“Fifty thousand,” Hew countered.
“Done.” Ludovic’s smile told him he should have held out for more.
CHAPTER THREE
When the carriage finally pulled into the mews at the house on Upper Grosvenor Street, Vesta was beside herself with excitement. She had looked forward to her coming out from the moment she left pigtails behind, and now she was finally here to be presented to the sophisticated world as a woman grown. It was almost enough to make her forget the odors and confused tumult of the crowded city streets.
“Is it always like this, Aunt Di?” she asked. “The stench? And the noise? How does one ever sleep?”
“It is, indeed, a far cry from Yorkshire, my lamb.” Her guardian laughed. “But you shall soon adjust. You are more affected by it because it is strange and unusual to you, but over time, you will come to barely notice the foul smells or the sounds.”
“That’s hard to imagine!” She plied a delicate, violet-scented handkerchief to her nose. Nevertheless, Vesta alighted from her father’s traveling coach bubbling with enthusiasm. “Isn’t it all lovely, Aunt Di?” she exclaimed at their elegant new abode with its private-walled rose garden.
“It is perfect for us.” The elder woman smiled.
The house was, indeed, perfect, and Vesta’s lavish bedchamber of pink and gold chintz even commanded a view of Hyde Park. Her father had told her that half the reason he had chosen the house was for its proximity to the Park through Grosvenor Gate. Knowing her passion for early morning gallops, he had also taken the trouble to send ahead her two favorite horses. No doubt it was an effort to get back into her good graces, but Vesta still didn’t know if she could ever truly forgive him. Yet perhaps she was already beginning to soften—just a little. She had nearly been moved to tears when Papa held her tightly and kissed her head upon their farewell. But then again, it was also her first trip away from home.
While her abigail, Polly, attended to her unpacking, Vesta threw herself onto the canopy bed, closed her eyes, and fantasized about the parties, balls, operas, and theater. She pictured the exquisite gowns she would wear that would be the envy of every other young debutante, for though her father might not be a lord, Sir Edward Chambers was extremely prosperous, and where Vesta was concerned, he was generous to a fault.
“Lady Vesta Chambers has come to take the town by storm.” She giggled aloud. “I will be the belle of every ball and will catch the handsomest and most eligible husband in all London.”
Polly snorted. “Pretty is as pretty does.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you would do well to conduct yourself more as milady does,” the maid chided.
“In what way?”
“To start, ye’d be well advised to at least feign some modesty. For titled gents are known to place high value on such feminine virtues.”
“Lackaday, Polly! I won’t pretend to be some simpering ninny hammer for anyone! Besides, what would you know? You’re not a lady, and you’ve never even caught a husband.”
The maid’s spine stiffened, and her face flushed. “That may be, but I’ve been a lady’s maid nigh on twenty years and can surely tell a lady of quality from a pretender.”
The barb striking its target, Vesta stuck out her tongue as soon as Polly’s back was turned. “But are there not also gentlemen who prefer spirit in their women?” she asked. “They surely do in their horses.”
“Aye, there be some like that,” the maid answered with an added warning, “And those be the ones to steer clear away from.”
“And why is that?” Vesta idly twirled a curl.
“Because them what does mostly enjoy breaking the spirit? It be the challenge, ye see.”
“Oh? But what happens when a spirit won’t be broken?”
“A life of misery,” the maid answered with aplomb. “For when a woman weds, she becomes the property of her husband to do wi’ whatever he wishes. If he wishes to beat her into submission, that be his right to do so. Do ye ken, my lady?”
Vesta digested this bit of information with a thoughtful moue. “Then I shall take great care to observe how my future husband handles his horses.”
“Incorrigible chit. I don’t ken what my mistress was thinking.” The maid shook her head with a martyr’s sigh.
***
“I noticed the knocker is up on the house on Upper Grosvenor when I went for my morning ride,” Captain DeVere declared to his brother as he removed his gloves.
