The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  “He has not tried to trade with them in person,” said Mr Douglas before motioning to himself. “This fool before you, however, thought he could just stroll into camps and talk with the Chief. I am lucky that his father was there to save me from my own arrogant stupidity, or my time in Canada would have been very brief indeed.”

  “Gentlemen, I think you should at least sit yourselves down before you continue this conversation,” laughed Devenish. “I am sure that Lady Cottingham and Miss Scott would be grateful for a seat.”

  Cassandra flashed him a thankful smile, knowing that the comment was intended to benefit Ferdy rather than herself, but being glad of a chair nonetheless. It suddenly occurred to her that she had not eaten anything beyond a slice of toast at breakfast, which no doubt accounted for her light headedness.

  Lord Cottingham apologized for his thoughtlessness, and then pulled some extra chairs about them and invited everyone to sit comfortably.

  Lacey, however, declined the invitation. “Lady Seraphinia is summoning me to join her, and we all know that we must not deny the Queen of Bath anything!”

  The gentlemen all agreed loudly to this pronouncement, even Mr Gautereau who likely had no idea who Lady Seraphinia was.

  Ferdy as well made his excuses. “I must show Her Grace my shoes, gentlemen, for I promised her they would be like nothing she has ever seen before.”

  “That seems likely,” agreed Devenish, looking at the offending footwear and shaking his head. “Lend me your arm, Mr Scott, as we walk over to the Duchess. I have a question about the Egyptian pyramids, and feel you are just the fellow to ask.”

  Cassandra watched them go with an odd pang. It felt like forever had passed since she last saw Devenish, and the strange events on the road outside her home felt unresolved. She wanted to tell him that she had missed him terribly, that Bath had not been as much fun without him, no matter how silly that would sound if she said it out loud.

  It sounded vaguely silly inside her own head as well, when she thought about it.

  Cassandra turned away, forcing herself to smile brightly at Monsieur Gautereau and her new acquaintances. She realized that Lady Cottingham was staring at her intently.

  She stared right back, schooling her expression to the same one of naïve stupidity that she’d used so often on Uncle Edmund.

  Lady Cottingham grinned suddenly, and inclined her head so subtly that Cassandra would have missed it had she not been so intently focused on the woman.

  And she had absolutely no idea what the little nod had indicated.

  “Well, Jacques? Are you going to keep Miss Scott in anticipation?” said Lady Cottingham. “I confess I’d like to hear more about the Douglas brother’s adventures in Montreal as well, for the way James tells it, everything went perfectly to plan on every last occasion.”

  “Where shall we start? There is so much to tell!” said Gautereau, before launching straight into an anecdote that involved Mr Douglas and Lord Cottingham being tricked into buying the pelt of an old dog rather than that of a wolf.

  The tales were amusing, and monsieur Gautereau was a master storyteller who knew just how much detail to add and delivered each punchline with perfect timing. It was not long before several other people, including the Duchess and Ferdy, had turned their attention to the Canadian and his anecdotes, until he had half the room eating out of his hand.

  And yet Cassandra was not as captivated as she should have been. She did her best to hide her wandering mind, but her desire to talk to Devenish, to hear whatever he had been about to say on the street so many days ago, kept intruding on her ability to concentrate on a topic that should have held her completely. It was also too hot and stuffy in the room, even if no one else seemed bothered by it. It was taking most of her concentration to keep herself from wilting, making listening closely to Mr Gautereau nigh on impossible.

  Perhaps that was why she noticed when Lady Cottingham quietly took her leave of the group, passing around the back of the room without anyone else paying attention.

  It was definitely why she saw that same lady murmur something to Devenish, who promptly got to his feet, and escorted her out through the French Doors to the moonlit terrace beyond.

  She felt a strong pang of jealousy that was nothing to do with Devenish, and everything to do with the promise of cold night air.

  And maybe a tiny bit to do with the Duke as well.

