Cassandra screeched in dismay, and tried to snatch it from her brother’s hand before he passed it to the Duchess. She was unsuccessful, and realized too late that her reaction had drawn the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. Even Lacey and Miss Lindon, who had been lost in conversation, came over to see what the commotion was about.
“I was thirteen,” said Cassandra, practically pleading with the Duchess as she examined the patch of embroidery. “Lady Climping was attempting to teach me how to sew, but I had no idea that she is far from an expert herself, for I had nothing to compare it to!”
Her Grace passed the handkerchief to Lady Seraphinia, who passed it to Jane, then Lacey, then to the Duke, while Cassandra tried desperately to defend her awful skills.
“And, well, at least my embroidery is better than my ability to play the harp,” she said as a final defense, which only served to make everyone start laughing again.
“Child, we are teasing you,” said the Duchess kindly. “You may not be a master with a needle and thread, but you did well enough that your brother has held on to the piece for a decade.”
That comment struck her forcefully, and she turned to look at Ferdy in surprise. He gave a tiny shrug in response.
“What can I say? It was adorable then, and reminds me how lucky I am to have a little sister that looks out for me at every turn.”
It would have been inappropriate to seize him in a bear hug in front of all and sundry, but the temptation was there to do so. Luckily for them both, Mr King chose that moment to announce to everyone that the minuets were about to begin, and to advise the couples to take their places on the floor.
Cassandra watched as some of the higher ranking ladies present took to the floor with their partners, but she did not see anyone she knew on more than passing acquaintance.
“Miss Lindon, may I have the pleasure?” said Lacey from behind her.
Cassandra looked at him, hardly able to recognize the thread of nervousness running through his voice. She’d never seen the doctor be anything but composed before, and could only conclude that he expected a rejection.
Miss Lindon, on the other hand, looked delighted. “Oh, can you dance the minuet, Dr Lacey? I know many others find it old fashioned, but I confess I do enjoy the grace of the movements. Aunt Seraphinia taught it to me, and I do not get enough opportunities to demonstrate what I’ve learned!”
“Then you are in luck, Miss Lindon, for Lacey is one of the greatest dancers of my acquaintance,” declared Cassandra, glad to be of assistance to her friend. “Mrs Thorpe used to insist on us dancing it at her balls so that we could show her daughters how to do it properly. She would have stolen him away to be their personal caper-master if she could!”
Lacey looked down in embarrassment, especially when Ferdy leant his support.
“I second that! What both my friend and my sister lack in terms of embroidery and musical ability, they more than make up for on the dance floor.”
“In that case I accept, Dr Lacey”, said Miss Lindon as she got to her feet, “but only if you promise to dance the next set with Miss Scott, so we can see true expertise in action!”
“Oh, please say yes, Lacey!” said Cassandra, bouncing on her toes. “I have never danced in front of so many people – what fun it will be!”
“How can I refuse when I know how much you have practiced,” smiled the doctor. “Very well! But for now, may I lead you to the floor, Miss Lindon?”
“And will you accompany me to the floor, Miss Scott?” said Devenish, quite taking her by surprise.
“Oh! Can you dance the minuet, Your Grace?” she asked, causing another chuckle to run through their party, and Devenish to pull a strained expression.
“I am considered a tolerable dancer,” he said solemnly, “although I am not held in such esteem as the doctor.”
She smiled and took his hand. “There’s nothing to worry about, Devenish. Just remember that if you fluff the steps, do so with grace and aplomb, and everyone will think you intended it.”
“I shall endeavor not to embarrass you,” he said meekly, and led her to their position on the floor.
There were less than twenty couples in total; far less than she expected considering how many people were packed into the ballroom, but then the minuet was not a dance to be undertaken lightly.
