A cold sense of indignation came over Devenish, a shell as familiar as the one he’d worn ever since he’d discovered Caroline Rothman’s true nature, and only risked cracking once before.
“I am in the mood for cards,” he announced to the group, and then stalked off towards the octagonal card room without so much as another word to anyone.
*
It seemed as though Devenish might have had good reason to be rude to Lady Fitzburgh, Cassandra decided within moments of meeting the woman.
She’d followed them all the way to the vestibule, where Lady Fitzburgh had rudely demanded the staff provide her with her cloak and gloves, even though they were trying to serve those still arriving for the evening’s entertainment.
“Are you quite well? Was His Grace very rude?” she asked the two daughters. The one with puffy eyes had glared at her with obvious contempt.
“As though we care what a nobody like you thinks,” she’d said.
“Be quiet, Lucy,” snapped the older girl. She’d given Casandra an apologetic smile. “I’m surprised it took so long to happen, to be honest.”
“Girls, put on your cloaks, we are leaving this place,” Lady Fitzburgh loudly declared, one eye on the half-interested audience all about them. “If they insist on lowering the standards of entry, then we will not be gracing the Upper Rooms with our presence again!”
Mr King, who stood to the side of the vestibule with his arms folded over his chest, seemed amused by this threat more than anything.
“Surely there is some misunderstanding,” she said, realizing that she was quite out of her depth with the entire situation. She had no real idea why Devenish had turned on the women, or why Miss Fitzburgh seemed resigned even as her mother and sister loudly complained about everything.
Her words, however, finally caught Lady Fitzburgh’s attention. She looked Cassandra up and down, sneering at her hair, her dress, and even her slippers. Without meaning to, Cassandra found herself folding in on herself, embarrassed to be wearing a home-sewn dress in front of such a richly dressed individual.
“You are the Scott girl,” said Lady Fitzburgh. “The one who the Duke deemed to take notice of today.”
“We danced the first minuet together,” clarified Cassandra, wondering why this woman’s gaze made her so uncomfortable.
“She is not as pretty as Lady Cottingham, mother,” said Miss Lucy, looking her up and down. “Or as stylish.”
“There’s no need to be cruel, Lucy,” said Lady Fitzburgh with a slight sneer. “She can hardly expect to compete with the granddaughter of a Marquis.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know Lady Cottingham,” said Cassandra, waiting for clarification. When none came, she felt compelled to add: “is she considered a fine dancer of the Minuet?”
The elder Miss Fitzburgh was very interested in her slippers, while Miss Lucy openly scoffed at her ignorance.
“Miss Scott, it may interest you to know that I am acquainted with your uncle, Sir Edmund,” announced Lady Fitzburgh.
Cassandra glanced around for guidance, but there was no one she knew nearby.
“That’s… nice?” she said.
The petulant little noise made by Miss Lucy Fitzburgh indicated that this had been the wrong answer.
“I take leave to inform you that I shall be writing to Sir Edmund Scott immediately about your performance during the minuet,” said Lady Fitzburgh, lifting her chin so high her nose was facing the ceiling.
“How kind of you,” said Cassandra with what she hoped was a friendly smile. “He will be pleased to learn that I gave a good account of myself, for he has often said dancing is my only accomplishment.”
“Impudent girl,” snapped Lady Fitzburgh, before flouncing out of the main doors, her youngest daughter copying her every move.
“So sorry,” whispered Miss Fitzburgh, pausing only to place a hand lightly on Cassandra’s arm. “You danced beautifully, you know.”
Cassandra watched them go in a state of utter bewilderment. Mr King laid a gentle hand on her arm and gave her a fatherly smile.
“Never mind, Miss Scott. Let me get you back to your party.”
“I have absolutely no idea what just happened,” she confessed to the older gentleman. “Does the Duke often reduce people to tears?”
