The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  What if she did something to offend Devenish the way Lady Fitzburgh had? Was it wrong to think that his disappearance from the ballroom was a way to punish Cassandra for daring to criticize him?

  Would he become Devilish to her as well?

  A small cough from behind her brought her back to the present. She turned around to see a handsome young man sporting a deep tan, thick brown locks, and a plain but immaculate ensemble of brown superfine, tan breeches, and gleaming top boots.

  “Excuse-moi, mademoiselle, but the volume I require is just before you, and I have very little time to complete it.”

  “Oh, my apologies,” she said, stepping out of the way to allow him access to the shelf. “Are you French, monsieur? Je parle un petit-peu Francias… but not very much, or very well!”

  His mouth twitched. “Non, I am from Quebec. Montreal, to be exact, although my late father was English.”

  Cassandra could barely contain her excitement. “Canada! Oh, I have never met anyone from that country before! You must tell me everything about it, if you please. Is it really as cold as people say? Are the native peoples very fierce? What is Montreal like?”

  The man blinked a few times, but then his grin spread wide. He turned to glance at the shop window, shaking his head.

  “It is very different from Bath and Bristol! I have not seen such grand houses, all of dressed stone, and so tall! And the shops! Mon Dieu, I have not seen such large windows with so much to look at, and so very many finely lettered signs. I confess that this library is my favourite, but all the confiseur’s with their cakes, and marchpane! I shall grow five times my size if I stay here too long!”

  She giggled, remembering Anna’s accident with the delicacy at Molland’s.

  “It is best if you consume them with plenty of coffee or chocolate, monsieur! Your home town is quite different, then?”

  He gave a vigorous nod. “Oui, very much so. I am not well travelled beyond my town, so perhaps the cities are tres grand back home, but so far I am overwhelmed by how pretty the buildings are in England – and how many people there are!”

  Cassie gave an enthusiastic nod. “I understand perfectly what you mean! I grew up in a tiny village, and had never been further than our Market Town before this Season. Don’t you find it all so delightful? So much to do! And so many people who have seen so much of the world! I declare that Bath must be the most excellent city in the world.”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle!” agreed her new acquaintance. “Ah, when I write to tell Ma mere she will not believe me about the street lamps here to keep you safe in the dark! My friend, Monsieur Douglas, he laughs at my naiveté and teases me about my visit to Londres.”

  “London,” breathed Cassandra, as though it were a mythical land. “I hope to go there too, one day. What a marvelous adventure you are on! I am very jealous!”

  He nodded, seemingly amused by her enthusiasm. “Very true, but I cannot recommend the ocean voyage. As my friend likes to say, I ‘shot the cat’ on more than one occasion.”

  She giggled, and his smile grew even wider.

  “You have my sympathy, monsieur, for I am a truly awful traveller. My brother says that I go as green as a pea the moment the travelling coach begins to sway, so Lord knows how I would react on a ship.”

  “Perhaps travelling to Canada is best avoided then,” he said with a smile. “I confess I do not look forward to sailing home.”

  She nodded her agreement. “Indeed, but I feel like there is so much to learn from books and paintings that I will not miss out in the least. Besides, I care very little for the places, you know. I want to know about the people, and so long as there are travellers visiting England, I will consider myself very lucky indeed.”

  “You are an interesting one, mademoiselle,” said the gentleman. “Ah, where are my manners? We have not been introduced. I am Jacques Gautereau.”

  Cassandra bobbed into a curtsey as he performed an excellent bow.

  “I’m Cassandra Scott, and I am very pleased to meet you, Monsieur Gautereau. But you have told me so little of Montreal, you know, which is very rude of you.”

  He gave a little laugh, full of the easy humour that Devenish had so quickly lost. It made her heart ache for a moment, but then she ruthlessly thrust all thought of the Duke down deep, and set about charming her new friend into telling her everything about his home.