  “But perhaps I have talked too much,” said Monsieur Gautereau after an anecdote that left almost the entire room laughing. “It is no fun to listen to another without the opportunity to share your own tales, non?”

  “Not in the least,” said Ferdy with an enthusiasm he rarely showed. “I have not been so entertained for an age, and none of my stories are half as interesting.”

  “You must consider joining the Literary Society of Dubious Merit,” declared Her Grace, “although you may be too talented to become a member. What do you think, Lady Cottingham? Oh!”

  Lord Cottingham motioned towards the far end of the room. “She was feeling a trifle warm, Your Grace, and decided to take some air on the balcony with Devenish as her escort.”

  “What an excellent idea of hers,” said Cassandra, climbing to her feet and trying her best not to fall straight back down again. “It is awfully warm this evening, and the cool air is just the thing for us all.

  If the Duchess, who still had a thick paisley shawl wrapped about her shoulders, disagreed with Cassandra’s assessment, she was too good to show it.

  “Then I propose that anyone who wishes to cool down before supper and refreshments are served should go take a turn about the garden,” said the Duchess. “General Mortimer, if you would be so good as to push my wheeled-chair for me, I would be grateful for your assistance reaching the terrace.”

  “Anything for Your Grace,” declared the old soldier, although it took a few attempts for him to heave himself up off the sofa.

  “May I walk with you, Miss Scott?” said Lord Cottingham, getting to his feet with a lazy indifference to the fact his wife was on the terrace with another man. “I need Henry to learn that I was not exaggerating about the size of moose, and that I was right to run away when it charged me!”

  Cassandra laughed more than his comment warranted, but it seemed to please the young Lord. He began to tell her an amusing story about his encounter with an odd creature called a skunk, but she could barely pretend to pay attention as she stepped towards the glass doors and out onto the terrace beyond, fervently wishing that she would be greeted by a downpour of ice cold rain, and possibly by His Grace, carrying a platter of ice.

  *

  “What do you think we should do?” said Henrietta as she finished explaining the situation.

  Devenish blew out a long breath, staring ahead into the moonlit garden beyond the sandstone terrace. “And you are sure that Gautereau is unaware of his status?”

  She nodded. “He knows that we are distant cousins, but no more than that. When I said I would introduce him to Grandfather, he showed interest in learning about his family, but no more than that. If James and I are right about who his father was, though; if the marriage was truly legitimate…”

  Devenish nodded. “Then there is an heir to the Marquis of Shropshire after all.”

  Henrietta wrapped her arms about herself. “It would fulfill all of Grandfather’s dreams. But how could it be, Devenish? After my uncle and cousin died, the lawyers searched every branch of the tree for a possible heir. How could they have missed one?”

  “I don’t know, Henrietta, truly I don’t, but I think it is time to lay the whole before the Marquis. He has a right to know.”

  “That’s what Cottingham says,” replied Henrietta.

  He turned to look at her as she stared out on the moonlight filled garden, the breeze making the ringlets of her hair sway back and forth. She was so much more assured in her appearance than when he had first met her, and yet here she was, choosing to come to him for advice on an issue that would shake
the Ton and give them gossip for years to come.

  “Then why not follow your husband’s suggestion rather than seeking mine?” Devenish asked, sharper than he intended. If she noticed, however, she did not show it.

  “Because James is a romantic at heart. It does not occur to him that Gautereau may be a confidence trickster of some sort, or merely illegitimate, or perhaps wholly unsuitable to bear the title of Shropshire.”

  “His suitability is irrelevant, my dear,” Devenish reminded her. “Half our acquaintances are proof of that.”

  His comment drew a light laugh. Henrietta walked to his side, leaning on the stone balustrade next to him, her eyes still lost in the garden.

  It was odd, thought Devenish. Here she was, standing beside him as though nothing had passed between them; as though she hadn’t chosen Cottingham over him; as though she were not now a mother and a leading light of the Ton. She was still Henrietta, seeking his advice and input even as she debated his wisdom, and yet a different person entirely.