The band struck up, and the dance – the minuet de la reine - began. Cassandra, knowing that so many eyes were upon her, felt a rare flutter of nerves as she made her curtsey to Devenish. One by one, the couples on the dance floor came together, lightly touching hands before commencing their movements the length of the ballroom. Cassandra, risking a glance toward the couple dancing nearest to them, felt immediately better about her own ability. While the lady in questions executed the steps to perfection, her lips moved every so often to indicate she was counting her steps, and the gentleman’s attempts at graceful movements were theatrical rather than refined.
Devenish, she was both pleased and embarrassed to discover, was as good a dancer as Lacey, and executed each step with an easy grace that spoke either to a natural propensity or years of hard practice.
“I’m so sorry!” she whispered as the steps brought them together.
“Accepted,” he replied. “But for which insult this time?”
It took a lot of willpower not to pull tongues at him, but she retained her composure until they came together again.
“For implying you couldn’t dance the minuet,” she said. “I prefer my insults to be planned, and not accidental.”
“I’m unsure how to respond to such a declaration,” he said, taking her hands in his as they danced in a tight circle before moving away once again.
She caught the eye of Miss Lindon, whose smile was so genuine that it warmed Cassandra’s heart. It seemed that she and Lacey were capturing the attention of most the audience, with they perfectly matched movements and obvious talent making it seem as though they could float about the room.
In the only place where Cassandra felt she could excel, she was genuinely pleased to discover that there was someone who could match Lacey’s skill better than she had ever managed.
The minuet finally came to an end. The dancers bowed to their partners before clasping hand at shoulder level so that they could exit the floor with as much grace as they had used to enter. Applause filled the room, and Mr King announced the next dance – the Minuet d’Alcide – was to begin in a few minutes.
“Careful, Cassie, or Miss Lindon will take your crown as the princess of the minuets,” joked her brother as Devenish returned her to their party.
“Wasn’t she breathtaking?” said Cassandra with a wide smile. “I could only catch glimpses, but I have never seen such a perfectly matched couple dance before! They should partner always, don’t you think?”
“Cassie,” groaned her brother, as the Duchess smiled and Lady Seraphinia arched a brow in her direction. She glanced at Devenish for some clue as to what she’d said wrong, but he merely patted her hand before releasing it.
Dr Lacey and Miss Lindon chose that moment to return, the lady still flushed with happiness.
“That was a delight! Oh Miss Scott, I cannot wait to see you dance with the Doctor, for he says you excel when it comes to dancing. I shall sit here beside my aunt and watch, for I am never sure I get all the steps correct, you know.”
Devenish raised a brow. “Do you not wish to dance with me, Jane?”
The look she threw him contained an entire conversation that Cassandra could not decipher.
“I suspect you will gain more pleasure from observing, Your Grace, much the same as I. After all, we were both partnered with exceptional dancers for the last set.”
“How right you are, my dear,” he said, before moving to sit beside her. “Miss Scott, Dr Lacey, we await your instruction!”
Cassandra took Lacey’s hand with a smile, but there was an odd pang of jealousy in her heart as they went to take their places at the end of the dancers, fa
r away from the highest ranking couples on the ballroom floor.
“Shall we show them all how it’s done, my dear?” he said, just like he did before every other dance they performed together.
She tried to smile in return, but it felt hollow.
Lacey’s expression softened. “He would rather be dancing with you, Cassie, but decorum forbids it. Rest assured his eyes will be upon you, so you must show the whole room that his preference for your company is well earned.”
She blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lacey – and did you finally call me Cassie?”
“Don’t you, my girl?” said the doctor, the smile on his lips implying he did not believe her. “Very well, then I ask you, dearest darling Cassie, who I love as much as I do my own sister, that you dance your very best so that you reflect well on me. I, after all, have something more to prove.”
This reference she understood, so she banished the odd feeling in her stomach to the back of her mind, and stood tall in preparation for the dance.
“Let’s show them all that you dance better than any Lord or Lady here,” she declared, and then joined him in proving that point exactly.