“I am well aware,” remarked Lord DeVere while his manservant lathered his face and neck with shaving soap.
“Then you received notice of Vesta’s arrival?”
“Not officially, but I make it my business to keep informed.”
“Do you think we should perhaps pay a courtesy call?” Hew asked.
“I am devoid of your enthusiasm to do so, Hew,” Ludovic replied in a bored tone. He continued while the valet stropped the blades. “I have already sent Pratt this morning to convey my compliments and offer his services. As for myself, it is generally my preference to fulfill social obligations only when truly obliged to do so. I know it is inevitable, but it can wait another day.”
“But they are two women alone in London,” Hew answered. “Even if you do not feel it your duty to pay the initial call, I do.”
“Far be from me to stop you then, brother mine. As for me, I have a prior engagement at Tattersall’s this afternoon, and then I am off to see to some things at Epsom. Care to defer the duty call and join me instead?” He raised his chin for the first swipe of the razor.
“No, thank you, but I’ll be sure to make your excuses. When do you return from Woodcote Park?”
The valet paused to allow his answer. “I haven’t given it any thought. Must you always plan everything?”
“It suits me to do so,” said Hew. “I find a measure of comfort in routine.”
“And I find it excessive tedium,” said DeVere. “But have it your way. I should be back the day after tomorrow. We’ll sup together then.”
***
“There is a messenger for you, my lady,” announced the stony-faced butler.
“Already? But who can even know we are arrived?” Diana wondered aloud.
“Papa did write my godfather, Lord DeVere, did he not?” Vesta said.
“Yes.” Diana frowned.
“He is, indeed, a man sent from my Lord DeVere,” Jenkins stated.
“Then pray send him in,” she said.
Vesta noted Diana’s frown until said messenger appeared, and her expression transformed to one of recognition. “Is it Mr. Pratt?” she asked.
“Aye, milady.” The wizened little man tugged a forelock. “His lordship has placed me at milady’s disposal with his compliments. I am instructed to attend the young miss’ horses and escort her on her rides.”
“Does he, indeed?” said Vesta. “How very kind. Don’t you agree, Aunt Di?”
“His lordship is a generous man to send his head groom,” Diana answered.
The servant gave a shy smile. “Do you like to ride, miss?”
“It is my great passion,” Vesta replied.
“Then you and my lord have sommat in common, as he owns some of the best horseflesh in the country. The racing stock are stabled at Woodcote Park in Epsom, but he and Captain Hew keep a number of fine saddle mounts here in town.”
“I should love to see them!” Vesta exclaimed.
“Will you ride in the afternoons then, miss?”
“Actually, I prefer the early morning. The horses are so much fresher, don’t you think? And I do love a brisk gallop.”
“I fear there will be little of that,” warned Diana. “You must learn to satisfy yourself with an easy-paced hack.”
“But why?” Vest asked in dismay.
“Because a lady riding hell-for-leather is considered hoydenish and vulgar in town.”
“That’s so unfair!” Vesta looked to Pratt who nodded in sympathy.
“’Ti
s so, miss. The ladies take quiet hacks in the park in the afternoons. ‘Tis the fashionable time. ‘Tis more to be seen, ye ken?”
“I couldn’t care less about fashion.” Vesta scoffed, crossing her arms.
“But you must, dearest,” Diana protested. “First impressions are lasting.”
Vesta jutted her chin. “But I have always ridden in the mornings and see no sensible reason why I should not continue to do so, whether fashionable or not. Indeed, I wish to begin on the morrow. Half six, Mister Pratt?”
He looked to Diana with uncertainty.
“I suppose there is no real harm,” Diana answered with a sigh. “There will be no time for afternoon rides for the next sennight anyway. And I daresay you should have a new habit before riding at the fashionable hour. We both have an entire wardrobe to order before we may be seen anywhere truly public, and we already have a full afternoon scheduled with the modiste and the haberdasher. You will keep a close watch over her, won’t you, Mister Pratt?”
