What a Devilish Duke Desires

by Vicky Dreiling

  “I will,” she said.

  Harry stared grudgingly out the window while his cousins spoke quietly. He’d always detested the highbrow patronesses and their schemes.

  “This is a smart carriage, Harry,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Perfect for a duke.”

  He wished she wouldn’t make such a to-do about his title. All he cared about were his wonderful memories of summers he and Colin had spent with Uncle Hugh. His uncle had taught him and Colin how to care for the horses and the pigs. He would never forget those summers he’d spent fishing, riding, and practicing archery. Damn, he’d give anything for one more summer with Uncle Hugh.

  Mina’s voice interrupted his reverie. “Thank you for taking us up in your new carriage.”

  “You’re welcome.” He was fond of his cousins. They were sweet girls who tolerated his mother’s overbearing ways far better than he did.

  Helena and Amelia looked at each other and then at Harry.

  “You do know you’re the catch of the season, do you not?” Amelia said.

  Harry scowled. “What?”

  Mina laughed. “I told you he had no idea, Amelia.”

  “Well, it is to be expected, now that he has inherited the dukedom,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “I will assist you in finding a bride, Harry.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “When I’m ready, I’ll find my own bride.”

  “I knew you would say that,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “You’ll end up like your bachelor uncle, God rest his soul, if I do not insist.”

  “First of all, I’m proud to follow in Uncle Hugh’s footsteps. Second, do not make demands.”

  Mrs. Norcliffe raised her quizzing glass to her eye. “Marriage is your responsibility, and do not take that tone with me.”

  “Enough,” Harry said tersely.

  His cousins grew silent. The only sound for several minutes was the clop of the horses’ hooves and the jangle of the harness.

  “Well,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “I neither want nor need it.” He’d spoken harshly, but he knew from experience it was the only way to rein in his mother.

  The carriage moved forward a few feet and stopped. Harry frowned. While he’d expected to wait in a long queue, the carriages ahead didn’t seem to be moving. He looked out the window and was stunned to see a crowd of the lower orders gawking at the beau monde as they made their way to the building. “Something is wrong,” Harry said. “I’m off to check out the situation.”

  “Harry, wait,” Mrs. Norcliffe said.

  “I’ll return. Just stay seated,” he said, climbing out.

  His breath frosted as he strode along. To his amazement, dozens of street vendors were selling hot apples, cherries, and pies near the building. One man had set up numerous bottles on a barrel.

  Harry saw Pembroke and hailed him. “What the devil is all this about?”

  Pembroke shrugged. “There’s quite a commotion. See that street vendor? He’s filling flasks.”

  “You jest,” Harry said. “The devil. Northcott is swigging it.”

  “It’s probably rotgut gin,” Pembroke said.

  “Northcott will be sorry on the morrow.”

  “Most of us are the day after,” Pembroke said. “I’m headed inside. And you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I promised to collect my family after matters settled.”

  Pembroke shrugged. “You might as well fetch your family. I don’t think this street party will end anytime soon.”

  Pembroke disappeared among the crème de la crème sweeping toward the entrance.

  A few minutes later, Castelle trudged out of the building. “Bloody hell, I need a drink.”

  “Careful, I’ve heard it’s rotgut gin,” Harry said.

  Castelle pulled out a flask. “I brought my own. Care for a little fortification?”

  “No thanks. I’m surprised you’re here,” Harry said.

  “My female relatives turned on the waterworks. It will be the last time,” Castelle grumbled, and wandered away.

  A ragged man struck up a tune on a fiddle. Several women and men started dancing in the street. Their boisterous laughter rang out.

  Someone clapped Harry’s shoulder. He turned to find Colin and his wife, Angeline. “I’m glad to see you both,” Harry said. “The place has turned into a circus.”

  Colin frowned. “Look at the folks staring at us. I feel like one of the animals at the Royal Menagerie.”

  Angeline looked at her husband and said, “Go ahead, growl.”

  He whispered something in her ear, making her laugh.

