“Lord, Lacey has turned into your companion as much as mine!” smiled Ferdy. “Next he’ll be sipping ratafia with the local matrons while he tries to marry you off to a respectable gentleman.”
Lacey, however, did not look amused by this pronouncement.
“Perhaps you forget that I worked in London houses as a secretary for many years before studying to be a doctor. I am able to do more than prescribe your medicine or fetch your books, Mr Scott.”
Ferdy’s back straightened. “I say, Lacey, I never implied otherwise!”
Cassandra reached out to give Lacey’s arm a squeeze for the second time that day. “And you are not a servant in the Scott household, either! You are my brother’s doctor, an academic, and a companion to us both. So no more Mr Scott, if you please; It’s always been Cassie and Ferdy – although I hate to think what you call us when you are in your cups!”
Lacey’s shoulders relaxed just enough for her to know that he was won over once again, although her brother’s frown was now the result of deep thought rather than pain.
“Will it really damage Cassie’s reputation that this fellow carried her things for her? I heard from Lady Climping that in Bath, it was quite acceptable for a girl to walk about unattended. Did I get that wrong?”
Lacey winced. “I suspect that Lady Climping’s idea of unattended is different from yours.”
“He means that I should go everywhere with a footman or maid trailing me,” said Cassandra with a roll of her eyes. “I am hardly a girl out of the schoolroom, Lacey! I’m so far on the shelf that most people find me invisible.”
Lacey looked as though he might argue this point, but thought better of it. A sudden exclamation of pain from Ferdy drew their attention, and the discussion was dropped.
“Is it your back again, darling? Should I fetch you another pillow?” said Cassandra, on her feet and beside her brother before she had time to think.
“No – well, yes, it hurts like the devil today – but I moved my arm too fast, and it felt like something stabbed me in the shoulder. Blasted body!”
“I’ll fetch some blankets and the warming pan,” said Lacey with a concerned frown. “That should help ease your back and shoulder, but I want you to take some laudanum as well, or at least the syrup of poppies.”
“No!” shouted Ferdy, causing both Cassandra and Lacey to jump. He closed his eyes and appeared to be counting in the resulting silence.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to shout,” said Ferdy, his tone calm but edged with pain. “I do not want to take anything that dulls my senses, even if it helps me relax. I can’t read or write in that condition, and I can’t bear the constant clucking over me.”
“I’m sorry,” Cassie said quietly.
He looked up, a sad smile on his face as their eyes locked.
“Don’t be, for you are the best of sisters. I’m a boar when my bones ache, we both know that, but perhaps Lacey is right, and the climate here will be of benefit, or maybe even those damned waters you want me to go drink! But I’m not a child, Cassie, and I don’t like being treated like one.”
“You are, however, frail,” said Lacey, drawing the attention of both Cassandra and her brother over to him. “I understand your dislike of laudanum, but I draw the line at you refusing any help at all. Now, I will fetch the warming pan and some blankets to help you get comfortable, and once your letters are finished, you will take some syrup of poppies and rest if you know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, mother,” quipped Ferdy, although there was bitterness in his tone.
Cassie bit her lip, knowing that anything she said would likely make the situation worse. For all of her brother’s attitude, he listened to Lacey with a level of respect that he did not afford anyone else – not even her.
Lacey, as though sensing her worry, flashed her a smile. “You might as well get some of your correspondence completed as well since you cannot converse with him when he’s working.”
She smiled back, although she feared it wasn’t a strong one. “An excellent suggestion. Mrs Thorpe will be most upset if I don’t send her a letter, and doubly so if it is shorter than the one I sent to Lady Climping yesterday! Lord, you’d think we’d left the village a year ago instead of a mere week.”
“Give them my love as well, will you?” said Ferdy, his smile unpleasant. “Now they don’t have to worry about their daughters falling into pity with me, they may appreciate the sentiment.”
As this wasn’t a point she could argue with, Cassandra settled for a light laugh before making herself comfortable at the secrétaire. Lacey, true to his word, fetched the warming pan and blankets for Ferdy, and while her brother might have complained about the doctor acting like a mother hen, he did at least say thank you.
Eventually.
It was almost impossible for Cassie to concentrate on her letters when worries for her brother plagued her. She watched him as he wrote, smiled at the evil gleam in his eye whenever he thought of something particularly pithy to say to their uncle, but mainly just indulged her silent concerns about his health.
He had grown weaker, that much was obvious. There were no outward signs of invalidism on his thin frame save a propensity to gauntness and a sallow complexion. Although she was often frustrated at her Uncle’s insistence that there was nothing wrong with Ferdy beyond hypochondria – as though her brother enjoyed being in pain all the live long day! – she did understand why people sometimes doubted that he was ill as he was.
Ferdinand Scott was intelligent, handsome, witty, and had once been a keen sportsman as well. For the past eight years, however, he’d increasingly complained of aches and pains that could leave him bedridden, tremors that came from nowhere and left him exhausted, or the temporary loss of control of one or more of his limbs. It was frightening to witness, and undoubtedly terrifying to experience.
And then, out of nowhere, he would be fine for weeks, sometimes even months, and be filled with hope and conviction that his mysterious ailment had finally left him for good.