  It turned out he needed little encouragement. Monsieur Gautereau described the squat buildings of his hometown with their small windows and iron doors, and the way each tin roof would glitter in the morning sun. He contrasted those with the grand homes of the Papineau family, the Governor’s residence, and the home of the Chief Justice, James Monk. All individuals he had met through his family’s connections, and Cassandra soon wished they were in Bath, too, so she could talk with them as well.

  “They hope to begin work on the Canal very soon, which will bring much wealth to Montreal when it connects us to the upper St Lawrence river. That is why my friend, Monsieur Douglas, moved there, in fact. There are negotiations between the Hudson Bay and the North West Companies. He is involved somehow, but I know little beyond the business save that Mon pere is on the other side of the table, and not happy. It makes me feel tres ignorant when they talk about it.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I feel that way when Lacey starts talking about medicine and science.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Lacey? He is your fiancé?”

  She giggled at the thought. “Lord, no! He’d run to the ends of the earth before being lumbered with me! No, he is my brother’s physician and a dear friend.”

  Monsieur Gautereau shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “Mademoiselles have many more friends here than at home. Mes soeurs complain of how little they get to visit and be social, and will rage when I write to tell them!”

  A pang of guilt flared in Cassandra’s chest.

  “Well I am probably not the best person to base your opinions on, Monsieur. It seems I am considered a little wild in my ways, and that I should be more… more… Tonnish, I suppose, than I am.”

  He smiled. “And I should no doubt act less like a colonial, mademoiselle. However, we are who we are, and so long as we are happy with that, who are we to allow others to dictate our fates?”

  “That is very wise advice to be giving a complete stranger, Monsieur,” she replied, feeling like the ground was moving beneath her feet.

  The bell above the shop door rang, and they both turned to see who had entered.

  “Devenish!” squeaked Cassandra, almost dropping her copy of The Pirate King.

  The Duke paused at the end of the aisle, looking over Monsieur Gautereau in a way that was less than friendly, before turning his attention to Cassandra. He performed an excellent bow, but the stiffness from the Upper Assembly Rooms was still present.

  And for an unknown reason, it irritated Cassandra enough to make her stand up straight and raise her chin.

  “Your Grace, may I introduce my new friend, Monsieur Gautereau? He is from Montreal! In Canada!”

  Whether it was the unintended excitement in her voice as she named the country of her new friend, or simply that Devenish was as interested in the country as she was, Cassandra was relieved to see his mouth twitch and his whole demeanor soften.

  “A pleasure, Monsieur Gautereau. Has Miss Scott asked you a thousand questions about your life in Canada, yet? She has a great love of learning about the world.”

  “It was a conversation très enchanteresse, Monsieur Le Duc, and I am glad to have made the acquaintance of you both. I know so few people in England, and my friend is tres mysterious about it all.”

  “You are here to visit friends, then? Do you stay long in Bath?” asked Devenish.

  Gautereau shook his head. “Je regret, we stay only to meet my friend’s family, before travel to the North. It seems my father has family still alive, and I am to meet them.”

  “How wonderful for you,” said Cassandra, “although I am te
rribly sad that I will not have the opportunity to get to know you better. I have never met someone from Canada before, and I have so many questions!”

  Her new friend chuckled. “Then we must hope to meet again, mademoiselle. England is not so large a country, I feel.”

  “It can feel like it is,” said Cassandra, feeling queasy at the thought of travelling in a coach to some of the further reaches of the Isles.

  “I wish you well in your fortunes, Monsieur, and that your family is welcoming of you.”

  Gautereau shrugged. “We shall see, non? They did nothing when my father died, so perhaps Ma mere was correct that he liked to call himself ‘the black sheep’ of his family.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Monsieur,” said Cassandra with a cheerful smile. “my brother and I are both considered the dirty dishes of the Scott family, but despite our best efforts they insist on acknowledging us.”

  The gentleman paused for a moment, most likely translating her words, before throwing his head back with a raucous laugh that even made Devenish smile in response.

  “If they are like you, mademoiselle, I shall be très chanceux!”

  “Sadly, the Scott siblings are very much unique,” said Devenish. Cassandra glanced over at him, surprised by the compliment, but relieved to see his manner had warmed up.

