What a Devilish Duke Desires (2 page)

His spirits rose. “Definitely.”

Harry followed them downstairs. They donned their outerwear and walked out of the club. His breath frosted and the cold air chafed his face as he shook hands with his friends.

“Can I give you a lift?” Bell said.

“No, it’s only a few blocks.” Harry wrapped the woolen scarf around his neck. “The streetlamps are lighted and a walk will clear my head of the brandy.”

Lucy Longmore finished sweeping the scraps of material and thread from the floor of the dress shop. She’d been searching for a new second job that paid better, but without a letter of character, she faced difficult odds. After she stacked bolts of fabric on a shelf, she glanced at her friends. Evelyn and Mary were still sorting their sewing notions.

“Evelyn, did you have many customers this morning?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, a number of lofty ladies and their daughters came. Most of ’em too particular.”

“Or couldn’t make up their minds.” Mary mimicked them: “Mama, I simply cannot wear primrose, for it makes me look sallow.”

“My favorite story is the mama and the biscuit jar,” Lucy said.

Evelyn grinned and mimicked the girl’s fretful voice. “Mama, why is the seamstress having trouble with the hooks?”

All three of them said in unison, “Because you cannot keep your hand out of the biscuit jar.”

They all laughed.

Evelyn sighed. “There’s nothing more irritating than a spoiled aristo.”

“I sort of felt sorry for Biscuit Jar Girl,” Lucy said.

“That’s because you have a soft heart,” Evelyn said, “but you misplace your sympathy with the spoiled rich girls.”

“Well, if I were rich,” Lucy said, “I would have no trouble at all making a decision on a gown.”

Mary closed her sewing box. “If you had lots of choices, you might.”

“No,” Lucy said, grinning. “I would choose them all.”

Evelyn eyed Mary with a smile. “Leave it to Lucy.”

Lucy wished she had dozens of choices, but one day, she intended to make her dreams of owning a dance studio come true. She might not have much more than her dreams, but she would do everything possible to make them come true.

Ida, the new girl, sidled past them. She’d started working for Madame Delanger two days ago and didn’t look a day over fourteen. Lucy and her friends had tried to befriend her, but Ida had regarded them with suspicion and rebuffed their attempts to include her. The only thing they knew about the girl was that Madame allowed her to sleep on the floor in the sewing room at night. Lucy felt sorry for Ida, as she obviously had no home.

At the sound of footsteps, Mary cleared her throat, a signal to mind one’s words. Moments later, the temperamental shop owner, Madame Delanger, entered the main floor. “Ida, do not forget to check behind the dressing screens for missing items. I check the inventory every day.”

“Yes, Madame,” Ida mumbled as she walked behind one of the screens.

“Je suis fatigué.”
Madame Delanger groaned as she leaned against the arm of a red chaise longue where the illustrious customers often rested while waiting to be fitted for a gown. “The beginning of the season is always hectic, but I commissioned four new gowns and sold ten pairs of stockings and six pairs of gloves today.” Then she frowned and crossed over to Mary. “Are you checking for dust? If there is even a speck on the fabric, I will deduct the cost from your wages.”

Mary adopted a blank mien. “Yes, Madame, I will check once more.”

Lucy glanced out the shop window and sighed inwardly. If she could hurry Madame along a bit, she and her friends could avoid walking the entire way in the dark. Regardless, she mustn’t allow her impatience to show. They all treaded lightly around Madame, for her moods were unpredictable. Lucy needed the work and must be respectful.

“Ida,” Madame Delanger said, raising her voice. “You will finish the lace on that gown tonight. I had better not find you asleep while the gown is unfinished.”

“Yes, Madame,” Ida mumbled.

Lucy shared a speaking look with her friends. Madame was taking advantage of Ida’s youth. Yet none of them dared to defend the girl, because it could cost them their jobs. It made Lucy feel wretched, but she had to think of her grandmother and herself first.

“Tomorrow, you must all arrive at six in the morning and be prepared to sew for the next twelve hours,” Madame said. “This is the busiest time of the year, and everything must be ready when the ladies come to shop.”

Lucy’s heart beat faster. Madame had never insisted upon such long hours before. When she’d hired Lucy three months ago, she’d been perfectly willing to let her leave to assist the dance instructor for two hours, but that had been before the height of the season.