*
Devenish watched as Dr Lacey and Cassandra performed the minuet, and knew that she had not exaggerated either of their skills in the least. For a woman raised in the seclusion of a country village and market town, she danced as though she had been taught by the greatest. Lacey’s grace, while more reserved, was befitting of a gentleman of the highest status, and should his career as a doctor prove unsuccessful, he would be much in demand with the Ton as a caper merchant.
“That’s how it should be done,” said Lady Seraphinia with an appreciative gaze. “Dr Lacey dances as though he were born to it.”
“Cassie blossomed under his tutelage,” said Mr Scott, looking as proud as a peacock. “Once I was no longer able to dance, there were few people in our acquaintance with her ability. Even if Lacey were a terrible doctor, I daresay I’d have kept him around just to help my sister improve her steps.”
“Where did he learn?” asked Jane, with just enough nonchalance to inform anyone paying attention that she cared very much about the young doctor indeed.
“His mother, I believe, and then at school afterwards,” said Mr Scott. “Mrs Lacey comes from an excellent family in the Cotswolds, and her son is the only, much beloved, grandson of her wealthy parents. Partridge, I believe their name is.”
Devenish’s mouth quirked up into a smile at the completely unsubtle drop of information, and he realized that for all Ferdinand Scott teased his younger sister, the man was as guileless as she. It should have irritated, but it was surprisingly endearing in them both.
His enjoyment of the dance was short lived, however, for less than halfway through the set, Lady Fitzburgh, towing two of her insipid daughters in her wake, made her way over to them. She came to a halt right before their party, and even though her curtsey was lower than necessary, the seven ostrich plumes in her hair blocked any view they had of the dancers.
“Your Grace! Duchess! Lady Seraphinia! How lovely to see you all again!” she called out as though speaking to someone hard of hearing.
“Lady Fitzburgh,” said the Duchess with an incline of her head. “Miss Fitzburgh, Miss Lucy. I had heard you were staying in Bath this Season.”
“Well how could we not when all the best people are removing here?” said Lady Fitzburgh, fluttering a large ostrich fan before her. “Yourselves, the Lexboroughs, and rumour has it some other families are on their way.”
“I do not believe Lexborough has any intention of spending the Season here,” said Lady Seraphinia with a sniff. “For one, Lady Helena would fall into hysterics at the idea.”
“Lady Helena is a rather spirited girl,” said Lady Fitzburgh, looking as though she’d smelled something particularly vile, “but then I suppose they hope fortune will make up for manners. However, I have been told that they are coming to stop Lord Arthur continuing to render himself ridiculous, and demand he marry That Widow, or renounce her.”
“Mrs Clyde is a delightful young woman,” said Lady Seraphinia in a tone that would have warned anyone else to watch their tongue, but the Fitzburghs, being of higher rank than a mere Baroness, were among the few people in the Ton who seemed oblivious to her influence.
Miss Fitzburgh, a plain girl with a sallow expression and an entirely forgettable personality, giggled into her hand.
“Mrs Godfellow told me that she’s not even true English,” she said, as though it were some kind of great secret.
The look on the face of Lady Seraphinia was one of barely contained rage. Devenish yawned, hoping to distract the Fitzburghs from this disastrous course of conversation; not because he felt for them in any way, but rather because his mother was not one for causing a scene.
If nothing else, it directed the viscountess’ attention back to him, and she immediately began fluttering her fan again.
“I was enchanted with your dancing, Your Grace,” she said with a fawning tone. “I have often said to my girls that you should demonstrate your prowess more often.”
“Miss Scott was an exemplary partner,” he replied, letting his eyes wander in the opposite direction of the women before him.
They did not get the hint.
“Who is she?” asked Miss Lucy Fitzburgh, her tone enquiring rather than malicious. “I am sure she is in her twenties at the very least, but I have never laid eyes on her before.”
“My sister,” said Mr Scott through gritted teeth. All three of the Fitzburgh women turned to look at him, staring at his yellow suit for longer than was seemly, before dismissing him from their minds.