“As if she were me own, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mister Pratt. Then I shall rest assured with Vesta in your capable hands.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Still accustomed to unfashionable country habits, Vesta rose with the sun to prepare for her ride, dressing hastily in her green velvet habit with matching cocked hat. Just as promised, Pratt appeared with her favorite mare, a sprightly dappled-gray named Artemis. Once given a leg up, Vesta barely gave Pratt time to mount before she was eagerly trotting off toward Grosvenor gate. The fog was gently lifting and the morning air crisp. Her eager mount’s snorting breath formed vapor in the air as Artemis danced along, shaking her head in impatience.
Riding north toward the parade grounds, the park was nearly deserted until the silence was broken by the rumble of the earth and the thunder of hooves, not of a single horse, but of an entire herd! Vesta pulled up her horse to watch in fascination as a troop of dragoons passed her by and proceeded to perform cavalry maneuvers.
Although they wore the traditional scarlet coats of the British army, their uniforms were unusual and distinct from any others she had ever seen, with brilliant white breeches, shiny black knee boots, and helmets of black leather crested with scarlet horsehair. Most notable was the troop’s guidon, with the ominous-looking skull and crossbones on a crimson background with Or Glory stamped underneath.
“The colors? What do they mean?” she asked Pratt.
“Death or Glory is the motto of the Seventeenth Light Dragoons,” answered Pratt. “That there be Captain Hew’s troop,” he added with obvious pride.
“Captain Hew?”
“Aye, his lordship’s brother returned six months ago from the Americas. That be him at the head, miss. A war hero and capital horseman is Captain Hew.”
She watched the captain, transfixed on his broad, rigid back and powerful shoulders emphasized by the silver epaulettes. “He is, indeed, quite a horseman,” Vesta gushed. In her many years of fox hunting and attending race matches, she had never seen such an impressive or awe-inspiring display of equestrian prowess. The longer she observed the perfectly balanced horseman’s seat and his authoritative bearing, the more effort it was to regulate both her breathing and her fluttering heart, for Captain Hewett DeVere was truly the most magnificent sight she had ever seen.
***
“You have a visitor, madam.” Jenkins presented Diana a card on a silver salver.
“Do I, indeed? But it is unusually early in the day for social calls.” Diana took up the card with a frown. “Captain Hewett DeVere?”
“Yes, my lady. He awaits in the withdrawing room. Are you at home?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is he alone or accompanied?”
“He has come quite alone, madam.”
She slowly released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “Then pray convey that I will be with him shortly, and then tell Polly to send Vesta down as soon as she is made presentable.”
Diana performed a brief but critical inspection in the mirror, pinned up an errant curl, and smoothed her gown before descending to greet her gentleman caller.
He turned from the window when she entered, regarding her first with a look of surprise and then with a charming smile full of white, even teeth that drew attention from the deep scar on the right side of his face, now marring his once boyishly handsome features. When he strode toward her, she also noticed his uneven gait.
He bowed and took her hand in both of his. “Baroness,” he said. “I am stunned. Ned said a female relation would chaperone Vesta, but I had no idea it was you!”
“It is because I asked Edward not to name me. To avoid awkwardness, you see.”
“You refer to my brother?”
“Indeed, captain. I truly should like to avoid his company. It would only conjure unpleasant memories.”
“But he is Vesta’s godfather and cannot shirk his duty.”
“Mayhap you can stand in for him?” she suggested.
“It would be my great honor to do so, but surely you don’t hold Ludovic to blame for your husband’s—”
“No, but there was so much that occurred,” she answered vaguely. “I only wish to keep it all in the past.”
“I am sure he will respect your wishes as much as is possible, but meeting again is an inevitability now that you are both in town.”
“La! I think not, captain. For your brother and I surely dwell in vastly different circles. His reputation for debauchery extends even as far as Yorkshire.”
It was Hew’s turn to flush. “He is not as black as he is often painted.”
“So I am told.” She forced a smile. “Perhaps you are a redeeming influence?”