King’s lips twitched. “Only if they deserve it, Miss Scott. Ah, the doctor is coming over for you, I see. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Mr King shared a brief greeting with Lacey, before bowing to them both and returning to his duties as the Master of Ceremonies. The doctor offered Cassandra his arm, looking her over with concern.
“Is everything well, Cassie? I was surprised at you running off like that, as I didn’t know you were acquainted with either Fitzburgh girl.”
“I’m not in the least,” she replied, “but they seemed so upset after speaking to Devenish, and I can’t abide to see anyone in tears.”
Lacey shook his head. “From what I hear, they brought any action of his upon their own heads.”
“Well the mother did seem rather rude, you know, but then she promised to write to my uncle to tell him how well we danced this evening, so perhaps she was trying to make amends? She was rather an odd duck, though, which might account for her rudeness.”
“I think you might have misunderstood her intentions, Cassie.”
“Oh no, she definitely said she was going to inform Uncle Edmund about my performance, so what else could she have meant?”
“Be that as it may, I fear you offended Devenish when you accused him of being unfair to the Fitzburghs,” said Lacey, patting her hand. “I don’t know precisely what happened, but I believe that the Viscountess was rude to the Duchess and Lady Seraphinia, and the Duke was defending their honour.”
“I can’t imagine anyone wishing to be rude to Her Grace!” gasped Cassandra. “Lady Seraphinia definitely, but she is incapable of feeling insult.”
“You have a lot to learn about people,” said Lacey, giving her arm a little squeeze. “You assume the best of everyone, both within themselves and without.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “I can’t abide my uncle, and I’ve said some shockingly unsisterly things about Oscar.”
“Which are less than a tenth of what he deserves,” said Lacey. “Let us agree to disagree on this matter, my dear, but I beg you to consider that the Duke was only protecting those he cares for in the best way he knows how.”
She frowned at the truth of those words. “I know, Lacey. It’s just… well, it is not a side I had seen before, and it was rather shocking. Should I apologise to him?”
“I believe he has retired to the card room for the evening, and the Duchess thinks it’s for the best that we leave him alone. Apparently he does better without company in such incidents as these.”
“Good grief, he sounds like a sulking schoolboy,” said Cassandra with a roll of her eyes. “If I had a penny for every time I’d offended Ferdy or Oscar, I’d be richer than… than the Tipu Sultan!”
She gave a smug smile, pleased at the opportunity to display some of the knowledge she’d gained from talking with new acquaintances in Bath.
“Tipu Sultan is dead,” said Lacey. “The British killed him and stole all of his jewels. Shot the tigers, too.”
Cassandra’s shoulders drooped. “Trust you to know much more on the subject than I do! Either way, I am not about to let a man’s bruised ego ruin my evening. I am engaged for the first set of country dances to Lord Arthur, you know, and my friend Anna assures me that he is as light on his feet as any woman could wish.”
“You are allowed to show disappointment, Cassie,” said Lacey. “I know you are… fond of the Duke.”
“What is there to be disappointed about?” She declared, ruthlessly pushing all negative emotions down to the pit of her stomach. “This is my first proper Assembly, and I am determined to enjoy it to the full!”
She was true to her word. By the time they made their wa
y back to their seats, the Colonel had joined their party, and began to flirt as outrageously with her as he did Miss Lindon – all in a bid to make his dear “Phinnie” jealous, he claimed. Her Grace did not mention Devenish or his removal to the card room, but instead expressed a desire to invite the Scotts and Dr Lacey to dinner one evening that week.
While she did not dance another minuet, Cassie very much looked forward to the country dances due to begin after the delicious supper served in the tea room. Devenish had not joined them for refreshments, so she did not see fit to assume that he would wish her to reserve a set of dances for him.
Lord Arthur proved to be everything Anna claimed, even if his hair was shorter than was fashionable. Mr Drake, who turned out to be the owner of the circulating library she subscribed to, was introduced by Lady Seraphinia, and gladly asked for her hand in a country dance while his wife was partnered by Lacey. By the time the clock struck eleven and the dance was halted mid-way through by Mr King, she was exhausted.
