A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)

by Vane, Victoria

  "When did you last see your husband, Lord Reginald?" Sir John asked.

  "It was late yesterday morning just before the start of the first race. When his horse did not appear on the field, he went to the stables to inquire of his jockey."

  Sir John consulted his scribbled notes. "And that would be Johnson? The man who was found with Lord Reginald?"

  "Yes. That is my understanding—that they were found together."

  "And this Johnson. What do we know of him? How long was he in your husband's employ?"

  Diana licked her lips, concentrating on the fine detail of her lace handkerchief. "Since before we were wed. Jemmy was a lad of fifteen or sixteen when he came to Palmerston Hall with Reggie." Reggie had been both generous and oddly protective of Jemmy from the start. She now realized just how naïve she had been regarding her husband's relationship with the young groom.

  "Was your groom, Johnson, fond of drink?"

  "I could not say, my lord. I never saw him intoxicated."

  "Do you think it possible Johnson may have had too much to drink the morning of the race?"

  "I could not say."

  "Yet the groom did not show for the race. Is it possible in your mind that Lord Reginald could have beaten his groom?"

  Diana reflected a long moment. "I would not think it likely at all, Sir John. Reggie was of a cold and calculating nature, not a man prone to fits of violence."

  "Yet, he was reputed a compulsive gamester."

  "Yes. I cannot dispute his gaming habits."

  "Had he accumulated considerable debts?"

  She bit her lip and finally stole a sidelong look at DeVere who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I am unaware of the full extent of his debts," she said.

  "Yet he had placed great hopes on the horse race."

  "As had I," she said wryly.

  "Is there anything more that you know, Baroness? Anything at all that might help to explain the events surrounding your husband's death?"

  It was literally the moment of truth. Diana's heart pounded against her breastbone in rhythm with the pendulum clock. Her gaze darted between the duchess and DeVere. The Duchess eyed her intently, her lips parted as if to speak. Only they knew the whole of it, or as much as could be known.

  The time had arrived to speak up and come clean—about the extent of their financial devastation, of the unnatural relationship between Reggie and Johnson and their plans to elope together, and the planned blackmail of DeVere. But it was all too sordid. Too much to bear. Besides, wasn't it irrelevant now? Reggie was dead. Her shame-filled life was over. It was a chance for a new beginning. A new life, one she refused to enter under the shadow of such a scandal.

  "No. I can think of nothing." She closed her mouth with a prayer that Caroline would also maintain her peace.

  Sir John scratched his head, setting his wig askew. "Then I conclude that we have an accident involving a drunken groom who was discovered by his employer, Lord Reginald, after his horse failed to appear. My lord assaulted the jockey, beating him about the head with the pistol, whereby during the struggle, the weapon went off upon himself—a simple matter of death by misadventure. Unless anyone here has information to refute this, I deem that there is nothing further to pursue."

  "Sir John," the duchess interjected. "Since I am sadly ignorant of legal proceedings, what would transpire should any evidence of foul play later come to light?"

  "You mean should the groom recover sufficiently to identify another assailant?"

  "Yes. Or anything else that might later suggest a motive for violence against the deceased. Just out of curiosity, of course." Diana noticed the dark looks exchanged between the Duchess and DeVere.

  "As there is no statute of limitations pertaining to violent crime, an investigation would, of course, be opened by the proper authorities. As Justice of the Peace, it is only within my domain to determine if additional inquiry is warranted. At this juncture, there is not."

  Diana asked, "Does this mean..."

  "That these proceedings are concluded?" Sir John answered. "I only have need of your signature on a statement, my lady, and then you are free to attend to your personal affairs."

  "I'll conduct you both to my private study," said DeVere.

  ***

  "A brief word with you, my lord?" Diana asked DeVere after her business was finished with Sir John.

  "But of course," he answered and rang for a footman to conduct Sir John out.

  "What did you mean by coming to my room last night?" She raged after the door had closed. "It was deplorable and unscrupulous to take such advantage of me!"

