A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(44)

"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? Viscount 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."

"Please…I'd much rather avoid any contact with DeVere.

"If you wish Vesta to accompany you, I won't hear another word."

She spun around. "But—"

His darkening look squelched further protest, and though she felt like she was sucking on a lemon, Diana forced a smile. "Very well. I see I have no choice. If in need, I will call upon DeVere." When pigs take flight...





Chapter Fourteen


DeVere House, Bloomsbury Square, London

"It is officially finished at last," Hew declared with a sigh.

"What is finished?" Ludovic replied from behind the pages of Heber's Racing Calendar.

"The war. They have signed the Treaty of Paris. Though I'm thankful for the cease of bloodshed, this also means I am now consigned to obscurity and idleness as a half-pay officer."

He lowered the periodical enough to peer at Hew. "Perhaps you can clarify for me, dear brother, which part of that statement disturbs you most? The obscurity or the idleness?"

Hew returned a half smile. "The obscurity, of course. 'Death or glory' is the motto of the Seventeenth Dragoons, after all. Over half my troop achieved the dubious honor of the former at the Battle of Cowpens while I survived with little to show but a half-dozen scars and a limp. And we failed, Vic. In the end, it was all for naught. We have lost the war."

"Still, obscure idleness seems extraordinarily underrated when compared to a glorious death."

"Surely our birth order was some cosmic mix up or a freak of nature," Hew remarked with a shake of his head. He laid down The Gazetteer to sip his coffee and sift through the mail. "You've a letter from Ned."

"Open it for me, will you?"

Hew broke the seal and scanned a few lines.

"Well, what does he say? Is he already harboring regrets? If so, there's nothing for it now."

"He says little. Only that his daughter, Vesta, will be coming for the season, chaperoned by a female relation. He sends his regrets that he and Phoebe will not arrive until a few weeks later. He also asks if you will stable a couple of horses for them."

"Of course, and then we'll be expected to dance attendance on them, walking the minuet and driving in the park with little Vesta and her dragon duenna." Ludovic glowered. "Bloody fabulous."

"She is your goddaughter."

"And I shall wait on her accordingly. Damn but I still can't believe Ned made such a cake of himself over a Covent Garden actress."

"That would be Phoebe?" Hew asked.

"Yes. The besotted fool up and married the chit when he surely could have enjoyed her without the leg shackles. The years spent in mourning and celibacy surely affected his brain."