It was one of the reasons he preferred to stroll in the mornings, for it saved him from the coquettish stares of the merchant’s daughters and the fawning attention of their mothers.
Today, however, he was sure that his penchant for walking before noon was a gift from the Fates, even if they insisted on turning him into a footman rather than a prince.
“You appear to have had a successful shopping trip,” he commented, one eye on the precariously balanced parcel at the top of his burden.
“Indeed so! Of course, I had not planned to borrow so many books, or buy a new bonnet, or to acquire so many new trimmings, but I simply could not help myself.” She glanced at the packages and bit her lip. “Perhaps I did collect more than I could carry.”
“Was that an admission of guilt, Miss Scott?”
“Nothing of the sort!”
He laughed at her attempt to school her face into an offended expression.
“Do you live here in Bath?” he asked her, steering the conversation into safer waters.
“We arrived recently, but are likely to stay for quite a while,” she replied. “And you, Mr Devenish?”
“I have a house in town, although we have only just arrived back from the country. My mother’s constitution is improved here, and I thought it for the best to spend the Season at Bath rather than at home.”
“And does your mother agree?”
He glanced at her through the corner of his eye. “I think you can guess the answer to that. She does not like to admit to her weaknesses.”
The smile Miss Scott flashed him revealed genuine understanding.
“Always tries to be strong, I gather? My brother is like that and often makes himself poorly as a result. He has been ill recently, so I determined that it would be good for him to take the waters, even though he insisted that mounting an expedition to see the Egyptian pyramids would be much more the thing.”
“Then I hope that he has found the Roman architecture here much more to his liking, and found the waters a great tonic.”
Miss Scott laughed. “He says the Romans are a dead bore, and although he will allow that the baths themselves have been of benefit, he’s managed to avoid the Pump Room. He argues with both myself and Lacey that allowing him to drink port would be much more the thing, if only to soothe his disappointment in not travelling the world!”
“A man of sense, obviously,” said Devenish, wondering who this Lacey fellow was. He glanced over at his companion as she let out a fresh peal of laughter.
“He is a dear, and will be much moved by your tribute,” she said when she got her mirth back under control, refusing to elaborate further.
“Scott... Scott...” murmured Devenish, mentally reviewing his long list of acquaintances in London. “Are you perhaps related to Sir Edmund Scott?”
Her expression turned strained for a moment but was quickly replaced by a sunny smile. “Yes, he is my uncle. Do you know the family well?”
“I am afraid not, although we’ve met at social events. I don’t think that I recall ever having seen you there, Miss Scott.”
“I’ve never been to London,” she replied with a wistful sigh. “I have always thought it would be quite an enjoyable thing to have a Season, but what with one thing and another, it has never happened.”
“Unfortunate indeed, but at least there is Bath,” he said, ignoring the voice in his head that was pointing out how much young ladies tended to hate the old-fashioned town.
Miss Scott, it seemed, did not share their dislike as she once again lit up with happiness.
“Indeed, I like it here very much, for it seems that there is always something to do, and I much prefer being busy to being idle, don’t you? Not to mention all these people, and so close to Bristol! There must be lots of adventurers and well-travelled individuals to meet and talk with. I think it will do my brother a world of good to meet with more people who are his intellectual equal, for although both Lacey and I are adequate companions, to rarely have opinions that challenge his own is a dead bore.”
There was enough revealed in this tangled little speech to intrigue Devenish even further, but as they seemed to have reached their destination outside a smart looking townhouse on Lansdown Place. At Miss Scott’s insistence, Devenish piled the various packages onto the steps in front of the door, but no butler, not even a footman, appeared to help take her shopping indoors.
Miss Scott frowned. “Oh dear, I am not sure what I am supposed to do now. Do I invite you in to meet my brother, or do I thank you and send you on your way? He might not be awake or able to take visitors even if he is. Lacey will be somewhere about, but I’m not sure of the protocol there as he is not family.”
Devenish smiled, having no idea what relation to her this Lacey fellow was, or how he felt about the man.
“Ah, a social dilemma! I am afraid I am not the person to ask about such things. However, I am happy to be able to solve this for you; I was on my way to visit a friend, so I am afraid I am not able to visit with you just now. Perhaps I may make a call on you in the next week?”
She considered this for a moment, her face creasing up in such an adorable fashion that he was one step away from declaring himself.
She reached a decision and gave a little nod.
“That would be very nice, Mr Devenish, if you swear not to make fun of me.”
“Alas, that is not a promise I feel I can keep.”
She grinned. “At least you are honest, I suppose. Do you go to the Pump Room often? I am determined to drag Ferdy there whether he likes it or not.”
Deducing that Ferdy was her brother, Devenish gave a slight incline of his head.
“Everyone who is anyone in Bath goes to the Pump Room, my dear, but even if the place was no more than shabby-genteel, I would still accompany my mother there so she could take the waters.”
Miss Scott smiled. “How chivalrous! You should be careful, Mr Devenish, or I will begin to think you are a gentleman after all.”
Impulse took the better of him, and he dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. She gasped as he pulled back from the tiny, chaste kiss. Her spectacles were askew and her eyes wide with surprise rather than fury.