  “Have you seen Bellingham?” Harry asked.

  “No, but he might have arrived already. It’s impossible to tell in this crush.”

  “My mother and cousins are stuck in the carriage several blocks away,” Harry said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  Angeline’s mouth twitched. “If the rumors are correct, the patronesses planned something special tonight. Gossip is swirling in the scandal sheets.”

  Harry nodded. “So I heard from Bell earlier. I’d better go collect my family.”

  “We’ll see you inside,” Colin said, and escorted Angeline through the doors.

  Like every other gentleman forced to attend Almack’s tonight, Harry wore the required black knee breeches. He’d drunk two glasses of brandy earlier, but alas, he hadn’t gotten even remotely foxed. The patronesses did not approve of liquor, but many of the gents were weaving up the steps, evidence they’d drowned their misery in advance.

  Harry’s nose and cheeks grew cold as he strode to his carriage. He assisted his cousins and offered his arm to his mother.

  “There is so much excitement tonight,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “I daresay tonight will be talked about for ages.”

  Her words made him even more suspicious. He knew his mother was somehow involved, but even she couldn’t stir up this crowd by herself. All of the patronesses must have been tangled up in this scheme.

  “You are uncharacteristically silent,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Are you not looking forward to this evening?”

  “I have no words for my feelings.” None that he would utter in her presence at any rate. Once he escorted his family members inside, he would head straight for the gaming room, and he would not poke his head out until the clock struck midnight.

  After entering, Mrs. Norcliffe took her place on the dais with the other patronesses. The orchestra stood poised high above in a balcony. Almack’s was an enormous place. The ballroom was supposedly one hundred feet long, and he believed it. There were gilt columns, mirrors, and even gas lighting. The number of guests swelled as Mr. Wilson, the master of ceremonies, stood by the doors to welcome everyone.

  Harry meant to head straight to the gaming room, but Mina slid her hand through his arm. “Stay. Mama has a surprise.”

  The orchestra played a short introductory piece. Voices in the cavernous ballroom gradually hushed.

  Lady Jersey stepped forward. “Please help us welcome our newest and most esteemed patroness, Mrs. Norcliffe.”

  Applause resounded. Harry noticed the bright flush on his mother’s face. She was basking in her new role.

  Mrs. Norcliffe clasped her hands and addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are introducing something new to Almack’s.”

  The back of Harry’s neck prickled. What did she have up her puffed sleeve?

  “We have a new program,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “The patronesses and I welcome you to the first annual Almack’s dancing competition.”

  Hundreds of guests gasped. One young lady burst into tears and had to be led to a chair where her mother passed a vinaigrette beneath her nose.

  Bellingham and his petite wife joined Harry.

  “Has your mother been nipping from the sherry bottle?” Bell asked.

  Lady Bellingham frowned at her husband. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly legitimate reason.”

  Harry groaned. “I should put a
stop to it.”

  “No, you’ll only make matters worse,” Lady Bellingham said.

  Harry shook his head. “How much worse could it get?”

  Once again the orchestra played a short introductory tune, and the crowd hushed.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Now, our master of ceremonies, Mr. Wilson, will announce the dances. Gentlemen, as usual you will ask a lady to dance, but unlike the old rules, you will partner with that lady exclusively this evening.”

  Voices rang out. More than a few matrons were shaking their heads in apparent shock.

  “Gentlemen, choose your partners well,” Mrs. Norcliffe said, “for you will be competing with other couples. Each week, the gentlemen will choose either the same partner or a new one. The patronesses will judge and score the dancers on a scale of one to ten. Those who exhibit elegance and grace will earn the privilege of competing again next week. At the end of eight weeks, we will tally all scores.”

  Harry thought Bellingham might have been right about his mother and the sherry.

  Lady Castlereagh stepped forward and held up her hand. When the din of voices gradually lowered, she said, “All of the patronesses will judge the couples on their dancing skills. Each week, the winning couples will advance to the next level. Be sure to step lightly, gentlemen and ladies. When the competition ends, we will award the prize…five hundred pounds to the best dancing couple.”