“I can only wish,” he replied.
“I suppose you are right.” Diana sighed. “If he were to take it upon himself to call, it would be discourteous of me to turn him away, but I beg that you would do all possible to discourage him from doing so.”
“And if you should otherwise meet?”
She gave a noncommittal smile. “Then I will deal with that eventuality as the occasion warrants.”
“You are all that is gracious, my lady, and as lovely as I recall.” Diana felt heat tinge her face. He still hadn’t released her hand, and then he raised it unexpectedly to his mouth, brushing it softly with his lips. “Our past acquaintance was cut short by tragedy. I can only hope you will allow me to renew it.” He studied her for a long, questioning moment.
Diana had seen that look before, but while Hew, even scarred, was a handsome man with commanding self-possession, his deep-blue gaze seemed a pale imitation of his brother’s by comparison. She hastily shook off the thoroughly unsettling image of Ludovic DeVere. She also retrieved her hand.
“I thank you for calling, captain. I am only sorry you did not have the opportunity to meet Vesta. She is a truly lovely girl.”
***
Vesta returned home feeling as if she floated on air. While denied the energetic ride she was accustomed to, she still felt as exhilarated as if she had galloped the whole of Doncaster heath. She had come to London to begin looking for a husband, only to find the first eligible male she encountered was the man of her dreams. Captain Hewett DeVere was handsome, dashing, brave, and sat a horse like a centaur. He was also brother of her own godfather! In sum, her ideal of masculine perfection. Now, the only obstacles remaining were the acquisition of a replacement wardrobe and an introduction.
She descended the stairs with a secret smile, lost in her fantasies, each of the various scenarios playing out with Captain Hewett DeVere declaring his undying passion and prostrating himself at her feet. At the entrance to the withdrawing room, Vesta’s feet froze, and her fluttering heart seized. For there, in all of his crimson shining glory, was Captain Hewett DeVere. It was as if her guardian angel, who she was convinced must be her cherished mama, had answered her dearest wish.
She paused on the threshold, her secret smile evaporating at the moonstruck look on the captain’s face as he
kissed her godmother’s hand.
“Then I shall call again at the first opportunity.” Although he spoke in farewell, he hesitated, as if reluctant to depart.
Fearing he would leave before she ever got to speak with him, Vesta stepped into the room, yet upon entering into the sphere of her hero, she felt like a dowdy school chit next to the beautiful Diana. She realized dismally that her girlish attire did nothing to dispel that illusion. She also felt suddenly self-conscious, shy, and tongue-tied, as if her newfound resolution had already deserted her.
“Ah, here is Vesta now!” said Diana. “Come forward, my sweet. We have a gentleman caller whom you must meet. This is Captain Hewett DeVere, brother to your very own godfather.”
Marshaling as much composure as she could command, Vesta offered her hand and dipped into her most graceful curtsey. When she raised her head to look him full in the face, she at once noticed the scar, but without the revulsion she might have expected. Instead, she was overcome with a powerful urge to trace it with her fingers. Was it a sabre wound, she wondered. How had it happened? What had he suffered in the war?
She elevated her chin another notch to stare into eyes of the deepest blue that regarded her not with the avid interest she had seen only a moment ago when he looked upon Di but with something more akin to avuncular condescension. He released her hand and gave her a formal bow. “So you are little Vesta?”
He hadn’t even kissed her hand! She wanted to stamp her foot in fury! Why did he address her as a child? She was eighteen, a woman grown. Never had she despised her petite frame and lack of inches more!
“Lady Vesta, sir,” she corrected with what she hoped was suitable hauteur. “I am now eighteen. Old enough for my come-out...old enough to wed.”
He chucked her playfully under the chin with a laugh. “And no doubt you will charm them all.”
“I saw you this morning,” she blurted. “On the parade grounds at Hyde Park.”
“Did you now?”
“Indeed, you...I mean your horses...they were magnificent.”
The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2) Page 2
