A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(12)

"Ah! A shrew-wife! It all becomes clear now. No wonder the man sought escape."

"Is he here then? The Baron Palmerston-Wriothesley?"

"Aye, but I fear Lard Reggie has already wearied of my hospitality."

"Wearied, you say? Mayhap it's the exhaustion of his pockets that's to blame?" DeVere remarked with a knowing smile.

O'Kelly returned a conspiratorial look and a great gap-toothed laugh. "It costs a great deal to keep such a great house and fine stables as these."

"Indeed, it does," DeVere agreed. "How much, O'Kelly?" he asked, the smile lingering on his mouth but disappearing from his eyes.

O'Kelly's gaze took on a hard, calculating look. "That is a private matter between jontlemen, yer lardship."

"I am sensitive to your honorable discretion in the matter, but the gentleman in question is kinsman to my closest friend. Thus, I only endeavor to save embarrassment to all. Perhaps you might permit me to buy his vowels?"

"A fine and generous offer, but perhaps your lardship might wish to know the amount of the debt before making such a pledge?"

DeVere steepled his fingers. "It is so extensive?"

"I fear the jontlemen has no luck at all with the dice. Three thousand guineas lost at Hazard. Had to send to his banker. Some business about a deed as surety on the debt." O'Kelly waved his fleshy hand in a dismissive gesture as if the money meant little. DeVere knew better.

"Then I ask what would you require by way of incentive to allow me to buy the paper? Would ten percent suffice?"

"I raise my glass to you, my lard. It's not often I find such like-mindedness in the nobility. I think we can do business for twenty."

"While I am eager to assist my friends, sir, I don't readily accept extortion. Twelve is my final offer."

"Then twelve it is." With a broad smile, O'Kelly spit on his hand and offered it to DeVere.

***

Diana rose from her bed at the clattering sound of carriage wheels and ironshod hooves on the cobbles below. Drawing aside the velvet drapes of the second story window, she peered down to watch the trio pull Reggie's slumped form out of the carriage. Shouldered between Ned and Hew, they half-carried and half-dragged him into the house. At first she deliberated going downstairs to meet them, but knew any conversation with Reggie in his current state of inebriation would be pointless.

As proof of her wisdom, only moments later, muffled curses and snatches of drunken song assailed her ears through the dressing room separating his and her bedchambers. Relieved that he had at least arrived safely, she shed her wrapper and climbed back into bed. Yet sleep eluded her. Diana lay there wondering morosely if this was all she had to look forward to for the next twenty or thirty years.

As a dutiful daughter, she had wed the groom of her father's choosing, a genial country gentleman with a love of hunting and a strong penchant for claret, a man exactly like her own father. But unlike her mother, Diana had found little satisfaction in ordering her extensive household like a well-run regiment and in filling her days with a frenzy of domestic activity while her husband attended to his hounds, horses…and whores. She could only assume the latter. In the past few years, Reggie's drinking and forays to races and hunting events had increased, while his visits to her bedchamber steadily declined, leaving her to imagine the worst. When he was in drink, Diana had learned to bolt her door, and eventually, he had ceased to molest her altogether.

In recent months, they had rarely crossed paths at all and even then, had barely spoken beyond the polite civilities. Now at only eight and twenty, Diana was restless in body, withering in spirit, and growing daily more embittered by disillusionment. She pondered how her life might have been different, had she never wed at all and if she might one day find the contentment in widowhood that she had never known in marriage. She further speculated on how soon that day might actually come, a thought that shocked her and filled her with guilt.

Of course, she would never wish any actual harm to Reggie. Yet years ago, she used to lay awake in bed until the wee hours awaiting his stumbling step up the staircase. Now she slept soundly whether he was at home or not. And when she imagined him not coming home at all, the thought no longer disturbed her peace. Try as she might, she could never seem to command any sense of grief or remorse.

She wished things could have been different, but knew the relationship was far beyond hope of repair. She had entered the marriage with quiet optimism that in time, affection, if not love, would develop. But she now questioned whether she still had any capacity for love at all or if her heart had dried up altogether, leaving in its place just a hollow shell.

Unable to sleep, but not desiring to disturb her maid, Diana donned her wrapper. Wondering if a glass of wine and a book might sooth her restlessness, she lit a candle and softly descended the stairs, thinking to seek both of these in DeVere's library.

***

DeVere gave Ned a wolfish smile. "Repique."

"Blast it all! Ned threw down his hand. "I can never win against you!"

"Far be it for me to discourage you from trying." DeVere laughed.

"Well I shan't try any longer, or I'd be as great an addle-pate as Reggie. You are sure he's ruined?" Ned asked.

"O'Kelly had his vowels to the tune of three thousand," said DeVere.

Ned gave a low whistle. "He is surely finished then. While the estate is well-managed—largely due to Diana's involvement—it is not a vast property. I don't believe they receive more than seven or eight hundred a year income from it. A thousand pounds, tops."