“I’m… I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she whispered, before staggering forwards into his arms. “Hell and damnation, I’m going to faint.”
He almost laughed at the coarse language that came from her mouth, almost asked her where she’d learned such a term, but as her eyes rolled back in her head and her body went limp in his arms, panic seized him.
“Lacey!” he shouted. “Lacey, damn you! Miss Scott needs your help!”
CHAPTER NINE
The Duchess had Carter carry her through to the spare bedroom, where Miss Scott slept deeply beneath the cool sheets, just as she had done since collapsing the night before. An overstuffed armchair sat waiting for her, vacant despite the three other occupants in the room, and her trusted footman careful placed her into it before ensuring she had a blanket to cover herself.
Ferdinand Scott had settled himself on the edge of the bed so he could hold his sister’s limp hand, although he himself looked like he was taking a turn for the worse. Both he and Lacey had slept in the back bedchamber, making no complaint about the lacklustre surroundings, and instead thanking her profusely for the task of asking her staff to go and collect their things from Landsdown Place. Mr Scott was wearing a silver banyan thrown over his shirtsleeves and breeches, his only comment on his attire being that he saw no reason to waste his time dressing when he would far rather stay with Cassandra, in case she had need of him.
Dr Lacey, as far as Emily could tell, had slept no more than a few hours before returning to Miss Scott’s side. He was currently taking her pulse, checking her temperature, and staring thoughtfully at her sleeping form. He seemed thoughtful rather than worried, which Emily found to be a reassuring sign.
“She remains feverish, I’m afraid, but I am confident that she will recover quickly with a little help,” said the doctor after a few minutes. “Fear not; Cassie is as strong as an ox, and will be back to berating you before the week is out.”
“What’s wrong with her?” croaked her brother. Emily studied him carefully, and noticed that his eyes were heavy from a lack of sleep. “Is it… does she…”
Lacey placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a cold, Ferdy. Nothing more. She’s been running about and doing far more than usual, so it’s hardly surprising that she’s exhausted herself in the process. With your permission, I shall venture out to the apothecary myself and commission some syrup to help her recover.”
“Anything,” replied Mr Scott. “Anything you need, no matter the cost, you can have.”
Dr Lacey nodded. “Rest, Ferdy,” he said quietly. “She’ll need you to rest.”
The doctor came over to Emily, performing a deep bow to her.
“Your Grace, if I may be so impertinent, may I also procure some remedies that I hope will be of benefit to your own suffering? I have been impressed with Mr Turner on New King Street, and believe he will be able to mix something to my precise requirements.”
“I would like that very much, Dr Lacey, and look forward to a more comprehensive consultation with you,” she replied.
His eyes widened briefly, but he said nothing else save for taking his leave.
Truth be told, the young man had impressed Emily with his competence since Miss Scott had taken ill. He had refused the offer to send for an apothecary or physician to examine her, showing no care at all that the task nursing a patient was beneath the dignity of a gentleman. It made her like him better, and she resolved to lend her support to Lady Seraphinia when the time came to convince Jane’s parents that the Dr Lacey would make her an excellent husband.
Miss Scott stirred for a moment, drawing the attention of all three of them for one eternal moment. The girl mumbled something unintelligible, and then turned her head to one side before falling back into her deep slumber.
Emily watched Mr Scott close his eyes over and press his sister’s hand to his cheek. Her heart went out to him, for he looked so young and terribly frail in that moment, and she knew without question the mixture of relief, anger, guilt, and fatigue that would be plaguing him.
She looked over at her son, remembering how closely she’d watched him for years, terrified that he had inherited her affliction, the relief with every year that passed with him as hale and hearty as ever.
Not that she would use those words to describe him in that moment.
Devenish leant against the far wall, staring down at Miss Scott with haunted eyes. While he had not gone so far as to fling a banyan over his clothes, his coat was undone and his cravat tied in a loose horse collar. She idly wondered how Ember was coping with this turn of events, and hoped that the valet was able to forgive Devenish his slovenly appearance under the circumstances.
She turned her attention back to the patient’s brother.
“Mr Scott,” she said softly, but no answer came. “Ferdinand, please look at me.”
The use of his given name seemed to surprise him into looking over at Emily.
“I am going to call Carter, and he will take you back to your room for a rest,” she said with a motherly firmness. “No, do not argue, Ferdinand! Cassandra needs you to be strong for her this time, and you can hardly do that if you end up contracting this cold from her, now can you?”
She saw a gamut of emotions war across his face as he straightened himself up. “I appreciate your solicitude, Your Grace, but I promise I am not about to fall ill myself. Well, no more ill than usual.”
“You misunderstand me, my dear boy,” she said, happily ignoring the fact he was close to thirty years of age. “If you do not go with my footman and get a few hours of rest, then I will have my staff remove you from my house and forcibly return you home, not to return until your sister is fully recovered.”
“A cheerful tyrant, I see,” said Ferdinand, but he was not fighting her, at least. “How like Cassandra. Very well, if you insist then I will lie down, but if she stirs at all then I wish to be woken.”
“I promise,” she told him, and then summoned Carter to help the exhausted man to limp down the corridor and back to his bed.
