her.

  “Miss Longmore?”

  Lucy faced Mrs. Vernon and bobbed a curtsy.

  Mrs. Vernon handed her a small purse. “Please do not share any part of your wages with that horrid man. He deserves none of it. Are you able to return next week at the same time?”

  “Yes, thank you, madame.” Lucy curtsied and hurried down the back stairs to the servant’s entrance. She was thrilled because Mrs. Vernon would retain her for dancing lessons next week. Perhaps her luck had changed at long last.

  Buckley had waited on the step outside the servant’s entrance. “If you’re looking for wages, you will be sorely disappointed. See that you remember yourself next time.”

  “There will not be a next time,” she said. “I will no longer work for you.”

  “What?” he shouted.

  “You heard me. From the beginning, you have cheated me out of my wages when I did nothing wrong. I’ll not work for you ever again.”

  He took two steps and grabbed her by the arm. “Ungrateful wench. You intentionally sullied my reputation with Mrs. Vernon.”

  When Buckley lurched, she realized he was drunker than she’d first thought, and that gave her an advantage. “No, you did that to yourself.” She pushed him away and hurried up the steps. When she heard his footfalls behind her, she ran faster.

  “Damn you,” he shouted.

  She kept running, determined to escape him.

  A thud sounded. Buckley howled. “My ankle.”

  Lucy glanced back.

  “Help me, you bitch!”

  She ignored him and scurried up to the street and strode off. His bellowing would alert the servants, who would get rid of him. Lucy kept walking quickly and looked over her shoulder, but there was no sign of him.

  When she was well away from Buckley, she slowed her pace until she could breathe normally again. The tension in her arms and legs eased. Relief filled her. She was free of him forever. Moreover, Mrs. Vernon had retained her to teach her daughters. If all went well, the lady might recommend Lucy to her friends.

  Her heart lightened. In a mere six months since coming to London, she’d taken charge of her life. Today, Mrs. Vernon had given her an opportunity to teach her girls. In addition, she held a steady job as a maid at the Albany. And once a week on Wednesday night, she would serve lemonade at Almack’s where she would be able to listen to the orchestra and perhaps peek at the aristocratic ladies in their beautiful gowns.

  As she strode along Bond Street, the acrid scent of chimney smoke filled the air. Numerous wagons, carriages, and smart phaetons crowded the street. A crossing sweeper darted past a hackney driver, who shouted at him. Costermongers hawked their wares on the street corners in barely recognizable English.

  All the best shops were located on Bond Street, including Madame Delanger’s establishment. Lucy liked looking in the wind
ows as she passed. While she was tempted to pop in to see Evelyn and Mary, she didn’t want to interrupt their work. As Lucy drew nearer, a carriage stopped in front of the shop. Three elegantly dressed young ladies and an older one who must be their mother stepped out. Their white day gowns featured rows of fine lace on the flounces. The silk flowers and lovely ribbons in their jaunty bonnets proclaimed them as part of the quality.

  How would it feel to have no cares at all in the world, save for shopping and attending balls?

  The older lady noticed her watching and regarded her with a haughty expression.

  Heat suffused Lucy’s face and ears as she stepped back into a shop doorway. When the bell to Madame Delanger’s shop jingled, Lucy judged that it was safe to continue on. She hurried past the shop where she’d swept the floors only three nights ago. Of course, it was foolish of her to care about the haughty lady. After all, that lady had likely forgotten all about her the instant she’d pranced inside Madame Delanger’s shop.

  Lucy crossed the street, dodging horse droppings and numerous vehicles rumbling along. When she reached the other side, she stopped to catch her breath. She shook off her wounded pride and decided she should forget that haughty lady. After all, she would never cross paths with the woman again.

  She turned on to Piccadilly and checked her watch again. She was early, but since this was her first day working as a maid, she figured an early arrival would put her in Mrs. Finkle’s good book.

  The servant’s entrance was on Vigo Street and discreetly hidden from public view. She walked past it at first and had to double back. Mindful of doing nothing to attract attention, Lucy hurried to the servant’s entrance and rapped on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Mrs. Finkle handed over a sack of laundry to a boy. “Don’t dawdle. I’m timin’ you.”

  The boy tugged his cap and escaped out the door.

  Mrs. Finkle released a sigh. “I see you’re prompt on your first day. Let that be your habit. Here, you must wear a mobcap. It will protect your hair.”