“Never that, my dear Miss Scott,” he told her with a grin. “There’s a reason my nickname is the Devilish Duke.”
She did the last thing he expected, and let out a peal of pretty laughter before straightening up her spectacles.
He’d never before considered spectacles to be an attractive accessory, but now wondered why any woman ventured out without a pair.
“Good lord, now I know you are making fun of me! Very well, Your Grace,” she said, imbuing her words with enough sarcasm to make it obvious she believed he was bamming her. “Thank you for carrying my things for me. It was your fault that you knocked them over, of course, so I owe you no gratitude for that act. In fact, I take leave to inform you that if you ever try to kiss me again without my permission, I shall be forced to do something drastic.”
He blinked in surprise. “Something drastic?” he repeated.
“Infinitely so,” she replied with mock solemnity. “I shall be forced to tell your mother about your shocking behaviour.”
“Good God,” said Devenish, looking the tiny Miss Scott up and down. “I rather think she would insist that I marry you on the spot.”
“A fate worse than death as you can see,” she said with a smile. “If that threat doesn’t keep you on the straight and narrow, I don’t know what will.”
“You are unlike any woman I have ever met, Miss Scott, and I find myself desiring to get to know you better,” said Devenish.
Before she could respond, however, he touched his fingers to his hat, and then turned to walk away from the house as fast as he could before he did something ridiculous.
Like ask the girl to marry him.
CHAPTER TWO
Cassandra watched the strange man wander away down the street, and wondered if she had just met her very first ra
ke.
How exciting!
She pressed her fingers to her lips and quietly chuckled. The ladies back at the village would be scandalized, and no doubt demand the poor man marry her that instant to protect her reputation. She’d likely be lectured for hours about the impropriety of allowing a strange man to carry her parcels for her, as though such an action would lead to nothing but debauchery and, ultimately, lead to her being compromised.
Not that she was entirely sure what being compromised entailed, beyond some obtuse references to the importance of keeping a rooster out of the hen house. When she’d asked if it meant procreation (because living in a rural community meant that one could not help but grow up understanding how cows were impregnated by bulls), poor Mrs Thorpe had gone into mild hysterics, and Lady Climping had demanded that she not be so vulgar.
As such, Cassandra was fairly certain that she was partially correct about what “being compromised” entailed, even if she had never been able to work out how it could happen walking down a busy street in the middle of town. Some of the novels that she’d read over the years implied there was some type of slippery slope that lead from making eye contact with a gentleman to a life of utter ruin, but even they were stubbornly vague on the details.
“Perhaps I will be scandalous, after all,” she murmured, and then laughed at the absurdity of the idea. She pushed her spectacles back up her nose – stupid things were always slipping – and wondered if any of the high flyers in London had a pair of their own.
The front door finally opened, and her brother’s harassed-looking companion, William Olaudah Lacey, opened the door.
“Oh dear,” said Cassandra as she took in his expression. “Has he fired the new butler already? I have not been out of the house above an hour!”
Lacey grimaced as he leant down to pick up her packages.
“Your brother is in one of his funny moods, Miss Scott. It seemed best to give the new servants a few hours off in order to prevent another Incident. The only exception is the cook. She insists that she has dealt with her fair share of – and I quote – “incompetent, spoiled dandies with more hair than wit, so an intelligent gentleman with a delicate constitution is no trouble at all”. Ferdinand, delicate! Ha!”
Cassandra grinned. “That’s because he complimented her cooking while she was in earshot. Ferdy can wrap any woman of a motherly disposition around his little finger if he’s so inclined, and Cook’s chicken pie certainly makes him wish to be in her good books.”
Lacey shot her a look as he stood back up, her packages balanced precariously in his grip.
“Your brother is a tyrant, and you enable him, Miss Scott!”
“Very true, but you are far worse for coddling him than I am.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I deny everything for my interests in your brother are purely academic.”
“Naturally,” replied Cassandra, trying to look serious. “After all, a doctor of your calibre would never go so far as to be friendly with his patient-companion!”
They entered the house, Lacey muttering under his breath about the sheer quantity of purchases she’d lugged back from Milsom Street, while Cassandra removed her gloves, hat and Spencer.
The house was not the cosiest of properties, nor the most suitable for their needs. Located on Landsdown Place, she had been lucky to find it at all despite the shortcomings, having had no notion that to hire a respectable home in Bath one had to plan a solid year in advance. The address was a very good one, it was true, but the house was not well cared for, and the furniture had certainly seen better days. Hiring suitable staff in town had also proved tiresome, although on this point she could not blame Bath nor her planning. While she supposed that a spa town that catered to the ill and indigent would have plenty of servants used to bad-tempered masters, it seemed that they were not used to one so introverted and difficult as her brother, Ferdinand Scott.
“Cassie, is that you? Stop lingering down there! Come and speak with me at once – and don’t forget the books!” he shouted from the floor above.
Lacey shook his head. “You’d do well to box his ears, Miss Scott.”
She laughed at the suggestion. “He’s twenty-nine years old!”
“Aye, you’ve certainly left it late to start, but better late than never,” he sighed, as though he wasn’t excessively fond of Ferdy. “I’ll carry up the books for you.”