“Something troubling you, Miss Scott?” asked Lacey, his voice soft so as not to disturb her brother. He took the seat nearest to her small desk and waited for her response.
“Please do call me Cassie,” she said with a sigh, knowing that it would do no good. “And yes, I’m troubled. I thought the climate here would help Ferdy get better, but the poor thing is in more pain than ever.”
Lacey smiled. “It will help him with time, Miss Scott; we’ve only been here a week. The journey was long, arduous, and uncomfortable despite our best efforts. Three days in a carriage is enough to try anyone.”
Cassie felt herself go green at the memory. “How true! I know it could have been accomplished quicker if we had not been careful of Ferdy’s health, but I wonder if we should have rushed to get it over with! If I hadn’t been so sick all those times, it would have been an easier journey for everyone.”
Lacey chuckled at that. “Yes, I admit I thought you were exaggerating when you said you were a poor traveller.”
“Then let that be a lesson to you, my friend: I am incurably truthful, so when I say that anything over an hour in a travelling coach will result in me casting up my accounts, you should believe it!”
He shook his head. “Perhaps instead of studying the details of your brother’s condition, I would be better served by attempting to cure your travel sickness.”
“There’s no need for that, for I rarely go anywhere that necessitates more than half an hour in the carriage,” she replied with good cheer, “and nor would I want to, when it comes to it! There are so many interesting people here as it is, I should never be able to meet them if I was cooped up in a chaise, or in a cabin, for much of my life.”
He raised his eyebrow. “No wish to travel at all?”
She considered this for a moment. “Not beyond London, and possibly Brighton. It’s people that interest me more than places.”
“You are a saint, Miss Scott. You do realise that, don’t you
?”
She threw him a puzzled expression. “In what way?”
He stood up, tugging at his waistcoat in order to straighten it. “In my experience, people are interested in themselves and not others. They want to visit places, see things and attend events for no other reason than to tell others all about it.”
“How very dull,” said Cassie, wrinkling up her nose. “What’s the point of going to a party if there is no one interesting there to talk to?”
“Consequence, I believe,” said Lacey. “Now, excuse me while I go and berate your brother. I do not like the way he is holding his pen, and suspect his pain is greater than he is letting on.”
“Enjoy your squabble,” she replied, preparing herself to be entertained.
The resulting battle of wills between her brother and his physician was amusing if rather one-sided. Ferdy was obviously feeling worse than he’d admitted, for he only swore at Lacey once and even swallowed the syrup of poppies without more than five complaints.
It struck Cassie, just as it always did, how different the two men were.
Lacey was of average height and moderate build, but he had strong shoulders and a well-turned calf that many a dandy would envy. His dark skin and jet black hair had made him stand out in their county, but his easy smile and booming laugh had won him many friends and patients. It was unlikely their neighbours would ever forgive her and Ferdy for stealing him away before one of the local girls had won his heart
Ferdy, on the other hand, always looked ill. His height only made him look frail each time his weight plummeted, his skin was sallow, and his eyes tired. His brown hair, in desperate need of a cut, stuck out in all directions about his head and stubbornly refused to take a curl. He insisted on dressing with formality even though they expected no guests, but while Lacey filled out his coat to perfection, Ferdy’s hung from his shoulders like it had been cut for a bigger man.
Cassie looked away, trying not to let the wave of worry sweep over her. He’d been sick for years now, so it was not as though she could claim to be surprised at how much the journey to Bath had taken out of him. Lacey had privately counselled her that he doubted her brother would ever fully recover from his mysterious sickness, but it was hard not to hope for the best.
It suddenly occurred to her that they had not yet visited the Pump Room or attended an Assembly at either the lower or upper rooms, despite having already put their names in the subscription book and received a visit from Mr King himself.
“Ferdy,” she called out.
“What?” sighed her brother as he shifted about on the sofa. The syrup was starting to kick in, for he gave a loud yawn as Lacey threw an extra blanket over him.
“Let us venture out to the Pump Room tomorrow. I know you hate having to rely on your chair, but since we’re in Bath, it makes sense to try the waters. Then perhaps, in a few days, we could go to an event at the Assembly Rooms. It doesn’t have to be a ball, you know. They have other entertainments, and there is always the card room.”
There was silence for a moment, followed by a deep sigh.
“I keep you cooped up too much, don’t I, Cassie?”
“Not in the least,” she replied. “It’s not as though there are many places to venture back home, anyway.”
“Yes, but we’re not home – we’re in Bath, and for the first time in years you’ve a chance of making some friends who are not all duller than dishwater.”
Since there wasn’t a polite response to this that was not also untruthful, she made a noncommittal noise in response.
Ferdy smiled at her diplomacy.
“If Lacey is happy to push the wheeled chair for me, then I suppose it must be done. I’ll be damned before I travel everywhere in one of those Sedans like a goutish dowager.”
“Naturally I am,” replied the doctor. “I’ve been asking you to go to the Pump Rooms since our first morning in town, and we can try the baths themselves at any time.”
Ferdy ignored the latter half of Lacey’s words. He closed his eyes and settled his head back onto a large goosedown cushion.