  The crowd erupted and voices rang with excitement. Harry turned to Lady Bellingham. “Do you know what prompted this turn of events?”

  “Attendance at Almack’s dropped dramatically last year,” Lady Bellingham said. “Or rather the attendance of gentlemen. When was the last time you attended?”

  He frowned. “More than three years.”

  Lady Bellingham leaned closer. “I heard the patronesses were growing desperate. It seems our gentlemen prefer the clubs to Almack’s.”

  Bell looked astounded. “So they came up with an incentive to ensure the gents attend?”

  She nodded. “That is my understanding.”

  Old Lord Houghton, who was at least eighty, slowly walked forward, leaning heavily on his cane. “Do I get the girl afterward?” he said in a strained voice.

  Harry fisted his hand against his mouth, but his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

  “Oh dear,” Lady Bellingham said.

  Lady Cowper rose. “Lord Houghton, you cannot dance with a cane.”

  He lifted the cane above his head and shuffled his feet. “Does that count?”

  Houghton’s young heir rescued him and led him over to a chair.

  “Mr. Wilson,” Mrs. Norcliffe said. “Will you announce the first dance?”

  “It is the quadrille,” he said. “Gentlemen, find your partners.”

  Bell grinned at Harry. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “Good point. I’m off to the gaming room.”

  “Too late,” Lady Bellingham said. “Your mother is bearing down on you as we speak.”

  “Good luck,” Bell said, grinning as he walked off with his wife.

  Mrs. Norcliffe brought over a plump matron and a very young lady. “Harry, you remember my particular friend, Mrs. Osterham.”

  He bowed. “Yes, of course,” he lied.

  Mrs. Norcliffe smiled. “I wish to introduce you to Mrs. Osterham’s eldest daughter, Miss Hortense Osterham.”

  He would have to ask the young miss to dance, and that meant dancing with her all evening. Harry swore he would never set foot in Almack’s again. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Osterham. May I have the honor of this first, er, all the dances?”

  “Yes, y-you do m-me a great honor,” she said.

  The poor girl couldn’t be much above seventeen. He offered his arm and realized her hand was shaking. Harry drew her aside. “Miss Osterham, I cannot help noticing that you’re trembling. I don’t bite, you know.”

  He’d been certain she would laugh, but she bent her head. “It is m-my f-first ball.”

  Damn and double damn. He was thirty-one, far too old for the girl. “If you focus on the dance steps, all will be fine.” He wasn’t certain that it would, but he’d no idea what else he could do to help her.

  “Th-thank you,” she muttered.

  As he led her toward the dance floor, he searched his brain, trying to find some way out of having to spend the entire evening dancing exclusively with Hortense. It appeared more than a few men had found themselves caught in the same net. Harry feared his mother and Mrs. Osterham meant to pressure him to court the girl. First it would be the dance. Next his mother would suggest he take her for a drive, and from there, the two mamas would hint at marriage.

  A wheezing sound made him stop. Hortense was gulping in air very fast. Fearing she would swoon, he took her to a chair. Fortunately, her mother rushed to the girl’s rescue and applied her fan.

  “My lord,” Mrs. Osterham said. “I’m sure Hortense will recover shortly.”

  All of the color had drained from Hortense’s face. Poor girl. “I’m s-sorry,” she said.

  Harry bent down. “You mustn’t worry. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

  Hortense hung her head. “Forgive me, Mama.”

  Mrs. Osterham looked at him. “Oh dear, I think she only needs a moment.”

  Harry bit back his anger for the girl’s sake and took Mrs. Osterham aside. “I believe your daughter is embarrassed. I’m sure it would be a kindness to take her home before others remark upon her discomfort.” He shouldn’t have had to make the suggestion to the foolish woman.

  Mrs. Osterham fanned her daughter. “She does look pale. My sweet girl, of course I will take you home to rest.”