Lucy drew in her breath. “Madame, I will gladly arrive at six o’clock tomorrow morning, but I have a dancing lesson in the afternoon. As before, I will return in two hours as I’ve done previously.”

Madame sighed. “Come with me.”

The back of Lucy’s neck prickled as she followed Madame to the tiny sewing room. With every step, she told herself that Madame would not sack her. She needed both of her jobs and hoped Madame would understand.

“Be seated,” Madame said.

After Lucy took a chair, she said, “Madame, when you hired me, you said I could take time off to teach my dance lessons. I have always returned promptly.”

“Matters have changed,” Madame said. “I need seamstresses who are able to work the required twelve hours.”

Fear gripped her hard. She didn’t want to give up her dance instruction, because she wanted to develop her own clients. How else would she open her own dance studio?

“Madame, with all due respect, I could sew during the weekends to make up for the time I’m out teaching dance.”

“I cannot afford to employ four seamstresses.”

She stared at Madame. “But…you just hired Ida two days ago.”

“Ida does not ask for special privileges.”

The realization slammed into Lucy like a fist to her belly. Madame had hired Ida to replace her—no doubt for much lower wages.

Desperation gripped her. She took a deep breath, prepared to agree to lower wages and longer hours—anything to avoid being out of work, but it wasn’t really a choice. She couldn’t leave her grandmother alone for up to twelve hours.

“Times are difficult,” Madame Delanger said. “Wait a moment, and I will settle up with you.”

Numbness set in. Everything seemed a little hazy, as if she were awakening from a bad dream. The denial didn’t last long. Her eyes welled, but she blinked back the tears. She might have little more than her pride, but she would hold her head high.

When Madame Delanger returned, she handed over her wages and a folded paper.

Lucy couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a twinge of guilt in Madame Delanger’s expression. When Lucy unfolded the paper, she inhaled. It was a letter of character. Dear God, it was the one thing she’d lacked that had held her back in her search for better employment. “Thank you,” she said. Then it occurred to her how absurd it was for her to thank Madame when she knew the woman had treated her unfairly.

“I wish I could do more, but you will prevail,” Madame said.

A spurt of anger rose up in her, and Lucy gritted her teeth. It was an insincere platitude that would never make up for Madame’s underhanded dismissal.

Lucy rose and walked out of the sewing room, holding her head high like a queen. She vowed to do everything in her power to find work, and she would let nothing stop her. Somehow, someway, she would open her own dance studio one day. She would be master of her own destiny.

Lucy put the precious coins in her small purse and tucked the letter of character in her apron pocket. She donned her cloak and gloves. Then she picked up her basket and waited for Evelyn and Mary to put on their wraps. She had never wanted to leave a place as badly as she did now.

As they walked out into the night, the jingle of the shop door sounded altogether too cheerful, given her bad news. Lucy pulled the hood of her cape over her head, because the night air was damp and chilly. The misty fog swirled all around them. It had become their habit to walk together until their paths divided. It had made her feel safer, for at least part of the walk.

“Lucy, I know something is wrong,” Evelyn said. “Your face was very pale after Madame took you to the sewing room.”

“She sacked me, but I expected it. Madame cannot afford four seamstresses and needs someone who can work twelve hours—and for less pay in all likelihood.”

Mary exchanged a long look with Evelyn. “That explains why she hired Ida. No doubt the girl accepted a pittance for wages.”

“I suspect Ida is working in exchange for sleeping on the shop floor,” Evelyn said.

Lucy winced. “That is awful.”

Mary halted. “Lucy, I can loan you a bit of coin.”

“So can I,” Evelyn said.

“Oh no, I cannot allow it. I’ll earn wages tomorrow after my dance lesson. I’ll find a second position soon.” She must find it quickly. Her earnings as an assistant to Mr. Buckley, the dancing master, were barely sufficient, and more than once he’d shorted her based on some trumped up mistake she’d supposedly made.

Lucy held her basket closer as they approached a street vendor. She bought two meat pasties and a quarter loaf of bread for dinner. Then they resumed their walk.

“We will all persevere so that we can look forward to bright futures,” Lucy said. Her words were at odds with the fear gripping her, but she mustn’t give in to despair. She’d managed to pay for lodgings and food for herself and her grandmother these past six months, and she would manage again. A bit of pluck and a prayer would see her through this latest setback.