“Are you intending to throw me out as well?” asked Devenish when they were alone.
“Not yet,” she admitted, “but when her brother returns, I insist you allow Ember to tidy up your appearance. The poor child does not need to awaken to a room full of unkempt men; she’ll probably squeak with fright, and gladly return to a slumber.”
“I don’t think Cassie takes fright at anything,” said Devenish, a fond smile on his mouth as he watched her sleeping form. “She doesn’t look right without her spectacles, you know. I always thought they enhanced the colour of her eyes.”
“Did you ever tell her that?” asked Emily.
“I planned to yesterday,” sighed Devenish. “I’m a damned fool, you know. I should never have gone to London without telling her why.”
“I’d like to know myself,” she commented. “At first I thought it was because you’d seen Henrietta again, but during the soiree it occurred to me that it wasn’t that at all.”
“It was, in a way,” he said, shaking his head. “You will think me a fool, mother!”
“No more than I do already, darling,” she said in a conciliatory tone.
She supposed the croaking noise he made was supposed to be laughter, but there was no mirth there at all.
“When I saw the Cottinghams driving through Bath, it struck me forcefully how close I had come to asking for Henrietta’s hand in marriage – and how easily I let it go. Cassie is different; even though I worry that I cannot give her everything she wishes for in her life, I thought perhaps there might be a way if I could just secure some support. I went to London to see her oldest brother, Major Scott, and her uncle, Sir Edmund.”
Emily widened her eyes in alarm. “Devenish, she despises those relations!”
“With good reason,” Devenish replied with a shudder. “Sir Edmund was away from town, but still had the dubious pleasure of meeting Oscar Scott. Good grief, he is the opposite to his siblings i
n almost every manner possible! As soon as I expressed a desire to marry Cassandra he turned into the most obsequious little toad I’ve ever met in my life, promising his sister would be a good and obedient wife, and would never give me a moment’s concern if I wished to continue in my current ways.”
“He’s never met his sister, then,” said Emily with a shake of her head.
“That was not the worst of it,” growled Devenish, his brow furrowing deeply at the memory. “I wanted to discuss provisions for Ferdinand, just for a few months while I took Cassandra abroad. That miscreant had the audacity to wink at me, and say that he knew a doctor who would sign away his brother to an asylum for his malingering ways, and not to worry myself about being burdened with another wastrel. Wastrel! Damned if Ferdy isn’t worth a thousand Major Scotts!”
“Devenish, why didn’t you talk with me about this first?” she said, exasperated beyond measure. “Have I not told you enough times how people like Mr Scott and I are treated? Did not your own father have me hidden away on the Dentley estates with that foul excuse for a physician?”
“I know, mother, I know,” he said, coming around the bed so that he could kneel on the floor beside her chair. “But I assumed it would be different for Ferdinand, being a man. I did not believe that his own brother…”
He trailed off, disgust evident on his face.
“It hardly matters anyway,” he said, getting back to his feet. “She is of age, and does not require anyone’s permission to marry but her own.”
“So you will ask her, then?”
He turned to look at her. “Yes, but I swear to you mother, that my own terms of marriage include your continued presence in our home and our lives. I may love Cassie with all my heart, but if she does not understand why I will not abandon you, then she is not the woman I love, after all.”
Just like Caroline Rothman, she thought sadly.
“Thank you, my dear,” she replied, and decided that now was not the time to share the plan that she and Ferdinand had already hatched.
*
Cassandra’s dreams were fitful, with names and faces swarming about and all trying to grab hold of a piece of her. Ferdy was holding her hand, promising her that she would be perfectly well if only she drank some of the lukewarm waters from the Pump Room. She tried to spit them out, but they tasted oddly of fennel and honey, so she’d done as she was bid.
The Duchess had read a story to her which might have been The Pirate King, but then became Lord Arthur dueling with a monkey and a pug in order to win his princess. She tried to tell Her Grace that she didn’t think there were pugs on pirate ships, but her comment was met with so much laughter that she realized she must have been dreaming again.
Mostly, she dreamed of Devenish. Sometimes he held her hand while she swayed side to side on the pirate ship, or he placed something cool onto her forehead while the constant hammering of horse’s hooves echoed in her skull until they gave her the headache. She felt queasy, tired, restless and irritated all at once, but then she remembered he was with her, and it didn’t seem so bad after all.
“Ship,” she tried to tell him at one point. “Not on the ship.”
“I know, my love, I know,” he’d said softly to her. “When you are well, I’ll make sure you sail the world on a ship worthy of you.”
His comment was enough to make her stomach lurch, and she dry-retched for what felt like forever.
“You don’t understand!” she told him angrily, before collapsing back into another dream-filled sleep.
By the time she opened her eyes with enough clarity to know her own name, her head felt like an entire brigade of Hussars had charged across her forehead, and that the sun pouring in through the curtains was far too bright. Her spectacles were gone, so it felt like she was trying to focus through a thick piece of gauze, but she was too exhausted to try and find them.
“Good morning, Cassie,” came a voice from beside the bed. “Or rather, good afternoon. You gave us quite a fright there.”
