The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series

by Elizabeth Bramwell

  “Your brother has promised to put us all to shame with his outfit,” Lacey told her, “although I don’t know yet how he intends to dress. I saw his valet looking very resigned, however, so I half expect that he’s still in his morning clothes.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “No, not for an evening’s entertainment. You didn’t know him before he got sick, but he used to have a reputation as something of a dandy.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  She laughed at the disbelief in Lacey’s voice. “I understand under the circumstances, but it is true, you know! Prior to his illness, he cared very much about the cut of his coat and the colour of his cravat. I expect he didn’t stand out against the London beaus, of course, but in our neighbourhood he was considered a peacock, and very much admired.”

  “You’re teasing me again, aren’t you,” said Lacey, his eyes narrowed.

  The butler opened the door to the parlour, and Ferdy – leaning heavily on a stylish cane – proved her point for her as he entered.

  “Good Lord,” exclaimed Lacey, shock written clearly all over his features.

  Ferdy grinned. “What do you think?” he asked, posing for them both.

  Cassie felt like the world had just turned to summer and roses, and she raced over to embrace her favourite sibling.

  “Wonderful,” she declared. “How perfectly wonderful!”

  “There now, no need to get all teary eyed, you silly goose,” said Ferdy as he disentangled himself from her. “Besides, you’ll ruin my coat.”

  “Where on earth did you get such a get up on short notice?” asked Lacey, blinking rapidly as though he hoped what he was seeing was nothing more than an illusion.

  “I had a tailor visit me the day after our first trip to the Pump Room, when you were out visiting your colleagues,” explained Ferdy. “I’m afraid I ordered more than a plain ensemble, as you can see.”

  “I see,” agreed Lacey, glancing over Ferdy’s coat as though it were a vicious animal liable to bite him. “I see that very well.”

  “Don’t be so stuffy, Lacey,” said Cassandra, feeling irritated with the doctor for perhaps the first time in her life. “I think he looks marvelous, and if he feels marvelous, then so much the better.”

  Her words had the desired effect, and Lacey gave his head a little shake. “Yes! Of course! Well you’ll be the talk of the town, that’s for sure, Ferdy. And I suspect you know it well!”

  Ferdy, for his part, grinned. “Indeed – and it’s the perfect topic to write to Uncle Edmund about – naturally with illustrations!”

  Cassandra grinned in return. On anyone else she could well see how his clothes would seem ridiculous, but Ferdy’s obvious enjoyment of them made it all seem perfectly unexceptional. His three-piece suit was better suited to the 1780s in both style and colour, but the tight cut made the most of his thin frame. A yellow silk coat, cut away at the front skirts but still full at the back, was embellished with fat silver buttons and a black velvet trim, while the ornate lace of his undershirt sleeves billowed out at the cuffs. His yellow waistcoat came so low that the edges touched his thighs, and his silk breeches of a matching hue were tied at the knee with with black velvet ribbon. His white stockings were surprisingly plain, but somehow served only to emphasise the mustard yellow velvet shoes, resplendent with silver buckles and black embroidery.

  He had not, thankfully, chosen to sport a wig or powder his hair, but his valet had managed to pull it back into a neat tail thanks to the length, and Ferdy had somehow seen fit to complete his outfit with a black tricorn hat trimmed with a mustard rosette.

  It should have looked ridiculous, but instead he looked like a hero charging from the pages of a novel.

  Well, so long as one ignored the shoes.

  “I shall go check on the carriage,” said Lacey, after staring at Ferdy’s footwear for a longer time than was seemly.

  Despite their lodgings on Landsdown Place being a mere ten minutes from the Upper Assembly Rooms, it had been silently agreed amongst the three of them that such a stroll would push Ferdy’s endurance to the limit, especially since he had only just regained enough strength to walk. In the same vain, he refused to consider the use of a Sedan Chair to transport him, claiming that they were the conveyance of choice for ladies and the lazy, and that he was perfectly capable of getting into, and out of, a barouche without assistance.