  “A pity. Now, I am afraid I must take my book and bid you both adieu; Monsieur Douglas will be wondering what has become of me. I hope very much that I will get to converse with you again before we leave Bath, mademoiselle. I have told you nothing of the Iroquois, or the Metis. Mon pere is descended from the Fille du Roi, and claims his arriere-arriere-grand-mere belonged to a local tribe.”

  “Then it is a certainty that we shall meet again, Monsieur,” laughed Devenish, “for you cannot promise Miss Scott such a treat as that, and think she will not hunt you to the ends of the earth to learn the rest!”

  “What a charming man,” declared Cassandra once Mr Gautereau had left the bookstore. “Why, if everyone in Canada is as friendly as he, then I am tempted to chance crossing the Atlantic just to meet them all!”

  Devenish gave her an odd smile. “I do not doubt your adventurous heart, my dear, but it is not considered wise to travel so far after a brief conversation with a man in a library. Terribly chicken-hearted of me, I know, but I am not so brave as you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I am not brave in the least, and besides, my conversation with Mr Gautereau was not brief at all, and I truly hope to meet him again soon. He was telling me all about his home and his family, and how much he is enjoying being in England, where is late father is from.”

  She paused, remembering the conversation, and then frowned.

  “Wait, no. That can’t be right; He said his Pere was descended from the Fille Du Roi, and implied he was still alive and working for the North West Company. He can hardly be both!”

  “Perhaps something was lost in translation,” said Devenish. “However, do you mind terribly if we forget about the gentleman for a few moments? I would like to escort you home, if I may, and there are a few things to discuss.”

  Cassandra cocked her head to one side. “Did you come here looking for me, Your Grace? How did you know where to find me?”

  “Your brother,” the Duke confessed. “He suspected you would be here rather than Sydney Gardens, which was Lacey’s suggestion. By the by, Mr Scott said to tell you that he wished you to pick up Waverley rather than Emma. It seems that my mother’s opinion holds more weight with him than mine, but even I will agree that it is an excellent novel as well.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “I’ve half a mind to pick up Emma just to spite him,” she said, even as she pulled the first volume of Waverley from the shelf. “Oh, have you seen what the darling clerk has passed to me? The first edition of The Pirate King! I am to be one of the first to read it, so perhaps it will be my turn to recommend something to you.”

  “I’m afraid that I have already completed the novel,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Mrs Drake is a protégé of my mother, and a fellow member of the Literary Society of Dubious Merit. It’s an excellent read, I promise – so long as you can get past the fact that the Pirate King looks remarkably like Mr Drake himself.”

  The clerk smirked as he processed her books, but did not comment out loud. Cassandra felt her mouth drop open in shock.

  “You don’t mean to tell me that last night I conversed with a real, published authoress? Oh, how famous! I demand you tell me everything, Devenish, or I shall never forgive you!”

  The walk home was thus filled with stories about the Literary Society set up by his mother, and Cassandra found herself longing to meet the various personalities who had joined. She asked a great deal of questions that were probably very impertinent, but he indulged her curiosity with good humour. By the time they made it back to the house on Landsdown Place, she had almost forgotten the Devilish side of him she’d witnessed the night before, or at the very least, could ignore it.

  *

  Sunlight streamed in through the front parlour windows, where Mr Scott was laying back on the couch with a book open on his lap and a thin blanket spread over his legs. He glanced up as they entered, meeting them with a tired, but cheery smile.

  “Found her, did you?” he said.

  “Indeed so, and you were quite correct,” replied Devenish. “I located your sister in the middle of the circulating library where she had cornered some poor Canadian, and was demanding he tell her everything he could about Montreal.”

  Miss Scott was either oblivious to their teasing, or so used to it that she was not in the least put out. “You would have loved him, Ferdy! His name was Monsieur Gautereau, and the way he described everything made it sound so… so foreign! He has promised to tell me all about the Natives when we next meet.”