“Lacey?” she croaked. “My throat feels like I’ve swallowed sand.”
“A sore throat, I’m afraid,” he replied. “And a fever, but that broke late last night. Here, I have something for you to drink that will ease the pain, but you must rest your voice as much as possible.”
He slipped a hand behind her neck, and eased her head up far enough that she could swallow his syrup of fennel and honey.
She sank back down into the pillows, enjoying the soothing sensation as it coated her throat.
“Ferdy and the Duchess are both having a small luncheon downstairs, but His Grace will be glad you are awake, and wish to speak with you before we let the others know you are awake.”
She tried to push herself upright, failed, and dropped back down into the pillow.
“Lacey, no! I look a fright!”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Remember what Brummell says, my dear; be assured of your appearance, and do not give it another thought.”
“Brummell is an idiot,” she mumbled, before rubbing at her throat.
“Ten minutes,” the doctor told her, “but I will be leaving the door open and standing outside.”
“Awful chaperone,” she retorted, but it came out as a dry squeak, so she wasn’t sure if he heard her properly.
“For someone who has slept the best part of two days, you look as though you woke up in a terrible mood,” said Devenish as he entered the room.
“Headache,” she croaked at him, hoping that was enough.
He pulled a wooden stool to the bedside instead of settling into the armchair, and even though she felt awful and knew she looked worse, it made her heart sing when he took hold of her fingers in his.
“Cassie, my darling,” he said softly, and then paused for a moment. “Why are you crying, my dear?”
“I have no idea,” she whispered, before sniffing loudly. She had the awful feeling that her nose was about to start running, but there was no way to wipe at it without him seeing.
“Everything is going to turn up roses, my love,” he promised her, reaching over to push some stray wisps of hair from her forehead. “I’ve done some investigating for you while you were asleep, and I hope you forgive my impertinence. A friend of mine owns a beautiful yacht that’s moored just outside of Bristol. He takes it to the continent on a regular basis, and is an extremely competent sailor.”
“No!” she exclaimed, her heart thundering just at the idea of being on a boat with all the swaying, rocking and nausea-inducing movements.
“There’s no need to worry, my love! Ferdinand will be well cared for on the boat, and then perhaps a slow journey to Italy, with plenty of stops for rest, will be the journey you’ve always wished for.”
“You don’t understand, that’s not what I want,” she said, her voice breaking into a cough so sudden that Devenish quickly passed her a cup of warm ginger tisane garnished with a slice of dried lemon and sweetened with honey, holding it to her lips as he helped her lift her head.
“Here, my mother swears by this for sore throats,” said the Duke. The concoction was surprisingly tasty and soothed her throat like a warm blanket.
“Devenish, I don’t want to go abroad,” she managed to say as he put the cup of tisane back onto the table beside them.
He smiled at her like she was a small child, taking her hands into his and squeezing them tightly. “You talk of nothing else, Cassie, it’s not something you can hide. If you mean…. I hope you mean… Cassandra, I will be here when you return, if you want to be with me. I will not stand in the way of an adventure, but I cannot leave my obligations behind. I love you with everything that I am and have done so since the first time we met. I will wait for you to come back, if you decide to come back, because even if I have to wait forever, I will do it with gladness.”
“Devenish, no,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes and making her vision even blurrier than normal.
She felt him tense up for a moment, but he did not let go of her
hand.
“I see. I… I cannot take back my words, Miss Scott, but-”
“I hate travelling!” she tried to shout, then winced at the pain in her throat.
“I don’t understand,” said Devenish.
She freed her hands from his and forced herself to sit up in the bed, no matter how much her head was spinning as a result. Recognising the glint of her spectacles, she picked them up and slid them into place, before picking up the cup of tisane and downing the remaining contents.
“I hate travelling,” she repeated, keeping her voice as soft as a whisper this time. “Ask Ferdy! I am sick as a dog whenever we use the travelling coach, and I once cast up my accounts because the river boat rocked too much.”
She rubbed at her throat again but took the opportunity to study the Duke.
He looked terrible. Truly terrible. His hair was just a mess rather than artistically tousled, his clothes looked like he had slept in them, his face was drawn, and his eyes shadowed. Either he had been drinking more spirits than his stomach could hold, or he’d been truly worried about her.
“But you always talk to people, who’ve travelled,” said Devenish, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“They’re interesting,” she replied, hoping that he wouldn’t expect her to elaborate further.
“You have no wish to leave England?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“No real wish to leave Bath?” he asked, and the thread of hope in his voice made her eyes well up with tears once again as she shook her head vigorously.
“Do you mean to say that perhaps, maybe, you have no real wish to leave…me?” he said, sounding so vulnerable and raw that the tears began to fall no matter her wishes.
She shook her head again.
Devenish sat back, dragging a hand over his mouth in shock. He smiled, laughed, then put his hand over his mouth again.
In all his unkempt glory, Cassandra did not think she had ever seen him look so handsome.
There was a commotion in the distance. They both turned to face the door as they realized that the sound of raised voices was coming from inside the house, followed by the loud stomping of someone racing up the stairs.
The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series Page 17