The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(14)

“But why?” Vesta asked innocently as she removed her bonnet and gloves. “I was with my godfather.”

Diana led her into the drawing room. “But how was I to know that, Vesta? And moreover, how came you to be with him in the first place?”

Vesta bit her lip. “Did I not say? He invited me for a drive.”

“No! You didn’t say!” Diana retorted.

Vesta tried to look suitably contrite. “I’m so sorry to have worried you, Aunt Di, but I was so eager to see my godfather, and he has yet to pay a call.”

“I would strongly discourage him from doing so, Vesta.”

“But why?”

“Because you are in my charge and should do as I ask,” Diana replied with an evasiveness Vesta couldn’t comprehend.

“But he has a box at the Theatre Royal for us, Aunt Di!” Vesta protested. “It’s for The Maid of The Oaks. By the by, I’ve invited Uncle Vic and Captain Hew for afternoon tea tomorrow.”

“Tell me you did not!” Diana retorted with an expression of outraged mixed with dismay.

“But I just told you I did! Why should I not? I am excessively fond of my godfather. This is my father’s house, after all, and Uncle Vic is his best friend. Besides, you appear to have no objection to entertaining Captain Hew.”

Diana sniffed. “That is my own business, young lady. Besides, they may be brothers, but I assure you the two are cut from distinctly different cloth.”

“You are unfair, Aunt Di!”

“I have my reasons to be, Vesta. You may entertain him if you like, but I feel a megrim coming on and just may feel the need to spend tomorrow abed. I pray you will make my excuses to Lord DeVere.”

“Of course, I shall,” said Vesta. She smiled her secret smile, thinking the hand couldn’t have played out any better.

***

“Where have you been, missy?” Polly scolded Vesta with a wagging finger the moment she entered her bedchamber. “My poor lady was almost in vapors after you disappeared. They all but raised hue and cry over you.”

“Hew? Captain Hew?” Vesta said breathlessly.

Polly shook her head. “A hue and a cry, daft girl.”

Vesta glared. “I had need of some air.”

“Four hours worth?” The maid shook out Vesta’s discarded shawl with a snap.

“I remembered I needed something from the apothecary. But then I got lost.”

“And you just happened to find yourself again?” Polly’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I found my godfather who took me up in his chaise. Indeed, it’s even now parked in the mews. He said he has given it and a postillion for my exclusive use so I need never get lost again. It’s so much more practical and maneuverable on these crowded streets than Papa’s great lumbering traveling coach.”

Polly’s eyes widened in her fleshy face. “Do you mean to say you was out driving with that dev—with Lord DeVere?”

“Of course. We drove to Richmond where he showed me some sights and then had Pratt drive me home.”

Polly gave her a chastising look. “While my poor lady wore herself out after she and Captain Hew spent nigh on three hours traipsing over London looking for you.”

“Captain Hew?” Vesta said. “He was worried about me?”

“More like he was worried about my lady what was worried about you.”

“Must you sour everything, Polly!” Vesta willed herself not to emphasize the statement with a foot stomp. “Did the gowns arrive yet? They were supposed to be delivered this afternoon, were they not?”

“Aye. There be a day dress, a riding habit, and an evening gown apiece, along with all the gloves, fans, and other finery from the haberdasher.”

“Ooh!” Vesta squealed. “I must see them at once!”

When Polly laid the three ensembles out on the bed for inspection, Vesta admired the riding habit she’d ordered in crimson to match Captain Hew’s uniform, thinking it would certainly suffice. She thought the military cut of it gave an impression of maturity and even enhanced her scanty, five-foot-two-inch height. The other two gowns, modestly fashioned in soft, satin pastels in the new French shepherdess mode that had delighted Vesta only days ago, now seemed juvenile choices. Her heart sank. How could she ever get Hew to notice her when she looked no more sophisticated than a dairy maid?

“Please fetch Aunt Di’s gowns,” she commanded. “I wish to see those as well.”

Polly heaved a sigh and brought in a lovely gown in old gold, one cut to show off Diana’s generously proportioned figure, but also one that would perfectly bring out the golden hue in Vesta’s hazel eyes. “It appears the modiste has made a mistake,” Vesta said. “This one should have been fashioned for me. Pray call for Mister Pratt. I shall need the carriage at once.”

***

“Pratt,” began Vesta, “if one had virtually infinite resources at one’s disposal, what do you suppose would be the most expeditious route from London to Scotland?”

“What part of Scotland?”

“Any part, I suppose, but let’s suppose I should like to visit Edinburgh.”

Pratt scratched his chin. “’Tis quite a journey by post-chaise, miss. Fastest be the London to Edinburgh Fly what takes five days to a sennight, depending on the roads.”