  “It’s a consideration though, isn’t it? How often do we get the opportunity to decide the fate of our family?” she said.

  “It’s not your decision, Henrietta.”

  “Why not?” she asked, her expression mulish. “Grandfather is frailer than he once was, and I worry about what the shock would do to his health, or worse, how disappointment would affect him if Gautereau does not live up to expectations. His father was the black sheep of the family, by all accounts. If he truly forsook the family obligation, then perhaps neither he nor his son are worthy to succeed. They were not born to it, after all, and Gautereau has never set foot in England before this week. How can he possibly be expected to understand our ways?”

  Her comments made Devenish think of the Scott siblings. Ferdinand, for all his illness had robbed from him, had a keen mind, the soul of a radical, and a sense of the ridiculous that the Ton would do well to adopt.

  And Cassandra. Wide eyed, cheerful Cassandra, who was determined to see everyone in the best light and ready to be pleased by everything. Cassie, who saw being different or foreign as an advantage, and delighted in learning everything that she could. She’d befriended more people in a week than he had in a lifetime, and only a fool like Lady Fitzburgh would find that a fault in her.

  Not to mention the fact that she’d taken up residence in his heart.

  He stood up straight as the realization hit him, square between the eyes, that half the reason he was in love with Cassie was that she had none of the faults endemic in the Ton, but still personified the grace and intelligence one would expect of a Peer.

  “You’re wrong, Henrietta, and being dashed classist to boot,” he said, unable to help the grin starting to form.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” replied Henrietta, looking shocked rather than angry.

  Devenish turned to her, looking her up and down as he realized that, while he would always admire Henrietta Douglas, he had never truly loved her any more than he had loved Caroline Rothman.

  “I said that you’re being dashed classist,” he repeated, “but don’t worry about it, my dear girl, for I am no better myself. Just because we were born to the Peerage does not make us better than those who were not. Think about it, Henry! Who would you rather spend the evening talking with; Lady Fitzburgh or a successful milliner?”

  She frowned. “Well, the latter I suppose, but-”

  He put his hands on her shoulders as he warmed to the theme. “And if you had to choose – really, truly, had to choose – an evening’s escort to Vauxhall between Gentleman Jackson and the Duke of Clarence, who would you trust to protect your honour?”

  “Gentleman Jackson,” she said without hesitation, “but a boxer and a Royal are brought up by different-”

  “Then answer me this,” he said, pulling her closer before she could finish speaking. “If you had the choice between spending the rest of your life with a Duke or with a mere Baron, because birth and breeding matter more than character, which one would you choose?”

  Her eyes went wide with shock, and her cheeks flared crimson. He did not let go of her or break his gaze, wanting her to understand.

  “I would choose Cottingham,” she said quietly. “I would choose him if he were a beggar, a thief, or even a Fitzburgh.”

  Devenish laughed, and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  “You have always been an intelligent one, Henrietta. Don’t let the Ton steal that away from you. Don’t you dare.”

  He stepped back, but kept hold of her hands in his.

  “So, what will you do about Gautereau?” he asked.

  She smiled faintly. “I will champion his cause with Grandfather, of course, but I think I will not tell Monsieur of my suspicions.”

  “A wise course,” he told her, before grinning broadly. “It has just occurred to me that, if Gautereau is indeed the rightful heir to the Marquis of Shropshire, then he’ll be hounded from coast to coast by every matchmaking mama in the country.”

  “Poor Jacques,” said Henrietta, and then giggled. “I am certainly not telling him of his fate in that case!”

  “You had no sympathy for me, if I remember,” said Devenish, arching a brow.

  She smiled up with the fondness of an old friend. “You never needed it. I like her, by the by.”

  He did not pretend to misunderstand her meaning. “It remains to be seen if she likes me well enough to marry me.”

  “She’d be a fool not to, Devenish. Even if you were a thief, a beggar, or even a Fitzburgh.”

  He smiled, and Henrietta went up on her toes so that she could kiss him on the cheek.