She hoped.

“I’m done up tonight,” Evelyn said.

Mary sighed. “I shall dream about the future tonight. Billy says we’ll marry when he saves up enough money.”

Lucy shared an inscrutable look with Evelyn. Billy made promises to Mary, but according to Evelyn, he spent most of his wages in the tavern. Privately, she’d told Lucy that Mary wasn’t the only woman in Billy’s life. Lucy had never met him, but she feared Billy would break Mary’s heart. Perhaps it would be best if he did. Mary deserved better treatment.

“We’ll miss you at the shop,” Mary said.

Lucy’s breath frosted. “We could meet at Green Park on Sunday afternoon if the weather is nice.”

Evelyn sighed. “Madame needs us to sew this Sunday, too.”

Lucy feared Madame would pressure them to work seven days a week.

The three stopped at the corner of Piccadilly and Regent, where their paths would split.

“Lucy, I know this is hard for you now,” Evelyn said, “but if you continued to work for Madame, you would not be able to teach dance.”

Mary nodded. “Do whatever you must to earn wages, but don’t give up your dream of having your own dance studio.”

She hugged her friends quickly. “Thank you for believing in me. Now I must go.”

“Be safe,” Evelyn said. “Remember the story we told you about the girl who disappeared forever after she let a man take her up in his carriage.”

Lucy shuddered. “I remember.”

“If a man offers to escort you, run,” Evelyn said.

“Remember, speak to no one, and make sure no one follows you,” Mary said.

She nodded, remembering her friends’ many warnings. Their tales of girls snatched off the street and sold into prostitution had made her skin crawl.

“I’ll not forget,” Lucy said. “Godspeed.”

Lucy shivered more from the frigid wind than the threat of danger. She stood beneath the lighted gas lamp, watching her friends walk away until they were no longer visible. Her chest tightened. It would be harder to meet them now that she’d lost her sewing job, but Lucy swore she would make it happen.

In that one unguarded moment, a filthy man grabbed hold of her basket and tugged hard.

The misty fog swirled around Harry as he strode along Piccadilly, but it wasn’t too dense tonight. Soon he must buy a carriage. He’d need one for inclement weather, and now that he was a bloody duke, he supposed he ought to have a decent vehicle for traveling. God knew he’d inherited an enormous fortune and could afford whatever caught his fancy. He’d always thought money would bring him happiness, but it hadn’t. Perhaps in time he would feel differently.

He was only a block away from his rooms at the Albany when he saw a thief tugging on a woman’s basket. When she screamed, Harry ran as fast as he could and shouted, “Stop, thief!” The ragged man took one look at him and ducked down an alley.

“Are you hurt?” Harry said as he reached the woman. Lord, his heart was hammering in his chest.

“No, but I thank you, kind sir,” she said, picking up the small loaf of bread and dusting it off.

He couldn’t help noticing her shabby glove as she set the bread beneath a cloth in her basket. Yet she spoke in a crisp, educated manner. The hood of her red, threadbare cloak fell back as she straightened her small frame. The lighted oil lamp nearby revealed her thick, red curls. She had the kind of hair that made a man want to take it down, but that only reminded him of her peril. “You ought not to be on the streets alone at night,” he said. “It’s dangerous for a woman.”

She pulled her hood up and scoffed. “Sir, I assure you, I would not set foot on these mean streets if I had any other choice.”

The woman’s plump lips and bright emerald eyes drew him. She was a rare beauty. “If you will allow it, I will escort you for your safety,” he said, smiling. “Surely you will not object to protection.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve done your good deed for the evening, Sir Galahad.” She reached in her basket and brandished a wicked-looking knife. “My trusty blade is protection enough.”

Holy hell. It was a large blade, but she held it too low. He also noticed her arm trembled. She clearly had no idea how to use the blade. One sharp blow to her arm would incapacitate her, and the knife would fall to the ground.

She looked him over and shook her head. “Perhaps I should escort you for your safety.”

He laughed. “That’s rich.”

“Evidently, so are you.”

She’d obviously taken stock of his clothing and deduced he was wealthy. “Come now, I’m a man and far stronger than you. I can defend myself.”