  Thus it was that the trio made short work of the trip to the Assembly Rooms, passing by the majority of parties who had opted to walk, and the burly Sedan Chairmen who huffed and puffed as they carried their customers from their homes to the front steps of the Rooms.

  An occasional, particularly ornate chair – most likely privately owned, judging by the livery worn by the carriers – was allowed up the steps and inside the prestigious building, much to Cassandra’s surprise.

  “I thought Mr King did not allow servants to enter his Rooms?” she said to Lacey as he helped her out of the carriage. “Does that not extend to footmen?”

  “I suspect the most wealthy members of society operate by a different set of rules, Miss Scott,” he said with a wry smile. “They do on every other matter, after all.”

  “Will you two stop with the politics and just enjoy the evening?” said Ferdy, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to gather material with which to annoy Uncle Edmund if you insist on being boring?”

  A good natured squabble ensued, which lasted the two minutes it took for them to walk from the carriage entrance, through the colonnade, and to the main doors to the Assembly Rooms. The organized chaos of the lobby was enough to make Cassandra’s head spin, as a multitude of people sought to remove their outerwear, change their shoes, check their coats to the cloakroom, pay their sixpence for supper, and locate their friends and party members all at the same time.

  Following the crowds, they made their way along the corridor and to the octagonal anti-chamber. While a fair number of people went straight on to the cardroom beyond, the trio turned to the left to enter the ballroom, and Cassandra could not help the gasp of delight that escaped her as she entered that magnificent space.

  It was the largest room she had ever found herself in, despite the press of bodies all around them. It was double height, and from the ceiling hung five of the largest chandeliers she had ever seen, all glittering with what seemed like a hundred candles each. Set into the duck-egg blue walls were mirrored grandioles fitted with yet more candles, the flickering flames filling the room with so much light she was amazed at how much she could see, considering the hour.

  Rows of tiered benches lined the edges of the room, and they were already filling fast despite their early arrival. The dances were yet to begin, but the hum of conversation and the anticipation of the night ahead was enough to convince Cassandra that this, in fact, was the best thing about Bath, and that she’d been sorely misled into believing that everything else had been wonderful up until this moment.

  “We should move ahead to try and get somewhere to sit,” Lacey murmured into her ear. “I fear that in this crush your brother will lose his footing, and it would not go well for his health.”

  “Let us make our way to the far side of the room,” she said, immediately recalled to her duties. “With luck we will find somewhere to sit near the front, although if it is not too full, we might be able to find space on a higher tier.”

  Luck, however, favoured them, for once they were past the crush around the main entrance, the crowd began to thin. They were just about to risk a climb to the third tier of benches, when a voice hailed them from the benches reserved for the highest ranking members of society.

  “Miss Scott! Mr Scott, Dr Lacey! My aunt wishes for you to join us,” said Miss Lindon as she approached.

  Cassandra was immediately grateful and jealous of Miss Lindon’s gown; a delicious satin of deep blue, low cut across the bosom and finished with a silver and sapphire belt about her waist. Her hair, so fashionably styled a la brutus, was dressed with a diadem that matche
d her sapphire earrings.

  “How beautiful you look,” she said before she could help it, but was rewarded by a delighted smile from Miss Lindon.

  “I knew I was right to like you the moment we met, Miss Scott! Thank you for your compliment; blue is my favourite colour you know, although I wish I could carry off white the way you do! You must tell me where you purchased that embroidered gauze, it is to die for.”

  Lady Seraphinia, it seemed, had even more to say about their clothing the moment they joined her party. Lacey passed by her monocle with nothing more than a curt nod of approval, but the old woman spent a long time studying Cassandra.

  “Better,” she said eventually, “but we must do something about your hair, child! If it cannot hold a curl, you must work with the natural shape. Consider cropping it short, a la victime. It will work with your innocent charm in a way that Caroline Lamb cannot manage, despite what she may have been told!”

  “That was a compliment,” whispered Miss Lindon, although Cassandra wasn’t so sure.

  When Lady Seraphinia’s gaze fell on Ferdy, however, the baroness dropped her monocle in surprise.