  “You have always been the best of men, Devenish,” she whispered. “You just need to show her that.”

  “There you are, Henry!” called out Lord Cottingham as he strolled onto the terrace, arm in arm with a white-faced Cassandra. “Did Devenish tell you that I’m right about everything?”

  Henrietta let go of his hands just so she could put them onto her hips.

  “How do you know he did not agree with me?” she demanded.

  “Because you’d have been crowing about it already if he had,” pointed out her husband. “Speaking of your being wrong, my love, I need you to listen to Gautereau a moment, if you please. Apparently, I was too conservative when describing the size of a moose, and they are, in fact, larger than your horses.”

  As more people spilled out onto the terrace, Devenish took a step forward towards Cassandra.

  “I’m sorry for the way I took off to London,” he began, reaching for her as he spoke.

  She stepped away, looking at his chest rather than into his eyes. He paused, wondering if she had witnessed Henrietta’s display of affection and considered it more than it was.

  “It’s quite alright, you know,” she said, swaying slightly. “I know about how Lady Cottingham stole your heart. It must have been difficult to see her again but some chapters need to be closed before the next begin.”

  “Who told you that?” he asked, wondering who he would need to kill first.

  “It’s common knowledge, apparently,” she said with an overly bright smile. Her eyes were shining in the moonlight, as though tears might fall any instant. “It is amongst the Ton, at least. Obviously I’m not Tonnish, so it was not something I understood until the last day or so. You should have told me. Well no, not should have, because that’s awfully presumptuous of me. I mean you could have told me. I’m your friend, you know. That’s what I’ve always said. We’re very dear friends, and we both understand each other because of our obligations. I mean our family. The Duchess would never be an obligation, and nor would Ferdy! And I might not know what it is like to have a broken heart, or to love someone so much that you cannot bear a day without them, or when you want to share something amusing with them only they just aren’t there, and you try not to be angry because of course they have other things to do with their time, but they should have let you know instead of leaving you standing, confused, in the middle
of a street because they saw a beautiful woman in a carriage.”

  “My poor Cassie, I’m so sorry for hurting you,” he said, resisting the urge to pull her close to him, the rest of his guests be damned.

  She laughed, high pitched and false. He wondered if he was imagining her shortness of breath, or the dewy edge to skin.

  “You hardly hurt me, Your Grace! Did you not hear anything I just said?”

  “I rather think I heard it all,” he told her.

  She flushed an adorable shade of pink… no, he realized. Not pink from embarrassment she was flushed all over, despite the cold of the night.

  “Oh. I see. Do you like my hair, Your Grace? Anna thought it would be slap up to the echo and I thought so too but I didn’t think about my spectacles at the time. I don’t need to worry about it’s shocking inability to curl at least, although I suppose if I wanted to style it a la Brutus, like yours, I’ll have the same problems I always did.”

  “Your hair looks beautiful, Cassie. Everything about you is beautiful.”

  Her laugh became even higher, and for a horrible moment he thought she was going to cry.

  “That’s the power of a talented dressmaker, you know! Lord Arthur told me so, and he, of course, is always excellently dressed.”

  “Cassie,” he repeated, stepping towards her like he would a skittish colt, “are you feeling well? You cheeks are uncommonly rosy, my dear, and you’re a trifle high in colour.”

  “Champagne,” she replied, stepping backwards. “You know, I am feeling a touch under the weather, possibly the heat. I should find Lacey. He’s here somewhere, I’m sure of it; unless he stayed with Miss Lindon and Lady Seraphinia. Did he, do you know? He wants to ask your mother about becoming her physician, and I’m supposed to support him. He wants to marry Miss Lindon but he hasn’t asked her. I think he should, but then what do I know about such things? No one has ever asked me to marry them. At least I don’t think so. I should write to Uncle Edmund and ask, just in case.”

  “Cassandra, I really think you should let me escort you to one of the benches so you can sit down,” he said, using his Ducal tone in an attempt to get her to listen.