Promises were exchanged with the Drakes and with Lord Arthur for them all to meet again, as it seemed Cassandra’s new friends were as pleased with the Scotts and Lacey as they were with the younger set in Bath. They made their way to the vestibule to collect their cloaks while the carriage was brought around, Cassandra and Lacey keeping Ferdy between them to save him from the sad crush.
She caught a glimpse of Devenish as he walked beside his mother’s Sedan Chair. Their eyes locked, and it was as though she saw a stranger. He was still angry at her, she realized, and for a moment she thought he would not acknowledge her presence.
Perhaps her anguish showed, for he paused long enough to bow in her direction before continuing the quick pace set by the footmen carrying Her Grace’s chair. If Lacey and Ferdy saw, they did not comment.
Their return home in the carriage was subdued. Ferdy was clearly exhausted, Lacey caught in some deep thought of his own, and Cassandra disinclined to carry the conversation.
She maintained composure until well after she had blown out the candles and climbed into bed for the night, but sleep evaded her for what felt like hours. Eventually the tears started, so she turned on her side and sobbed as quietly as possible into the pillow. Not because she was worried about disturbing the maid, but because is anyone thought to ask her what was the matter, she did not know well enough to answer it.
CHAPTER SIX
There was nothing worse in life that realizing that you had acted in a spoiled manner, thought Devenish.
He’d managed to nurse his grievances for the whole evening at the Assembly Rooms, even using his considerable losses at cards as further evidence that he was being wronged by the whole world. Even though his mother had not said a word against him during the trip home, and not a single word of censure as she enjoyed a glass of wine in the sitting room before retiring, he had felt as though her descriptions of the enjoyable evening she had to be an attack, and her studious avoidance of mentioning the Scott siblings a method of criticizing him.
It was only after an unsettled night of fitful sleep that dawn brought with it a fresh understanding.
He’d behaved like an ass.
Not for his Cut to the Fitzburghs – he was not about to apologise for that course of action to anyone – but could he really blame Miss Scott, whose forthright sweetness was the thing he found most charming about her, for being shocked when she encountered his harder side? She had laughed at his nickname, or the belief that he could be anything other than good natured, and he had allowed her to continue in her misapprehension.
He had wanted her to continue in that belief, for his own selfish reasons. He liked himself better when he was around her, as though the echoes of who he should have been began to solidify. Everything he disliked about the Ton was something he personified when amongst them, but Miss Scott… Cassie… her determined delight in the world brought out the better side of his nature.
He was subdued as he dressed that morning, so much so that Ember became concerned that he had upset the Duke in some way, and it was only with considerable reassurances that his work continued to be impeccable that Devenish narrowly avoided witnessing his Valet burst into tears.
As such, it was a little after eleven before he was finally able to knock on the door to his mother’s sitting room, and be admitted to her private sanctuary to talk.
“I need to apologise for my childish behaviour last night,” he said as soon as the maid was dismissed. “I was selfish, and had no right to disrupt your enjoyment of the evening the way I did.”
The Duchess raised her eyebrows in surprise at the admission. “An apology, dearest? How unlike you!”
Devenish looked up at the ceiling. “Am I such an ogre that saying sorry seems out of character?”
“Considering that you’ve made it your maxim to never apologise for anything, then yes, it is something of a surprise,” she said, but her tone had softened. “Come and sit with me, my dear. Tell me everything.”
He did as he was bid, walking over to sit on the chair beside the chaise on which she reclined. A silver breakfast tray on the low table before her contained an oversized cup of chocolate, large enough for her to grip without help, and the remains of a thick slice of toast.
She was not wearing gloves, so the swollen knuckles and twisted bones of her fingers were on full display. He took her right hand into his and began to massage it gently, silently remembering the days when embroidery, painting and the pianoforte had been her greatest joys in life.
