The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(15)

“That is a long time.” Vesta digested this with a frown. “It would also necessitate many stops along the way at coaching inns.” She sighed. “No, I’m afraid it just won’t answer at all, Pratt.”

“The only other way, miss, would be by sea. I reckon ‘twould shorten the journey by at least two days, mayhap more if the winds be favorable.”

“By sea? You are so very clever, Pratt! I never would have considered it! Tell me now, does his lordship have a boat?”

***

“A missive from the miss, my lord,” said Pratt with a grin.

“And how are you getting by with the little rogue?” DeVere idly asked as he broke the wax seal. He scanned the contents and shook his head with a laugh. He then rang for his majordomo.

“She sure be a taking little thing, my lord,” said Pratt.

“So she’s won you over too, eh? Taking, indeed! But the question still remains whether Hew will take her.”

Pratt’s grin broadened. “Wi’ all due respect to the cap’n, my lord, do ye truly think he will have much say in’t?”

DeVere roared with mirth. “By the look of things, I’d say highly unlikely!”

When Winchester promptly appeared, DeVere handed him the billet with the command, “See it done at once.”

***

“You will not wear such a gown for afternoon tea,” Polly declared. “It is far too mature and revealing for a chit of your age.”

“Why should you always be such a Marplot, Polly? I had it especially made to match my eyes, and I will wear it,” Vesta insisted with a militant look. She turned left and right in front of the glass, admiring the way it emphasized her modest, feminine curves. She had thrust her bosom as high as it would go when Polly laced her stays and was now quite pleased with the effect.

“Besides, you know I’m attending the theater this evening. Why should I change twice? And you will dress my hair fashionably today. I wish to look tall, statuesque.”

Polly snorted.

Yet, two hours later, Vesta descended the stairs in her new gold gown with matching high-heeled slippers, looking very much the lady of the manor. At Vesta’s relentless cajoling, Polly had teased, pomaded, and piled her hair a full six inches high upon her head, making her feel regal indeed.

She entered the drawing room with mincing little steps that made her skirts sway gracefully. Greeting her guests with just the right amount of sophisticated hauteur, she extended her hand first to her godfather who air-kissed it and then to Captain Hew who, to her disappointment, merely bowed over it.

Still, her heart leaped with joy when his brows shot up upon taking in her dress. “Lady Vesta? That’s quite a remarkable gown. Do you go out this evening?”

“Indeed. Uncle V...my lord has graciously offered his box at the Theatre Royal.”

“Ah, The Maid of the Oaks,” he said.

“I understand the play is written by General Burgoyne,” she said. “Did you know the general was a playwright, Captain Hew?” She beckoned them both to sit. Lord DeVere astutely chose the chair, leaving the settle for Vesta and Hew.

“I did,” Hew said. “His works have become quite popular. You might be interested to know this same play is named for an estate neighboring my brother’s in Epsom.”

“Is that so, Unc...my lord?” she asked her godfather.

“Yes. The general is the son-in-law of Lord Derby whose estate, The Oaks, is very near to my own Woodcote Park.”

“That is very enlightening,” Vesta said, maintaining her sophisticated sang-froid. She turned to the cart. “Shall I pour tea now?”

The captain looked about inquiringly. “Is the baroness not to join us?”

Vesta poured three cups, squeezing a generous amount of lemon juice and spooning copious amounts of honey into all three. She handed the first to Lord DeVere and the second to Captain Hew. “Aunt Di sends her regrets, Captain DeVere. Unfortunately, she won’t be able to join us. She is feeling rather indisposed.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Hew said.

“I don’t suppose so.” Vesta wrinkled her brow. “It’s another megrim. She is quite plagued with them, you know, although they seem to come less frequently now that she’s taken to sherry.”

“Sherry?” Hew repeated with a raised brow, while DeVere sputtered on his tea.

“For strictly medicinal purposes, you understand,” Vesta explained with exaggerated solicitude. “But when she drinks it, the poor dear sleeps the whole rest of the day.”

“Does she, indeed?” Hew frowned.

“Yes. In fact, I sent the footman an hour ago for two more bottles.”

DeVere’s mouth began to twitch. Vesta gave him a warning glare.

Hew took a sip from his cup and made a face.

“Do you not like the tea, Captain Hew?” Vesta gave him an injured look.

“It is exceedingly sweet, my lady,” he stated apologetically. “I generally drink my tea plain.”

“Nothing at all to enhance it?” she asked.

“No. I was on campaign for nearly four years and became accustomed to drinking it so.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “How thoughtless of me for not asking! It’s just this is the way my dear mama always made it for me.” She gave a little sniff. “I will ring for another cup.”