  DeVere lifted a bland brow. "I do not recall any complaint last night."

  "Because I was drugged by laudanum and not in my right senses!" she cried. "And what do you mean by this?" she asked, retrieving from her pocket the document, now crumpled, that he had left under her pillow. "You give me a lease to my own house?"

  She appeared both incredulous and infuriated. It was precisely the reaction he had sought to achieve, but it gave him little satisfaction. Ludovic found it a struggle to maintain his impassive facade and blithe tone.

  "For obvious reasons, I am unable to convey upon you the title to the estate. Yet this ninety-nine year lease ensures your future security with continued and uninterrupted residence at Palmerston Hall at the negligible sum of one pound per annum. The execution needs only your signature." With a gesture, he indicated the quill and ink awaiting her on the blotter.

  "What of the stables, the horses?" she asked.

  He laughed. "I fear my largesse does not extend as far as the horseflesh, as that was what I sought to begin with."

  "It was only for the horses?"

  He inclined his head. Best to let her believe that rather than the truth—that he had bought the debt rather than allow her life to be destroyed by her wastrel husband. "You may keep your mare, of course, but all the others will join my stables."

  "I don't understand. Why do you do this?" she asked, indicating the document.

  "Is it not obvious? It is customary to provide former mistresses with a parting gift. While it is usually in the form of diamonds or emeralds, I thought this gesture would be more welcome in your straightened circumstances. I have also spoken at length with Lord Derby who has agreed to dispense with half of the prize money. Thus, you shall also have a comfortable nest egg of fifteen hundred pounds."

  Diana gaped. "P-parting gift?"

  He brought her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. "It was lovely while it lasted, my dear Diana, but my attention is sadly difficult to maintain for any duration. Ennui, you understand. It is a curse, really, as I am continually compelled to seek out new diversions...new companions."

  She blinked. Her lower lip quivered. "Then that is all this was to you? A brief diversion?"

  "Don't take it to heart, pet. Passion like we've shared never lasts. In my experience amorous idylls are best ended before the bloom is fallen from the rose and only thorns remain."

  "I see," said Diana stiffly.

  No. She only saw what he allowed her to see.

  She picked up the document. "You flatter me with your generosity, my lord. I understand even the most exclusive courtesans may be had for one hundred per night. It seems in only two nights, I have warranted over four thousand."

  If she'd wielded a rapier, it would not have cut deeper. "Don't sully what we had, Diana," he growled.

  "It is not I, but you who have done so, my lord. By your offer, you have made me your whore, but then again, a woman in my position would be a fool to refuse. And I am no fool."

  He could see the struggle for composure in her trembling hand and the splattered drops of ink as she scrawled a hasty signature. "I shall order my bags packed immediately," she said. "The sooner I depart the better."

  "Perhaps that's for the best, but you need not be anxious about crossing my path again, as I leave for London within the hour. Edward and Annalee will depart soon thereafter. You will ac
company them back to your home where no doubt, given time, all will return to a state of normalcy."

  "Yes," she said hollowly. "No doubt it will." She turned for the door in an abrupt rustle of petticoats, but her hand paused on the knob. "There is something I must know." Her back was still turned to him. "Did you do it? Did you kill Reggie?"

  "Were you anyone else, I would not even dignify that with an answer." His temper flared white-hot, but by holding himself in tight check, he managed to respond. "Did I have motive to kill him? Perhaps. Did I have desire to do so? Undoubtedly, on several occasions. I only needed to look upon him to feel the urge. But were I to kill a man, Diana, it would never be in a clandestine manner. I would look him in the eye as the last breath left his body, and he would know it was me who pulled the trigger or impaled him upon my sword."

  "But what of your own father?" she asked.

  "My father is both alive and well cared for, and that is all you or anyone else need know," he said, nearly gnashing his teeth.

  "I'm sorry. It's just that the duchess..."

