The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  They glared at each other in silence.

  “If you are sure, Your Grace,” said Henrietta through gritted teeth as her husband smiled serenely at her.

  Emily allowed herself a private smile. The two of them would likely squabble like unruly children for their entire lives, but the love between them was undeniable.

  They stayed only a few more minutes, leaving precisely a half hour after they had arrived. If Cottingham was perfectly comfortable and confident in the Devenish home, Henrietta at least showed some nerves about coming face to face with the Duke for the first time since her marriage.

  A nervousness he shared, much to Emily’s dismay.

  “Mary!” she called out. Her personal maid and secretary arrived a mere moment later, as though she had been waiting to be summoned from the next room.

  “Yes, Your Grace?” she said.

  “I need you to write a letter for me, Mary, to a Mr Scott of Landsdown Place, and have Carter deliver it immediately.”

  Mary, who had worked for Emily long enough to be allowed considerable familiarity in their interactions, looked bemused as she went to collect the writing tray.

  “Are you plotting, Your Grace?”

  Emily nodded in response. “Very much so, Mary, and it’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cassandra had often felt like strangling her brother, but this was the first time that Lacey was at risk of death by her hand.

  “What has gotten into you both?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” responded the Doctor in the least-convincing manner she had ever heard him employ. “Why would anything be wrong?”

  “Because the two of you look as guilty as a pair of schoolboys,” she replied. “What are you not telling me?”

  Ferdy sniffed. “I have no idea what you mean, Cassie.”

  “You are jittery,” she replied. “Both of you. And while I can accept that can be a normal state of affairs for you, dear brother, Lacey is never anything but composed. Now what is going on?”

  “Miss Lindon,” spluttered out Lacey. Ferdy looked momentarily taken aback by this declaration, but then nodded his agreement.

  “Our friend here is… is hoping to marry Miss Lindon,” said her brother, followed by a moment of silence.

  “Lacey!” squealed Cassandra, jumping forward to throw her arms around the doctor. He hesitated just a moment before accepting her hug. “How wonderful! Have you proposed already? What did she say?”

  “Slow down, Cassie! Allow the man to breathe!” said an exasperated Ferdy.

  “I have not had the pleasure of meeting her parents yet, but I will ask once I have their permission,” said Lacey as soon as he released her.

  “But Miss Lindon is of age,” said Cassandra. “Surely you should just ask her for her hand?”

  “I will do this properly, Cassie,” said Lacey in a voice that brooked no argument. “I will make sure she has no need to blush if she marries a man like me.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but then remembered what had happened at the Upper Assembly Rooms, and closed it again.

  “I understand,” she told him, “but do you plan to share your feelings with her tonight? Or ask Lady Seraphinia for support?”

  “Well, neither,” he admitted. Cassandra stepped back with a frown.

  “Then why are you so nervous?”

  “What he means,” said Ferdy loudly, “is that we are planning to… to convince the Duchess to make Lacey her personal doctor.”

  Cassandra paused, and then let a wave of excitement run over her as she put the pieces together. “I understand now! If you count Her Grace amongst your patients it adds to your consequence, and the life you can offer to Miss Lindon!”

  “That’s it exactly,” said Lacey, his shoulders dropping with relief.

  “I still think you should declare your heart to her, though,” said Cassandra after a moment’s though. “Didn’t the Countess who sponsored your father’s education leave you a competence of your own?”

  “Hardly enough to support a woman like Miss Lindon in the style to which she is accustomed,” said Lacey.

  “And it’s really not the done thing to discuss a man’s fortune, Cassie,” said Ferdy.

  “Then you haven’t spent much time with mothers who have daughters of marriageable age,” retorted Cassandra. “Mrs Thorpe knew Lacey’s worth down to the last penny, and her eldest is not yet fifteen.”

  “That’s disconcerting,” said Lacey with a shudder.