“Miss Scott, the niece of Sir Edmund Scott,” replied Devenish.
“Oh, the politician,” said Lady Fitzburgh. “I confess, then, that I am surprised to see her dancing with that mulatto man. I thought Sir Edmund firmly against such… mixing.”
“Now see here,” snapped Mr Scott, attempting to get to his feet. In his rage he forgot his stick, and half collapsed back down into his seat, with Lady Seraphinia and the Duchess there to catch him. Miss Lindon, who had reached out to help, looked sick to her stomach and half mad with rage, although whether it was due to Lady Fitzburgh’s comment or the suppressed laughter from the people seated behind them, he could not be sure.
“I do not appreciate your insinuations about my young friends, Lady Fitzburgh,” said the Duchess in her most regal tone. “I regard the Scotts and Dr Lacey as being under my wing, and it would do you good to remember that.”
The viscountess, possibly trying for an obsequious demeanour but instead presenting a condescending one, smiled at his mother before starting to speak loudly once again.
“How sweet of you, Your Grace, to take these unknowns under your wing, but you must not let your good will be intruded upon! I don’t think the Ton could cope with another Queensberry and Soubise, now could they?” she said, as her youngest daughter giggled in response, while the elder had simply closed her eyes.
Had his mother retained full use of her body, Devenish had no doubt that she would have slapped Lady Fitzburgh for her insult despite her deep dislike of drawing attention to herself.
The minuet had just come to an end, and he decided to also put an end to the viscountess’ insufferable pretensions once and for all.
He stood up, languidly reaching for his snuffbox with exaggerated movements that naturally drew the eyes of Lady Fitzburgh and her daughters.
The applause for the dancers ended, and still he did not speak. He flicked open the snuffbox took a pinch, and closed it again all with the same hand. He inhaled sharply, enjoying drawing out the moment.
“Devenish,” murmured his mother, but he held up his free hand to silence her.
“My good woman,” he said to Lady Fitzburgh, “Her Grace has not seen fit to introduce us. I see you have your abigails with you; are you someone I should know?”
The Viscountess gasped in horror,
and her youngest daughter immediately burst into tears. The elder simply turned the colour of beetroot, and stared at the floor before her. A ripple of shocked laughter ran through the crowds around them, for Lady Fitzburgh was unpopular with half the Ton and everyone who lacked a title. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, no words escaping her.
Devenish yawned. “Evidently you are not. Good evening, Madam. I suggest you learn the etiquette of the Beau Monde before venturing out in society again; it is not the done thing to introduce yourself to a Duchess, or to the Queen of Bath, as though you are a person of note.”
Another round of laughter, more pronounced this time. The Master of Ceremonies, Mr King, appeared to the side of them, and with one glance at Lady Seraphinia, he quickly ushered the Fitzburghs away and out of the Ballroom.
“Well done, Your Grace!” said Mr Scott with genuine admiration, a sentiment echoed by Jane and Lady Seraphinia.
“I wish you would not wield your power so blatantly,” sighed his mother, slumping back into her chair and looking more sickly than she had in months. “Those poor girls!”
“Were as obnoxious as their mother,” he replied. He was irritated by her response, wanting to point out that he’d done it for her, or even for the good Doctor, but he knew in his heart that wasn’t the truth. He had been angered by the insinuation that Miss Scott was anything but gentle, and that had proved intolerable.
He looked up, and saw that Miss Scott, still on the arm of Lacey, was staring at him as though he were a complete stranger, her mouth hanging open in shock. When he met her gaze a sense of shame came over him, and he had the oddest feeling that he should apologise to her more than anyone else.
She shook her head. “How could you,” she said softly. She released Lacey’s hand, lifted her skirts, and ran after the Master of Ceremonies, calling his name as she did so.
An uncomfortable silence fell over their group.
“She can’t stand to see someone crying,” said Mr Scott by way of explanation. “I’ll explain what happened.”
The Devilish Duke: Book eight in the Regency Romps Series Page 10