She smiled, placing a hand on his forearm. “Dearest Lacey. What would we do without you?”
“You’d strangle Ferdinand in is sleep,” he replied without missing a beat. “And what’s more, if you sought me out afterwards I’d happily provide you with an alibi!”
She laughed, and then proceeded up the stairs, Lacey a few steps behind her.
She knew her brother must be in a bad way if he was in the parlour, for he much preferred to lock himself away in the small study on the ground floor. Coupled with Ferdy’s obvious foul temper, she surmised that his pain had been bad upon awakening, and he was unable to navigate the stairs. Lacey would easily have carried him down, of course; but if Ferdy’s discomfort had already eaten away at his temper, it was unlikely that either of them would survive that encounter.
“There you are! Damn it, Cassie, you’ve been gone an age! I needed you!” snapped Ferdy as a way of greeting. He had chosen to sit on the sofa with his legs laid up on the cushions and a thick blanket covering him. His forehead was furrowed in annoyance and pain, and his arms were crossed defensively over his chest.
Cassandra smiled broadly as she crossed the room.
“Did you truly miss me that much, dearest? How delightful to know that you adore your little sister!”
A ghost of a smile twitched on his lips, and he allowed her to plant a kiss on the top of his head, so she knew that his condition was troubling him greatly.
“Not in the least. I merely needed someone to fetch my writing things for me, as well as the lap tray that Mr Jenkins made.”
“I could have done that for you,” said Lacey as he came into the room.
Ferdy scowled. “Not after last time.”
Lacey rolled his eyes. “Last time was five months ago, and the only reason I spilt ink on you was that I tripped on that blasted rug!”
“You also spilt ink on the armchair, the carpet, the fire screen, my sister, and her needlework,” retorted Ferdy. He paused for a moment before an involuntary grin transformed his face into the youthful, jovial fellow he could sometimes be. “Although I will grant that Cassie’s embroidery looked much better when it was all dyed black!”
“What a horrid, if perfectly accurate, thing to say!” replied Cassandra as she went over to the secrétaire on the other side of the room. “Do you want paper for your notes, or to write some letters?”
“Letters,” he replied promptly. “I need to respond to Uncle Edmund, and I hate to waste a foul mood on anyone else.”
“Could have fooled me,” muttered Lacey as he began to separate the books meant for Ferdy from the pile he’d carried in.
“Cheap paper it is then,” said Cassandra with a cheerful grin. “Do send him my adoration.”
Ferdy gave a sharp choke of laughter. “Don’t amuse me, Sis, or I’ll end up being nice to the old man!”
She schooled her face into an expression of horror. “Lord, no, anything but that! He might think we appreciate his condescending pity, and then where will we be?”
“Exactly the same place as we are now,” he replied, watching as she set the oak lap table across his knees and positioned his paper, quills and ink into their holders. “I’ve never known him to treat us any differently when he’s in charity with us than when he’s regretting the fact we were born. Besides, so long as we insist on being seen in public, at Bath no less, and daring to use the family name we were born to, then there is no chance at all of us finding our way into his good graces!”
“The spinster and the cripple,” said Cassandra with a smile. “I have already gone out of my
way to mention our connection with him, you know.”
“At the library? I doubt that will upset him too much as he’s not interested in bluestockings,” said Ferdy, sliding a sheet of paper into a more comfortable position. “Lacey, bring that side table over if you please. Place my books on it as well – always good to include the titles of works that Uncle will find irritating in my letters.”
Lacey looked at them one at a time, reading the titles before placing them down onto the small mahogany table. “Rights of Man? Universal Suffrage? Egyptology? The last one I understand, but the first two?”
Ferdy smiled, although there was still some strain about his eyes. “Uncle and I had something of a falling out when he discovered some of the Antiquarians I correspond with have radical ideas about society. I decided the easiest way to irritate him was to be able to argue their points rationally.”
Lacey sighed and shook his head. “The two of you will give that man a heart attack.”
“Deserved,” muttered Ferdy.
“In our defence, he did threaten to have a heart attack if we came to Bath,” said Cassandra, “and he’s still as strong as an ox if his last letter is anything to go by, and very much enjoying being angry at us. Well, by ‘us’ I mean Ferdy, for the only time he remembers he has a niece is when he scolds my brother for not ensuring that I’m married off.”
“You should find someone worthy but improper to marry,” said Ferdy, half his attention now focused on cutting a new nib for his quill. “A merchant of some description, or a suffragist. Ha! A merchant suffragist!”
She giggled at the thought. “I have a much better idea – I should marry the dashing but probably worthless gentleman who helped me with my books today.”
Ferdy looked mildly interested in this disclosure. “Do tell!”
She recounted the whole, and while Ferdy was amused at everything from her shouting at a complete stranger on the street to the audacity of the man to steal a chaste kiss, Lacey looked less than impressed by the story.
“Miss Scott, I know it’s not my place to put a word in your ear, but I do feel compelled to tell you that while in the country your reputation might survive such pranks, in places like Bath you must be more conservative in your behaviour.”
The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series Page 2