  Cassie scratched at her nose. “And you know, it doesn’t make sense to think that Miss Lindon is used to a life of wealth. She’s dependent on Lady Seraphinia for everything, for companions have no money of their own – or at least not enough to live on. Not to mention she’s at least as old as I am, so it’s not as though she has much in the way of prospects.”

  “Cassie!” exclaimed Ferdy. “This is Lacey’s future wife you are talking about!”

  “Not if he doesn’t ask her,” pointed out Cassandra.

  “And you wondered why we didn’t want to tell you,” muttered her brother.

  “That’s because you are stupid,” she told him, before patting Lacey on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I will not say a word if you don’t wish it, but I think that a strong-minded lady like Miss Lindon would much prefer that you declare yourself to her before reaching to her parents.”

  Lacey paused for a moment, and then pulled her into a quick embrace.

  “You are the best sister I have ever had, Cassie.”

  “Goose,” she said from to shoulder so he could not see the tears threatening to fill her eyes. “I’m the only sister you have ever had!”

  “If he’d know you since birth he might not have such a charitable view of you,” said Ferdy. “Now let us be off, shall we? If we are not the best dressed trio at Her Grace’s soiree, then I shall eat my embroidered burgundy shoes.”

  Lacey looked at the offending footwear and sighed. “It might be better for us all if you did.”

  “That’s no way to talk to a Pink of the Ton,” declared Ferdy, sniffing in distaste.

  Lacey, however, wasn’t paying much attention.

  “Are you feeling the thing, Cassie?” he asked, frowning as he placed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re running a trifle warm.”

  “It’s just excitement,” said Ferdy with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “I don’t think so,” said Lacey. “Perhaps we should not attend this evening.”

  “But the Duchess invited us!” said Cassandra.

  “There’s no need to delay,” cried Ferdy.

  Lacey glared at him. “An extra day or two hardly matters, my friend. I’m sure we can arrange to see the Duchess at a later date.”

  “Lacey I promise you, I’m quite fine,” said Cassandra. “I just did not sleep well, nothing to be concerned about. Besides, if you think Ferdy can wait a moment longer to show off his new shoes to Her Grace and Lady Seraphinia, then you have underestimated his ability to sulk.”

  “See? She’s fine,” said her brother, choosing to ignore her insult.

  Lacey hesitated only a moment longer. “If you are sure, my dear. It is no trouble if you wish to stay home.”

  “I don’t,” she assured him with perfect sincerity. “Come, or Ferdy will never forgive us.”

  They made their way to the carriage as Ferdy still refused to use a sedan chair for transportation, and Cassandra had a moment to consider that while her brother’s styling of them as the best dressed trio in town was an exaggeration, she was certain that they had never before looked so fine.

  Lacey was dressed with his usual reserve, with a black tailcoat, black trousers, a white silk waistcoat and a spotless white cravat styled in a perfect Waterfall. He had never favoured the fashion for sideburns or whiskers, but he’d teased his curls into a riot that would make every dandy – and most certainly Lord Arthur – die of envy.

  Ferdy, on the other hand, w
as embracing his newfound enthusiasm for the clothes of the previous century. His burgundy velvet frock coat with a billowing lace cravat, coupled with matching breeches and elaborately clocked stockings, marked him as an eccentric, albeit one of means. No matter what Cassie privately thought of his clothing, she had already vowed not to utter a word of condemnation toward him so long as she got to see his sense of humour and love of the ridiculous returned. Even though she could tell he was tired he was happy, and for that she would stomach him dressing as Henry VIII for breakfast if it cheered him.

  When it came to her own appearance, however, she was equally pleased and terrified. A blue half-robe of silk, embroidered with silver forget-me-nots, lay over her plain white satin. It felt awfully decadent to wear to a mere soiree, perhaps something more suited to a Royal Ball, but Anna and Lord Arthur had insisted that it was an unexceptional outfit and gently laughed at her concerns, so she had allowed herself to be persuaded.

  It was a surprisingly warm outfit, considering the material. She had not even bothered to wrap a shawl about her shoulders to protect against the cool evening air, even as her companions, dressed in more layers and richer materials, commented on the crisp chill of the breeze.

