The Devil You Know (The Devil DeVere #3)(9)

Though the duchess seemed to go out of her way to attract his 23

The Devil You Know

attention with frequent touches and over-bright laughter, Diana thought he seemed far more interested in his other companions.

The meal was a lengthy event with more covers and dishes than Diana could ever have counted accompanied by the best wines she’d ever tasted. The hours were highlighted with bright conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter, interposed with brief silences only upon the removal of each cover.

“This is quite a remarkable house, my lord,” Annalee said.

“You implied earlier that it has an interesting history. Perhaps you might share it with us now?”

DeVere leaned back in his chair and signaled for more wine all around. “The story of the house itself is quite innocuous. It is the iniquity of the past owner who has brought it to infamy.”

“Iniquitous?” The duchess’s eyes gleamed. “But surely you tease us.”

His mouth kicked up in one corner. “My dear, I assure you the wolf can identify the beast.”

“Go on then,” Ned prompted with unrestrained eagerness.

“You have us all ears now.”

“Let none accuse me of refusing anything to my guests,” said DeVere. After emptying his glass, he slumped back in lazy repose, dangling the stem between his fingers. “This house and park were built one hundred years ago by the Evelyn family but passed on to the Calvert family—the Barons Baltimore, the Proprietary Governors of Maryland. The third Baron pulled down most of the old house and made extensive improvements to include the present Palladian fa?ade, but there is little of interest until the estate passed to the Sixth Baron, Frederick Calvert, a man whose life was rife with scandal, from the cradle to the grave.”

“How so?” asked Ned.

“You shall see for yourself if you merely incline your heads to the long wall to the left. Call it an absurd vagary, but I have taken it upon myself to remove the two portraits from the gilt monstrosity that serves as a library to hang them here, side by side.”

All eyes turned to study the portraits.

“What do you see?” asked DeVere.

Annalee responded first. “Each is a young nobleman of similar age, and they bear a striking resemblance one to another.

Brothers, mayhap?”

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Victoria Vane

“I have seen one of these portraits!” exclaimed the duchess.

“The one to the right is clearly Frederick, Prince of Wales, the father of our own King George. Yet the other does not resemble any of his living brothers, the royal dukes. Who is it, darling?”

DeVere inclined his head toward Caroline. “You have correctly identified the Prince, Your Grace, but the portrait to the left is another Frederick altogether—Frederick Calvert, Sixth Baron Baltimore and the late owner of this house. The Prince of Wales was his godfather.”

“Merely his godfather?” She arched her delicately penciled brow.

“Officially, yes. Though I surmise his true parentage is suspect. Calvert’s father was a Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the prince, who we all know was a great philanderer. In looking at these portraits, one wonders if Lady Baltimore might have also have taken some less official role in the prince’s bedchamber? Yet his questionable birth is only the beginning of this wastrel’s tale.”

“Whatever did he do?” asked the duchess.

DeVere laughed. “One might better ask what he didn’t do!”

DeVere continued his narrative, “Frederick came into a vast fortune upon his father’s death, but had little interest in the adminis-tration of his holdings. Instead, he appointed a sub-governor for Maryland and took himself off for extensive continental travels.

The influence of his grand tour is seen in the tawdry appoint-ments of this house.” DeVere rolled his eyes at the frescoed ceiling above them. “With all of these Italian frescos and friezes, Co-rinthian columns, plaster work, and gilt furnishings, it is as if he endeavored to create his own little Versailles. In addition to his execrable taste— “

“But I think it’s lovely,” Annalee interrupted, craning her neck to better study the depiction of Verrio’s Ganymede.

DeVere gave her half shrug. “Chacun son go?t, my dear. On any account, Frederick proved a profligate of the highest order.”

“Let not my brother the pot, call the kettle burnt-arse,” said Hew. “You bought this place, after all.”

DeVere looked affronted. “Accused by my own blood.” He raised his glass in a laughing salute.

“Your history of the house is diverting, darling, but let us hear more of the iniquity.” Caroline leaned into him until her breasts caressed his arm.

25

The Devil You Know

“I live only to indulge you, my pet,” said DeVere.

“Oh?” The duchess smiled, and Diana noticed one of her hands slip under the table.

DeVere’s expression seemed to change, yet he continued his narrative. “The scandals that followed our young prodigal were sordid enough to have inspired Hogarth’s Rake’s Progress had he lived a generation earlier. As I said, Frederick travelled extensive-ly and always with a grand entourage. He also gambled away a great deal of his wealth and was in need of a boost to his coffers upon his return. Thus, he wed a younger daughter of the Duke of Bridgewater. It was considered an advantageous match on both sides, but they were constantly at odds with one another. ‘Tis no great surprise, of course. No man loves his fetters, be they made of gold.”