  "Caroline is a meddlesome bitch!"

  "Thank you for answering," she said. "It was impertinent on my part." With quiet dignity, Diana departed from his study and from his life without looking back.

  After the door clicked softly behind her, Ludovic smashed his fist on the desk, clearing it of all its contents, splattering ink pots and scattering papers in an enraged swipe. For two brief nights, he had known solace, the peace his soul desperately sought, and now it was gone. Gone with her. "Bloody hell! Goddamn bloody hell!"

  And the sooner he too departed from this accursed place, the better. He poured a drink and downed it in one angry draught before calling for his horse.

  ***

  Diana's departure from Woodcote Park was much as she recalled her arrival less than a sennight ago with she and Annalee sharing the coach and Sir Edward mounted with the outriders. She once more gazed sightlessly out the windows, lost in melancholy reflection.

  "I thought DeVere's departure was rather abrupt," Annalee said. "But I suppose nothing he does should surprise me by now. He is an abominably capricious man."

  "I hadn't noticed," said Diana with a sharp pang, wishing to talk about anything but DeVere.

  "Did you not? Do you know he has ordered the entire house to be closed up?"

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes. The servants were amazed, given that he had only recently taken up residence. But they had little to grouse over as he provided them all with a generous severance."

  "He must mean to reside in London, then." Diana hoped her terse answer would end the discussion. She was so very tired of all the pretense and polite conversation when she only wanted to be alone to weep.

  "No, indeed!" Annalee said. "He has now taken it into his head to travel! Do you recall the ignoble Baron Baltimore he spoke of at dinner the first night? Well, DeVere seems to have the queerest obsession with the man. He has taken a notion to follow Lord Baltimore's travels to Italy and Constantinople."

  "He does what?" Diana was aghast.

  "He said he may be gone for years! But who knows what could befall him in the hands of those Turkish heathens. Can you even imagine such a thing? Hew was beside himself about it until he learned his brother finally agreed to buy his commission. He'll soon be joining the dragoons."

  Though Annalee continued her prattle, Diana heard nothing more. He had had shown her passion, awakening emotions she had previously locked away deep inside. For two blessed nights, she had abandoned herself to him completely, and just as suddenly, it was over. He was gone from her life. Just like that.

  PART II:

  The Devil's Match

  Once burned… twice shy…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thornhill Park, Yorkshire, 1783

  "I just can’t believe it!" Vesta wailed. "Papa just pops off to London a fortnight ago and returns a sennight later with a wife? How could he? And without even consulting me! And that—that...hussy is barely older than I am!"

  "Vesta, dearest, I quite understand how you feel after having been his only joy for so long, but it’s hardly the end of the world." Diana made a concerted effort to contain her own bitterness. Edward's purported object in going to London a mere fortnight ago had been to secure a house for Vesta's season, but then he had returned with his own bride in tow! In truth, Diana was as shocked as Vesta that after three years of mourning dear Annalee, Edward had taken a London stage strumpet to wife.

  "To be fair, you must not despise your father for remarrying. After all, he’s mourned your mother far longer than most men would have done. Besides, he’s still a young man and no doubt has renewed hope for an heir...especially given such a young bride."

  Vesta took on an expression of repugnance. "Is that why he’s wed her, do you suppose? Simply to sire an heir?"

  Diana took particular care with her answer. "I don’t doubt that’s part of his reason."

  "But must he act such a besotted fool over her?" Vesta asked, near to tears. "Phoebe this and Phoebe that and my darling, sweet Phoebe. It’s enough to make me cast up my accounts."

  Diana couldn't agree more. "But by all indications, darling, it does appear a love match." Love, indeed! It is positively indecent how they can hardly keep their hands off each other. The knowing little baggage had clearly bewitched the poor devil.