  No doubt her excitement was leaving her flustered. At least she could console herself with the knowledge that her dress was exceedingly pretty, and that the colours complemented her skin tone, even if she was a little flushed.

  Her hair was another matter altogether. Cropped short and teased into a deliberate sort of chaos, Cassandra could not help touching it at every opportunity, wondering if she had done the right thing. It was a flattering cut on her, that much she was assured of, but it was so different to anything she had ever tried before, and she could not help but worry that she lacked the town polish to acquit herself admirably. Besides, it was only after the dresser had cut off her locks that Cassandra had thought about her spectacles, and whether they would help or hinder the simplicity of her new style.

  There was nothing she could do to reverse it, however, and other than asking her companions twenty times apiece if they thought the style suited her, and receiving twenty one assurances from each of them that she looked slap up to the echo so would she please stop asking them.

  Luckily for the sanity of Ferdy and Lacey, the carriage drive was only a few minutes long, and they were at the front door of Her Grace before Cassandra could change her mind about attending. Ferdy leant heavily on Lacey’s arm as they made their way inside, but his head was held high and his expression that of a man determined to enjoy himself, while the Doctor looked vaguely terrified.

  “Stop being so selfish, Cassandra,” she muttered to herself.

  “What was that?” asked Ferdy, looking back over his shoulder.

  “I was commenting to myself how lucky we are to be attending a soiree held by a Duchess,” she lied.

  Her brother’s eyes shone with mischief. “We must write an exceedingly long letter to Oscar telling him every tiny detail.”

  “I wish we could see his reaction,” said Ferdy, then turned around without another word.

  The butler greeted them at the door and the led them through to the receiving room – unfashionably but mercifully located on the ground floor – where they were announced to the room, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned in their direction.

  It was immediately apparent that they were the last to arrive, despite showing up at the precise time listed on the invitation. Cassandra panicked, worrying if they had misunderstood the directions, or broken an unwritten rule of the Ton without realizing.

  Then Devenish approached them, looking every inch the benevolent host in his exquisitely cut blue jacket, perfect trone d’amour neckcloth, and grey trousers that fit snugly across his well formed legs. A quick glance about the room told Cassandra that everyone present was in half dress for the evening, and she suddenly felt a sudden dread accompany the realization that she was far too formally attired.

  “I am so glad that you could make it,” said Devenish, his focus primarily on Ferdy as he spoke. “Her Grace said that you’d promised to outdo your outfit from the Assembly Rooms, and I am honoured to witness it in all that velvet glory.”

  Ferdy made a small bow, relying on his cane for balance. “Once I saw these shoes, Your Grace, I had no choice but to build an ensemble around it.”

  “And an eye-catching ensemble it is,” said Devenish with such dignity that Cassandra let out a tiny giggle. The Duke’s eyes turned to her, and then widened as he took in her hair.

  “It seems Mr Scott is not the only one to have undergone a transformation! I see you took the advice of the ladies, Miss Scott, and have cropped your hair. Exceedingly fashionable!”

  Something in her heart died a little, and she struggled to maintain her smile. “Yes. Mrs Clyde assures me that it is all the crack.”

  Devenish nodded again. There was the tiniest smile as he took in her dress and slippers, and Cassandra wondered if it were possible for the world to swallow her whole.

  And then silently cursed herself.

  When had she ever cared what someone else thought of her clothing, or her hair? Had not Mrs Thorpe tried for years to change her dresses, and try to get her to cease wearing her spectacles. Perhaps Lacey had been right, and she was a little unwell after all.

  She stood up straighter, raking her eyes over Devenish’s clothes, and making the same bemused expression as he had.

  He grinned suddenly. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, so softly she could not be sure she heard him correctly before he turned his attention to greeting Lacey.

  “I believe Lady Seraphinia would like to talk with you, Doctor,” said the Duke, indicating the older woman, “but so does Her Grace, and Mrs Jones. I fear you will be half working, half relaxing this evening.”