  “Do you mock me, young man?” she asked, in obvious outrage.

  Ferdy, despite his reliance on the cane, executed a deep bow. “Never, Lady Seraphinia! But my eyes have been opened of late, and I am determined to make the styles of the past my own rather than subject myself to the dull ensembles pushed by Brummell.”

  Cassandra held her breath; she could almost hear Lady Seraphinia sifting through her brother’s words in an attempt to find insult. It appeared that she found none, however, for after giving a sniff and a condescending nod, she patted the seat beside her.

  “Sit here, Mr Scott. Her Grace has indicated you are a pleasant young man to converse with, and I wish to judge this for myself. The rest of you stop loitering! There are seats a plenty until the dancing starts.”

  Ferdy, at least, looked amused as he obeyed the summons, and his striking outfit was enhanced no end by Lady Seraphinia’s own robe d’francias of purple silk, painted with a yellow flower motif.

  “Your brother’s ensemble is certainly striking,” said Miss Lindon once they were seated, but her tone conveyed admiration rather than condemnation. “And as much as it pains me to say this – I believe my aunt is flirting with him!”

  Cassandra, glancing over to witness the dowager baroness employ her fan to rap Ferdy lightly on the knuckles, gave a resigned sigh.

  “He has always been able to wrap older ladies about his little finger. Lord knows why, for he’s a terrible temper even when not in pain!”

  “Perhaps he is reminding her of the gallantry of the earlier generation,” said Lacey. “Several of my older patients have bemoaned my decision to forgo a powdered wig, and use it as evidence that the law is a more genteel profession.”

  “Then they never met a lawyer, or had to engage with the courts,” replied Miss Lindon with a shudder. “Ah, my friends, do you see that ornate chair approaching us? I do believe Her Grace has arrived for the ball – yes, for that is Devenish walking alongside, and looking mighty handsome, even for the Devilish Duke!”

  Cassandra had no answer for this, as it appeared she had lost all power of speech. She tried to concentrate on the ornate sedan chair decorated with pictures of cherubs and angels, or on the two handsome footmen in their striking livery that carried it for the Duchess. It was no use; her eye was drawn back to Devenish time and again, until she felt like a silly girl in the presence of a town beau.

  His black tailcoat and matching pantaloons were cut to perfection, emphasizing his athletic form without any need for padding. A white silk waistcoat, embroidered with a delicate silver thread that looked as delicate as spiderweb, was both restrained and beautiful in the same moment, while his cravat was as pure as snow. His hair, an expertly tousled mass of black curls, leant a romantic air to his immaculate outfit, and it was without bias that Cassandra considered him to be the best dressed and the most handsome man in the room.

  “I suddenly feel underdressed,” her brother murmured to Lacey, who was looking at his own outfit with a degree of dissatisfaction that had not been there earlier.

  The footmen set down the sedan chair, and one stepped forward to open the door for the Duchess. Devenish held out his hand to help his mother, and she slowly emerged into the light of the ballroom.

  Cassandra was on her feet before she could think, caring only for the look of pain on the face of the Duchess as she took a tentative step toward to a seat on the lowest tier of seating.

  “Your Grace, please allow me to help,” she said, offering her arm. The Duchess turned to look at her, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Why thank you, Miss Scott, that is kind of you,” said Her Grace, lacing her arm with Cassandra’s while her son still held her by the other.

  “Not kind, merely self serving,” said Cassandra in a conspiratorial whisper. “You may not know this, but as you are a Duchess, being seen with you adds to my consequence – or so your son informs me!”

  The Duchess chuckled. Her steps were small, tentative, and undoubtedly painful. Cassandra was aware that Her Grace’s hands were not straight inside of her gloves, and that likely she had limited use of her fingers. She realized that the poor woman’s feet might be in a similar way, and that even the short distance to the benches must have been excruciating.

  “You are a good girl, Miss Scott,” said Her Grace. “Now, if I may rest on your arm while I turn myself about… there! Now I am perfectly comfortable!”