  “That seems the best course of action,” Harry said.

  Mrs. Osterham plucked at his sleeve. “You are very welcome to call upon my daughter, Your Grace.”

  “How kind of you,” he said noncommittally. “My best wishes to you and your daughter.”

  He bowed and strode off, relieved to have escaped dancing all night with the poor girl.

  How could his mother even think of pairing him with her? He was nearly twice her age.

  Now that he’d resolved the dancing issue, Harry strode into the gaming room where gentlemen were getting up a game of vingt-et-un. The Earl of Hawkfield and the Duke of Shelbourne joined them.

  Hawk shuffled the cards. “Shelbourne, I’ve not seen this much gossip in the scandal sheets since your bridal courtship.”

  Shelbourne laughed. “I must admit I never thought anything would top it, but the patronesses have succeeded in stirring up more trouble in the scandal sheets than my wife.”

  One hour later, Bellingham and Colin entered. “Harry, we came to see if you’re up for billiards.”

  “I am.” Harry bowed out of the card game and joined his friends in the billiard’s room.

  “We yawned one too many times. Our wives chased us off,” Colin said.

  “Thank the devil,” Bell said. “I couldn’t make myself watch the dancers any longer.”

  Bellingham sighted the ball. “Blue one, right rear pocket.” When he took the shot, the white ball ricocheted and fell into the left pocket.

  “Bloody hell,” Bell said. “I’m rusty.”

  Harry sighted the red ball. “Right rear pocket.” He eased the stick over his hand, hit the red ball, and sent it spinning into the right rear pocket.

  “Whoa,” Colin said. “You’ve been practicing.”

  Harry grinned. “A single man can spend long nights in the club at the billiard’s table.”

  “True,” Bell said, “but you can’t take a cue stick to bed.”

  Harry handed the stick to Bell. “This from the man who swore he would never wed.”

  Bell grinned. “I’m glad I did. You are the last bachelor among us. Don’t feel any pressure from us.”

  “I’ve no intention of remaining a bachelor for life. It’s just too soon after losing my uncle. A mistress would suit me for now. I just have to
find one who has a brain and doesn’t drench herself in perfume.”

  “Oh Lord,” Colin said. “There’s a story there.”

  “Good luck with a mistress,” Bell said. “My last one turned the town house into a pagoda museum, and set the sheets on fire in the street, and the fire brigade had to come put it out.”

  Harry and Colin guffawed.

  “Whose turn is it?” Bell said.

  “Yours,” Colin said.

  Harry propped his cue stick while Bell lined up the balls. After sighting them, Bellingham took his shot and every single one fell into pockets.

  “Some things never change,” Colin said. “How the devil do you do that?”

  Bell shrugged. “It’s all about the right amount of force.”

  “That’s helpful,” Colin muttered.

  “You’re up, Colin,” Bell said.

  Harry cleared his throat. “I’m off to get something to drink, however tepid it may be.”

  His friends laughed as he quit the gaming room and headed to the refreshments. He walked past the tables, examining the food. The plain cake and buttered sandwiches looked unappetizing. He meant to get a cup of tea, but an elderly lady advised him not to drink it, as it had grown cold. With a sigh, Harry turned to the other table, and his heart kicked hard.

  Lucy stood behind the table dressed in an apron. A cap covered all but one wisp of her red hair. She handed a glass of lemonade to a matron. When the lady walked away, Lucy lifted up on her toes. Evidently, she was watching the dancers.

  He strolled over to her table. “Lucy?”

  Her green eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” she said under her breath. A blush stole over her cheeks. “Sorry, that was foolish.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I escorted my mother and cousins…I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need the coin, but she couldn’t be earning more than a pittance.

  “You are working?” he said. Brilliant, you just sounded like a complete idiot.

  “Yes, isn’t it obvious?”

  He smiled. “Well, yes. You are well?”

  “I am,” she said. “And you?”

  “A few minutes ago, I would have said tolerably well, but then I saw you and brightened considerably.”