  “I am happy to be of service,” said Lacey with a perfect bow.

  “Excellent,” replied Devenish, looking satisfied with this response. “But first, allow me to introduce you all to the rest of the guests. Some you are known to, but we have some last minute additions by the way of friends from London.”

  He walked them about the room, which was indeed full of familiar faces that greeted them with friendly cheer. Anna was present with her parents and daughter, Lord Arthur sat with Lady Seraphinia and Jane, while General Mortimer was flirting outrageously with Her Grace. They were introduced to Lord and Lady Philip Drake, who were the parents of Mr Drake the publisher (who had sent his regrets, as his wife was not feeling at all the thing), and an extremely silly young woman, a Mrs Rowlands, whose shock at seeing Dr Lacey led her to ask some extremely impertinent questions before being told loudly by Lady Seraphinia that it was better she remain silent than remind the world of her foolishness.

  “And now to the final quartet, comprising of old friends and new,” said Devenish, as three gentlemen and a stylish young woman turned to greet them.

  “Monsieur Gautereau!” cried Cassandra, barely able to contain her delight as her eyes fell on a familiar face. “How wonderful to see you again! Oh dear, did I ruin your surprise, Your Grace?”

  “Not in the least, my dear. I suspected you would be pleased.”

  “Not as pleased as I am, Monsieur Le Duc,” replied Gautereau, beaming with real pleasure as he made his bow. “You look enchanting, Madamoiselle Scott, and I am pleased to renew our acquaintance. This must be your frere, Monsieur Scott, and your friend Lacey that you told me about?”

  “Indeed they are!” she said, pleased that he had remembered. “Dr Lacey, Ferdy, this is the gentleman from Montreal that I was telling you about.”

  “Talk your ear off, did she?” said her brother with a sympathetic smile. “She’s wont to do that, you know, but it’s really your own fault for mentioning that you were foreign.”

  “I enjoyed our conversation, monsieur, and it was good to talk of home,” said Gautereau with a polite bow. “It is my turn to make introductions, is it not? Mademoiselle Scott, may I introduce you to mon bon ami, Monsieu
r Douglas, his frere, Lord Cottingham, and of course the beautiful Lady Cottingham?”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Cassandra in surprise, barely remembering to curtsey in time. Devenish looked at her sharply, but she ignored him as best she could. “You are the owner of that wonderful red carriage, are you not, my Lady?”

  Lady Cottingham seemed pleased by her statement. “Yes, to my everlasting pride! A present from my grandfather, and easily the most perfect equipage to ever grace London, horses and carriage alike!”

  “My wife is modest, as you can see,” said Lord Cottingham with a fond smile. “I’m sure Mr Osbaldston will disagree with you, my love, and feels that Canary Bird rivals any nag to come from the Shropshire stables.”

  “None of the Shropshire stock are mere nags,” replied Lady Cottingham with great aplomb. “And I’ll have you know that my dear Robinette sired Spartacus, so by insulting my horses you are insulting the prize stallion in His Grace’s hands.”

  “They will squabble over horses for hours if you let them,” said the third gentleman. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Scott; I’m Mr Douglas, the former spare to my brother Cottingham here.”

  “We sent him to Quebec, but he came back,” sighed Lord Cottingham, and received a light punch on the arm for his trouble.

  “My friend Jacques here informs me that you are interested in learning about Canada,” continued Mr Douglas. “I have lived in that fine country for the past three years, and would love the opportunity to talk of it with a willing audience.”

  “Only because he has bored the unwilling one to tears, namely me,” joked Lord Cottingham, giving his brother a friendly shove.

  This was who the infamous Lady Henrietta had chosen above Devenish?

  She wondered if she was sickening for something after all, for although Lord Cottingham seemed to be a jovial man with a handsome enough countenance, she could not see anything about him that could be considered superior to her Duke.

  Cassandra shook her head and forced a smile to her lips. “How wonderful! Monsieur has promised to share stories of the natives with me, and I have been filled with anticipation ever since.”