The Duke and the Dressmaker
by Eva Devon
Copyright © 2023 by Eva Devon. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
If another young woman stuffed a hairpin in his pocket, accidentally dropped a jewel before him, or allowed a handkerchief to flutter in front of his boots, James Blakefield, the new Duke of Ashbridge, was going to go mad.
Quite frankly, he’d had enough.
The machinations of the English aristocracy were a thing to behold. He was fairly certain that if the mamas of the ton had been put in charge of the English army during the Revolution, the Americans never would’ve had a chance, and that was saying something.
James had been chased, cornered, and manipulated by those infernal mamas. The attempts to get him into a private room or behind a hedgerow was shocking, and he was not easily shocked.
Sea captains seldom were.
Now, granted, he was not a usual sea captain. After all, he had been born in Boston not long after the Revolution. He had a host of ships and sailed the world, running his company.
But an inheritance had come: an English dukedom. It astonished him, but he had not turned it down. Turning such power down would be sheer foolishness.
London had called, and he had come. Whereupon he had discovered that the running of the vast estates of a dukedom was, for all intents and purposes, similar to running a large company. Or a small country.
But the darkest part of the entire thing was the way in which every single English mama seemed certain that he was in want of a wife.
He was not in want of a wife; he had no desire to marry. He’d seen the way marriage could ruin people, and he had no desire to add to the misery of another person by marrying them.
Still, attendance of balls was necessary. He was trying to garner support for his goals in London: one, to open a shipping office here; and two, to go, if not to war, then at least into opposition with the East India Company and its bloodstained hands.
That beast of a company controlled most of the seas and far too many lands. It needed to be restricted, and as a duke, he had some power and the ability to say what should and should not be done with it. He could have sway if he wished it, but only if he attended events such as these blasted balls.
The Earl of Derby smirked at him. “You look as if you’re drowning.”
“I am drowning,” he agreed. “In lace, perfume, and ridiculous chatter.”
“It’s not so very terrible,” Derby said unconvincingly.
James snorted. “Then why don’t I see you out there on the dance floor?”
“Because the right ladies have not shown up yet. I don’t dance with debutantes.”
“No?” He arched a brow.
Derby shuddered. “No, I have no wish to marry at present. The mamas know this. I’m only here as your friend and ally to guide you through the storms of society.”
“Very good of you,” James drawled.
“Isn’t it?” Derby replied, his lips twitching.
Their fathers had been friends years ago, and the previous Earl of Derby had been on the side of the Americans in the American Revolution, urging Parliament to simply let the colonies go. Of course, that had not occurred. Derby now was supporter of philosophers, writers, and artists. One wouldn’t know it by looking, though; he seemed a rake to almost everyone.
Still, Derby was a good sort and one of the only English people James could tolerate.
The ton was full of rules. Stuffy, impossible rules like how many times he could dance with someone; who was to enter a room first, and how; who could sit where at a table; and who was to speak and have precedence. The rules were similar to those on a sailing ship, only there was really no purpose to them except to maintain a sense of control.
Now, that was also why there were rules on a sailing ship, but the control on a ship was to make certain that the ship reached its destination. The rules in the ton were simply to ensure that no one left their place, and James did not approve of such a thing.
He was just about to say so to Derby when a bevy of mamas rushed at him.
“Good God, they’ve spotted me,” he groaned.
“Indeed they have,” Derby said with undisguised amusement. “I’m tempted to let them have at you.”
He piped a sound of dismay. “We have already been here for two hours. I have danced with fifteen young ladies, made compliments about their hair, their clothes, and have talked about spaniels more than I ever knew was possible.”
“You request rescue, then,” Derby said.
He blurted out another note of dismay.
“Right,” Derby said. “I know a place. Let’s go.”
There was a cry of alarm as he and Derby whirled from the ballroom and headed out into the cool hall.
“Your Grace! Your Grace!” they called in chorus.
“You cannot possibly be leaving?” another called.
He turned and clasped his hands behind his back, unwilling to be deliberately rude, even though he wished to be.
Lady Barlow smiled at him and batted her fan. “My daughter Calliope would adore the opportunity to converse with you, Your Grace.”
“I have conversed with Calliope,” he ventured as politely as he could, given the way in which Calliope had cornered him earlier this evening. “While she knows a great deal about botany and I admire her admiration of the tulip, I find I must depart.”
Her mother beamed. “You simply must visit us tomorrow, Your Grace, and she can show you her collection. Each bulb is worth a fortune.”
He gave a quick bow, turned, and headed off with Derby. “Is that to be the extent of a duke’s life?” he said under his breath. “Making polite conversation over tulip bulbs?”
Derby laughed, then mocked, “It’s a hard life.”
“Fine,” he said. “I realize it is the price one pays for power. Now, take me wherever the hell you want to take me. Anything would be better than this.”
…
James gazed about the bar room of the Maiden’s Jig Tavern and sighed in relief. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do in a ballroom, but unlike the people here laughing and chatting merrily, ton conversation was ridiculous, venturing on painful.
They restricted themselves to dogs, the weather, and the races.
And tulips. He mustn’t forget tulips.
Unlike those who ruled this isle, he was going to settle his business in this town and get out before they could pull him into their web.
In six weeks, he’d be gone.
Still, as he gazed around the London tavern, the scene was a wonder. The occupants who were crushed in on benches and chairs about rough tables had clearly not washed in days. Not a single one of them had access to good water. Frankly, he was surprised that most of them had not dropped dead with disease from the state of their part of town.