  “Not just yet,” smiled Cassandra. “I believe Ferdy wishes to claim your attention, if you will be so good as to let him sit beside you? Lady Seraphinia has given his outfit her approval, but I suspect it is yours that he truly seeks.”

  As though summoned, Ferdy appeared at her side, leaning heavily on his cane but looking very pleased with himself.

  Her Grace’s face lit up with sheer delight as she took in his mustard yellow suit, and she gave a small squeal of joy when she saw his shoes.

  “I must have a pair of those for myself, Mr Scott!” she declared with genuine enthusiasm. “Oh, you put my ridiculous footwear to shame! I must now up my game, and start to dress like Lady Seraphinia! How marvelous!”

  “I trust that was a compliment on my attire,” said the dowager Baroness as she moved to sit on the other side of Ferdy. “However there is no need from something so drastic, Your Grace. That waifish figure of yours works so well with these modern styles, I daresay I would adopt them if I were not so reliant on my corsetry.”

  “I, for one, think you both the best dressed ladies in the room,” declared Ferdy with a charm and swagger Cassie had thought lost forever. “Sadly for us all, we are cast into the shade by the Duke. Really, Your Grace; is it not enough for you to be titled, wealthy, and an eligible bachelor? Must you be handsome and well dressed to boot? Even my sister here has fallen under your spell, and she is usually more discerning.”

  “I have not fallen under any spell!” Cassie declared hotly, and then felt her cheeks burn as everyone turned to look at her.

  She coughed into her hand.

  “What I mean to say, is that I am well aware that His Grace is all those things, Ferdy. He would hardly be considered devilish is he looked like an overweight frog, now would he?”

  Even Lady Seraphinia was surprised into a bark of laughter.

  “Once again, my dear Miss Scott, you have put me in my place,” said Devenish with a sad shake of his head. “I console myself with the knowledge that I do not resemble an amphibian, although it is a low bar to cross.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” said Cassandra, wincing at her own choice of words. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, my girl, but it is part of your charm,” the Duchess reassured her. “By the by, you are looking very pretty this evening.”

  “I am glad that she took my advice,” said Lady Seraphinia with an approving nod, “but what do you think about h
er hair, Your Grace? I feel that she could carry something short very well, even la victime.”

  The Duchess’ eyes shone at the idea. “Oh, indeed! So few can do that effectively, but I think you are right – if Miss Scott is happy with the prospect of a crop, of course!”

  Cassandra was spared the need to answer by Devenish, for which she was truly grateful.

  “Ladies, allow the poor woman space to consider your suggestions! If her brother here is anything to go by, she will have no trouble finding a style all of her own.”

  This defence, however, was too much for her honest heart to let stand.

  “If only that were the case,” she lamented. “Ferdy has often said I’d dress in a sackcloth if I were told it were an acceptable mode, for I have no notion of what looks well on me. The gentleman at the store suggested this gauze, and Lady Seraphinia was the one to suggest gold to me. I hope that my needlework has not put me to shame, but I was following a pattern rather than creating something of my own design, so I… now what have I said?”

  “You sewed that yourself?” asked Lady Seraphinia, a monocle raised to her eye once again.

  Cassandra blushed. “Well I do not know any dressmakers in town as of yet, and I doubt they could have made the alterations on such short notice.”

  “Girl, do stop squawking like that – I was complimenting you. It is no longer fashionable for young women of quality to sew their own dresses, instead they act like princesses to be waited on by others. No wonder they spend their lives so bored! No, it is to your credit, Miss Scott, that you have so many talents.”

  “Indeed it is,” said the Duchess with a touch of wistfulness. “I miss the days when I could embroider, for I was quite skilled with a needle and thread.”

  “Were you really?” asked Cassandra, unable to keep her excitement in check. “It’s something I have tried so hard to be good at, but while I can sew a seam in a perfectly straight line, I am unable to make anything pretty, no matter how hard I try!”

  “It’s true,” agreed Ferdy. He reached into his pocket to produce a silk handkerchief, embroidered with a monogrammed F that was neither straight nor well stitched. “Here is an example of her work.”