“I’m hardly going to stand out amongst the rest of the indigent residents of this city, so there’s no harm, I suppose. Besides, it will give me the perfect postscript to my letter, practically guaranteed to send Uncle into a rage!”
“Then it’s settled,” replied Cassie. “It will be excellent fun, Ferdy! I think even you will find much to keep you entertained when we get out and about!”
But her brother was already asleep, his trembling snores echoing about the room.
CHAPTER THREE
“Are you watching for someone in particular, darling, or are you just on the lookout for a deranged assassin?” asked Emily Burton, the Dowager Duchess of Devenish, as she and her son made their way toward the Pump Room, accompanied by her footman, Carter, whose primary duty was pushing her chair.
Her son turned a solemn gaze upon her. “Neither. I do, however, have it on very good authority that Lord Arthur has acquired a flock of parrots.”
This news momentarily diverted her interest.
“Good grief, what on earth for?”
“I suspect the same reason that he had a military band parade through the city for three hours last month, and why he appeared to have stolen a flower cart and hitched it to a horse not five days ago.”
The Duchess winced at this memory. “The poor horse; a bee sting to the rump is not a laughing matter.”
“Lord Arthur appeared to find the entire escapade hilarious once he was no longer in mortal peril,” replied her son. “I have, however, taken leave to inform him that if he asks me again to borrow Spartacus for one of his pranks – or if he takes him without permission, for that matter! – then he will no longer have the opportunity to woo his lady-love, for he’ll be too busy looking for his missing body parts.”
Emily laughed at the thought of Lord Arthur riding the brute of a horse her son had purchased from the Marquis of Shropshire. The animal was the most handsome creature to have come from those stables, but it had the temperament of a devil.
“And that just from Spartacus! The poor man must be desperately trying to impress Mrs Clyde if he’s willing to risk his neck on that beast.”
“A broken neck would be the least of his troubles if I find out he’s been near my stables,” replied her son, his gaze narrowing. “Especially if it also involves parrots.”
“Really, Devenish! Have you no compassion for a man in love?” said Emily, shaking her head despite her smile.
“Not when it involves Lord Arthur,” responded her son. “And please, do not ask me to try to understand his behaviour, either. I thank God that I have never been so in love with a woman that I thought buying out the entirety of Molland’s marchpane would win her over.”
She tried to smile at that, but turned her face away, so he did not see her pity. Devenish may never have been so madly in love as to do something harebrained, but that he believed it to be to his advantage broke her heart.
“I would not wish for Mrs Clyde to accept Lord Arthur’s proposal too soon if I were you,” she cautioned, keeping her tone as light as possible. “Imagine what he will plan for their anniversary each year, for ten to one, he will strive to outdo himself each time.”
Her son groaned, and even her stoic footman gave a little laugh. Lord Arthur Weatherly, while an adorable boy, had managed to split the residents of Bath firmly into two camps with his escapades. There were those like herself, who found his pranks and outlandish attempts to woo Mrs Clyde diverting, and those like her son, who was within ames ace of beating the gentleman to death with his own boots.
“I would claim that love makes people do foolish things, but this is Lord Arthur we are talking about,” sighed Devenish. “I did beg Kate to intervene, but she’s far too amused to be of use to anyone. By the pained looks on Lexborough’s face when we discussed it, I would not be surprised if the woman is encouraging him.”
“Undoubtedly so, if it annoys her husband,�
� laughed the Duchess. “She delights in it, I believe.”
Devenish shook his head. “I adore Kate, truly I do, and Lexborough’s proven to be a nice enough fellow now he’s taking his responsibilities as a Duke seriously, but how the devil they haven’t murdered each other is beyond me.”
“Because they’re a love match, my dear. Anyone can see that.”
Devenish sneered at her statement.
“If that is what love looks like, then I am thankful that I am incapable of falling into its spell.”
Which was a lie, of course, but hardly a topic Emily could pursue with Carter present.
They continued in silence for a few moments, the wheels of her chair grumbling along the paving stones while her son’s cane made a rhythmic clip each time he set it down.
Not that he needed a cane beyond a fashionable statement, of course. There was no evidence to suggest he had inherited her arthritis, which was something she was grateful for. By his age, Emily had already begun to struggle, and with luck, her son would escape the worst of it.
At least he would never have to worry about being locked away in the country, like she had been.
“Mr King let me know there are a few new faces in town,” she said in an attempt to move the conversation into safer waters. “No one we are intimate with, of course, but a few names I recognized. Ellingsbourne, Scott, Daughtry…”
“Scott?” said her son with an unusual amount of interest.
She paused, tried to read his expression, and failed. “Yes. The niece and nephew of Sir Edmund, I believe, and the younger siblings of Colonel Scott. The brother – Mr Ferdinand Scott – inherited a sizeable property in Nottinghamshire from his maternal grandmother, and his sister lives with him. Mr King thought the young lady would prove a diverting companion if I wish to encourage a connection.”
She waited for him to share his usual thoughts on her encouraging unmarried young ladies to spend time in her – and thus his – company. It did not come, however, which was a curious state of affairs indeed.
The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series Page 3