  “Did he indeed?” said Ferdy, looking interested. “Montreal… would that be the Iroquois?”

  “Yes, and another group called the Metis.”

  “Then I shall have to make his acquaintance,” said Ferdy. “I’ve often wondered about the way of life of the native peoples.”

  Devenish shook his head. “Do either of you ever do anything conventional?”

  Miss Scott raised an eyebrow. Her brother pointedly looked down at his exquisite silver silk banyan, embroidered all over with a black ivy motif.

  “A ridiculous question,” sighed Devenish. His eyes fell on the title of the book in his host’s hand, and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

  Mr Scott glanced down at the book, and then flashed a sheepish grin at His Grace as he gently closed the book and dropped it behind the sofa.

  “I assure you that, while I may hold some views that are considered unorthodox, I am not about to advocate for a revolution that would surely see my head removed as fast as that belonging to any peer. I do, however, support universal emancipation, with the added benefit that it irritates my uncle to be associated with me. Tory, you know. Not a fan of the working class.”

  Devenish inclined his head. “I’m happy to discuss politics at your convenience, Mr Scott, although I do not consider myself a radical, I am certainly both a Whig and a Reformist.”

  His host looked interested at this pronouncement. “Are you, indeed? Your views on emancipation, then? And Wilberforce’s motions?”

  “Unconditional support for the latter,” replied Devenish, “but the rest is a discussion we could have over dinner some time. For now, I am here bearing invitations for you both, and of course, Dr Lacey.”

  Mr Scott looked disappointed, but Cassandra struggled to maintain her calm he placed the two gilt-edged cards into her hands.

  “An invitation to your mother’s soiree! How marvelous! I shall write you an acceptance immediately, if you can spare me a few minutes of your time,” she said, practically bouncing on her toes.

  Devenish chuckled indulgently. “I’m more than capable of passing on your verbal acceptance, my dear Miss Scott. This my way of apologizing for my sulk
s last night. It was badly done of me.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to,” said Miss Scott, her voice faltering in a way that made him wonder if he’d done wrong to recall his behaviour to her mind.

  “You’ve nothing to apologise for, Your Grace, and I’d as leif you told Cassie what actually transpired. Lacey isn’t here right now, so you’ve no need to worry about causing upset,” said Mr Scott, his entire body rigid with anger. Devenish had barely taken account of the man’s presence during events, and it occurred to him that his host was likely feeling bitter that he had been unable to defend both Lacey and his sister.

  “What are you talking about?” said Cassie, looking from one to the other. “What happened that was so terrible that you cannot tell Lacey?”

  “Nothing that he will not have experienced a thousand times before,” sighed Devenish. “I suppose I should tell you everything – including a little about Lady Fitzburgh and her reputation amongst the Ton!”

  Even though Mr Scott knew the whole of what had transpired, he remained silent and let Devenish do all of the talking. It took longer than he would have supposed, for Miss Scott requested clarification more than once about aspects of the Ton he had never considered alien, such as the social faux pas of treating Lady Seraphinia as a social inferior even when, strictly speaking, she was of a lower rank that Lady Fitzburgh, to the power of even a disliked member of the Beau Monde to damage the fortunes of a man like Dr Lacey, and eventually a full explanation of the power of the Cut Direct, and why he had determined to deliver an insult rather than using the ultimate weapon in his arsenal.

  “It seems strange to me that insulting her in such a way is less damaging that simply ignoring the woman,” said Miss Scott, “but I will bow to your greater knowledge on the matter.”

  “By insulting Lady Fitzburgh, her supporters can deem the Duke at fault, Cassie, whereas they know he would not Cut her without good reason,” Mr Scott elaborated. “I would not have been so clever had I been able to remain on my feet.”

  “Poor Lacey,” sighed Miss Scott, but then she turned a hopeful smile towards them both. “There is good news, though. I spoke with Lady Fitzburgh in the vestibule, and I truly think she learned her lesson, Your Grace. She even promised to send a letter to my uncle commending Lacey and I for our performance during the minuet, so surely she cannot be all bad.”