“I realized that I was angry at Miss Scott’s reaction to seeing the source of the nickname Devilish,” he eventually said. “I don’t know why I was surprised; I have kept that side of myself from her.”
His mother didn’t answer straight away, instead studying him for a long minute even though he could not bring himself to meet her gaze.
“You overreacted,” she said eventually. “Miss Scott was upset to see a girl crying as a result of your actions. It speaks well to her nature that she does not like witnessing the results of public humiliation, but at the same time, it also shows how different her experiences are from our own. The Ton thrives on causing embarrassment to others, and on strictly enforcing a moral code that is incomprehensible to those not raised in our circle. We like to think that we are the crème de la crème of society, but I am often convinced that, beyond the advantages that come with wealth, it is the middle class of this country who are the happiest.”
“Careful, mother, or I’ll start thinking you a radical,” he teased.
She smiled, but shook her head. “There is nothing revolutionary about choosing being a good person over being a fashionable one, my dear. You – we – have opted for fashionable, as has almost everyone else of our class. Miss Scott and her brother, on the other hand, have chosen to be good. It is refreshing for us, and I cannot help but be depressed by that knowledge.”
“I do not know if I could make her happy,” said Devenish, his voice breaking.
His mother leant over and slid her arms around his neck. He capitulated to her embrace, allowing her to console him as he had not done since his youth.
“It is not your decision to make, my dear,” she whispered. “It belongs to Miss Scott.”
*
Having escaped the house before either Lacey or Ferdy had stirred for breakfast, Cassandra had enjoyed a quiet stroll, quite alone, through the late-morning streets of Bath. She very determinedly did not think at all about the night before, other than to remind herself how much fun it had been to dance, and how many interesting people she’d had the pleasure of meeting.
Eventually, she’d found herself pushing open the door of Drake’s Circulating Library, the cheery brass bell announcing that she had entered her favourite place in all of Bath. She was disappointed to learn from the clerk that neither Mr nor Mrs Drake had arrived at the shop that morning, but as she’d recently learned how late in the day most of the upper classes slept, she was not particularly surprised.
The clerk, h
owever, realizing that she must be somehow acquainted with his employer, told her in a conspiratorial whisper that he had just the book for her, and slipped the first volume of The Pirate King, fresh from the printing press, into her hands. She tucked it beneath her arm as though it were made of gold and rubies. Keeping herself from reading it was almost too much to bear, but she knew that Ferdy would never forgive her if she started it without him, and so attempted to distract herself by seeking out some new titles to read.
It really was wonderful to be in a circulating library located in a large city rather than one in a small market town that frowned on reading for entertainment. Improving works had their place, but could get heartily boring when all one wanted to do was read a good novel. She was almost at her limit for what she could borrow on her subscription, and the options before her made choosing just one more volume a delightfully impossible task.
“Heaven,” she murmured, running her fingers along the spines of the volumes before her, wondering if it would be considered scandalous to ask Mr Drake to employ her as a clerk.
Her thoughts drifted to Devenish and Her Grace, and the enthusiasm both of them had for novels and literature. The Duchess had waxed lyrical over Waverley, while His Grace has recommended an amusing novel called Emma, that he had very much enjoyed and demanded that everyone else read as well.
It was so difficult to reconcile that light-hearted, amusing gentleman with the cold-hearted Duke she’d witnessed at the Assembly Rooms the night before.
Her smile faded. The way he had given that poor woman the Cut Direct, before sneering – actually sneering! – before turning his back. It seemed so out of character, so unlike the man who she had believed might even become a close friend.
Lady Fitzburgh was undoubtedly an odd individual, and her youngest daughter rather unlikeable if the truth was told, but had they not promised to write a letter in her praise to Uncle Edmund? What could they have possibly done to deserve such public humiliation?
Cassandra frowned, her hand dropping away from the bookshelf as her interest in the stories before her waned.
The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series Page 11