There were bugs everywhere. Cats—lamp-eyed, fearsome creatures—chased rats. Said rats gnawed upon the bones left on the floor, and dogs were everywhere, sleeping at the feet of their masters both inside and out.
This was life at its most raw.
A fiddler and button accordion player sat in the corner of the room, playing a lively reel. Several men and women in ill-fitting but colorful garb were up dancing about together, whirling and twirling around better than any sailor doing the hornpipe.
James looked to the Earl of Derby, who easily downed half a glass of gin.
“Bloody hell,” the earl said merrily. “This stuff will burn a hole through a man’s esophagus. Isn’t it marvelous?”
Derby took down another drink, his blue eyes flashing with glee and horror at once.
Truthfully, James liked the clear liquid. It burned. And he needed a good burn because, if he was going to face the next few weeks, well, this would at least take some of the tension off after surviving hours in the mind-dulling company of the ton.
And then there was the damned important but also damned annoying fact he had to find a girl.
A girl, of all things!
Not just any girl—his ward. His men had been tracking down her whereabouts. The most recent report had found she lived in this part of town, but they had yet to seize upon the exact location.
They’d know soon. There was a rumor she lived above a French woman’s dress shop, and there were only so many of those around.
Once she was found, James would fetch her himself. Nothing was well done if one did not do it themselves or at least oversee the matter. And he did not trust any man to take care of his ward.
A ward, for God’s sake.
How had he inherited a ward and a title?
He was not entirely sure. He’d need pins, string, and a complex, point-by-point explanation of the family tree to understand how an American sailor was now an English duke.
He leaned back on the rough-hewn board that doubled as a chair, sprawling his arm out. The fact that the girl lived near this hellhole made him wonder how the devil his ward had been put in such circumstances.
It did seem as if his predecessor, the old Duke of Ashbridge, had been a bit of an arse.
More than a bit.
He’d been a cruel bastard.
From what he’d gathered from the old duke’s unpleasant butler, Davidson, the duke had kicked out his own daughter, making her flee to Europe with the love of her life. And when the two of them had kicked off in Paris, the then duke had abandoned his daughter’s children.
James couldn’t imagine it.
Well, that wasn’t quite right.
He could imagine being abandoned—but not like that. Not because someone wasn’t damned fancy enough.
James had clawed and fought to survive, alone after first his father’s and then his mother’s death. He knew the pain of having no parents and being adrift in a world that ate children up as if they were chocolates.
No, he would not think of it tonight. If he did, he’d down the entire bottle of gin, and that would do him no favors.
He needed to have his wits about him.
A new ship was going to be launched in Boston in ten weeks, and he’d be there. His business in London would be done in six weeks, which allowed a month for the crossing. He was always there when a new ship of his line took to the sea. They were the only children he’d ever had, or ever wanted.
And then there was the fact his father had hated London.
But tonight? He was damned glad Derby had brought him here for a bit of freedom. He needed it. The sort of freedom he experienced on his ship, the Dauntless.
But this part of town was not like a ship.
There was no order. There were no rules. And as he swung his gaze around, he realized that a fight could break out at any moment.
He felt on edge, ready for anything.
Derby seemed to sense it. The man winked at him and waved a barmaid over. The young woman’s dark brown hair was billowing about a heart-shaped face as she swung her full tray up onto a barely covered shoulder. Her linen bodice was low, and her tightly cinched waist only emphasized her curves. Still, she looked as though, if someone put their hand in the wrong place, she’d happily cosh them over the head with one of the mugs at her disposal.
“Another gin for myself and my friend, lass,” Derby said, slipping her a coin.
“Keep the coin coming, me lord, and the gin will flow all night.” She tucked the coin between her bosom then rushed off through the thick crowd, easily dancing around men who tried to grab her, and two of those men began to shout at each other.
As James pulled his gaze from the fight, something caught his attention across the room. The flourish of a rose-colored cloak and the stiffened stance of a young woman.
Derby tossed back another drink of gin. “I told you this was just the place.”
He nodded, only half listening.
The girl was arguing passionately with an older woman.
No, she was not a girl. She was a woman, but she was slight, as if she did not eat nearly enough. Her soft blond hair was coiled atop her head, her cloak was ratty about her frame, and she was arguing most intensely. But the older woman, whose hair was curled and powdered white, kept shaking her head. Her gnarled hands went to her hips, and then she had what seemed to be the temerity to reach up and tweak the other woman on the chin.
The young woman pulled back, and then the older woman swung away and marched off, her white hair flapping about her face. And in her place stood a large brute who stared down at the young lady as if he was either going to crush her into the floor or drag her into the hallway and show her what a brute he was.
It wasn’t something James would tolerate.
This woman was bold. He could tell that. But he could not bear to see her suffer as so many women did. Perhaps it was her spark, and he knew how easy it was to snuff such a thing out.
James took a swallow of gin, then banged the glass down on the table and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Derby grew quiet, then ground out, “If you want to keep your teeth, sit down.”
But he would not.
Doing this would at least give him a moment’s peace, a moment’s respite from the memories that had been crashing in on him of late. And from the fact that he was in London, a place he loathed and could not wait to tear down.
He crossed the room easily, eyes locked on his target. He was a captain, and captains were supposed to have cool heads, but he could not bear when the strong preyed on the weak. James prided himself in the fact that he rose to the defense of others quickly. Because nothing got past him.
No injustice, no cruelty.
He’d crush it before it could crush them.