  Ensconced in the amorous arms of his young wife, he seemed to have forgotten all about Vesta's come-out, a happenstance the girl had great reason to resent. Secretly desiring to throw a screaming tantrum of her own, Diana watched in empathy as Vesta flung herself onto her bed to fully indulge her histrionics. "I know. I know." Diana embraced the distraught girl, soothing her, stroking her hair. "It must be terribly hard on you, my lamb, but you must at least try to be happy, for your father’s sake."

  After several minutes of racking sobs, Vesta bolted upright, her hazel eyes red-rimmed, her dark ringlets in disarray. "But what about you, Aunt Di? I hadn’t even considered how greatly this alters your position."

  Until now, Diana had not even considered it. For three years following Annalee's death, she been mistress of the house in all but name, running the household, playing hostess, and acting as surrogate mother to Vesta. Until now it had proven a suitable arrangement for all, but with Edward’s unexpected marriage, more than just Vesta’s world had turned upside down.

  Realizing with a painful wrench that things would never be the same, Diana determined to talk with Edward at the earliest opportunity.

  ***

  "Are you quite sure about this, Diana? Vesta is a headstrong girl and may prove a greater responsibility than you wish."

  "I foresee no trouble with Vesta. She and I have developed a very good understanding over the past three years. You know, she has become almost a daughter to me."

  He studied her in a long moment of thoughtful consideration. "You aren’t really leaving because..." He looked flustered. "You see, I had hoped you and Phoebe..."

  "Would become friends?" she finished with a forced smile. "But of course we shall!" When hell doth freeze over.

  "I am so pleased," he said. "You have been such an important part of our lives. I had feared..." He gave a helpless shrug.

  "Don’t be absurd, dear Edward." She emitted a brittle laugh. "I am delighted that you are so happy." I just hope you don’t soon expire of a heart seizure out of zeal for your new husbandly duties.

  "You are certain that this is what you wish, Diana? To leave Thornhill?"

  She played with her gloves, refusing to meet his gaze. "I have long denied myself a trip to London. My gowns are all sadly outmoded, and I shall certainly relish the change in scenery after being buried in the country for so long."

  "Very well," he said. "You will find the house comfortably furnished and fully staffed. I will, of course, provide a generous allowance for anything either of you should need. If anything unanticipated should transpire, you need only look to DeVere—"

  "DeVere? Vis
count DeVere?" Diana couldn't help the twitch of distaste his name brought to her lips. It had been four years since she'd last seen him, and never would be too soon to encounter him again. "I assure you we shall need nothing from him. Indeed, I fear even the remotest association with that wastrel might bar Vesta from the better drawing rooms." It was a plausible excuse to avoid him and the one she would stand by.

  Edward frowned. "Don't you think that a bit harsh, Di? He is Vesta's godfather, after all."

  She laughed. "I only wonder what dear Annalee was thinking to have ever allowed such a thing!"

  His frown deepened to a full-blown scowl.

  "Oh, don't look so thunderous, Edward! I know he is your friend, but you know as well as I do that his reputation is the lowest. Moreover, he positively revels in it! Vesta may be his godchild, but the less made of it the better."

  "You shouldn't believe everything you hear about him."

  "Lackaday! I only need believe half of it to be reviled. Besides, I do not base my opinions purely on hearsay. I have had sufficient dealings of my own with the man to have his full measure." She almost bit her tongue on her poor choice of words. His full measure, indeed. The remembrance still shook her four years later.

  "Surely you don't still hold him to blame for—

  "For Reginald? Not completely." Diana strolled to the window and gazed out at the vast expanse of park. She sighed long and deep. Although the truth of her past connection with the DeVere would never be revealed, she chose her next words carefully. "We both know Reginald had long made a habit of going for wool and coming home shorn. DeVere was merely the devil's agent who accomplished the inevitable. Still, one cannot touch...excrement." She looked to Ned with a meaningful curve of her lips. "And not be defiled."

  "Regardless of your low opinion of him, I would be remiss beyond redemption to allow two women alone in London without benefit of male protection. I would entrust my own life to DeVere and will notify him of your arrival."