The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(4)

The viscount considered the question for a long moment. “Horses,” he answered. “I care a bloody great deal about my stables.”

“If you weren’t my own brother, I’d think you one heartless bastard.”

Ludovic laughed outright. “Don’t let the blood connection stop you.” He then poured some brandy into his coffee and raised his cup in salute. “You already know it’s true, little brother, and for the record, it’s all the more reason I should not be the one to procreate!”

“Fifty thousand,” Hew countered.

“Done.” Ludovic’s smile told him he should have held out for more.





CHAPTER THREE




When the carriage finally pulled into the mews at the house on Upper Grosvenor Street, Vesta was beside herself with excitement. She had looked forward to her coming out from the moment she left pigtails behind, and now she was finally here to be presented to the sophisticated world as a woman grown. It was almost enough to make her forget the odors and confused tumult of the crowded city streets.

“Is it always like this, Aunt Di?” she asked. “The stench? And the noise? How does one ever sleep?”

“It is, indeed, a far cry from Yorkshire, my lamb.” Her guardian laughed. “But you shall soon adjust. You are more affected by it because it is strange and unusual to you, but over time, you will come to barely notice the foul smells or the sounds.”

“That’s hard to imagine!” She plied a delicate, violet-scented handkerchief to her nose. Nevertheless, Vesta alighted from her father’s traveling coach bubbling with enthusiasm. “Isn’t it all lovely, Aunt Di?” she exclaimed at their elegant new abode with its private-walled rose garden.

“It is perfect for us.” The elder woman smiled.

The house was, indeed, perfect, and Vesta’s lavish bedchamber of pink and gold chintz even commanded a view of Hyde Park. Her father had told her that half the reason he had chosen the house was for its proximity to the Park through Grosvenor Gate. Knowing her passion for early morning gallops, he had also taken the trouble to send ahead her two favorite horses. No doubt it was an effort to get back into her good graces, but Vesta still didn’t know if she could ever truly forgive him. Yet perhaps she was already beginning to soften—just a little. She had nearly been moved to tears when Papa held her tightly and kissed her head upon their farewell. But then again, it was also her first trip away from home.

While her abigail, Polly, attended to her unpacking, Vesta threw herself onto the canopy bed, closed her eyes, and fantasized about the parties, balls, operas, and theater. She pictured the exquisite gowns she would wear that would be the envy of every other young debutante, for though her father might not be a lord, Sir Edward Chambers was extremely prosperous, and where Vesta was concerned, he was generous to a fault.

“Lady Vesta Chambers has come to take the town by storm.” She giggled aloud. “I will be the belle of every ball and will catch the handsomest and most eligible husband in all London.”

Polly snorted. “Pretty is as pretty does.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you would do well to conduct yourself more as milady does,” the maid chided.

“In what way?”

“To start, ye’d be well advised to at least feign some modesty. For titled gents are known to place high value on such feminine virtues.”

“Lackaday, Polly! I won’t pretend to be some simpering ninny hammer for anyone! Besides, what would you know? You’re not a lady, and you’ve never even caught a husband.”

The maid’s spine stiffened, and her face flushed. “That may be, but I’ve been a lady’s maid nigh on twenty years and can surely tell a lady of quality from a pretender.”

The barb striking its target, Vesta stuck out her tongue as soon as Polly’s back was turned. “But are there not also gentlemen who prefer spirit in their women?” she asked. “They surely do in their horses.”

“Aye, there be some like that,” the maid answered with an added warning, “And those be the ones to steer clear away from.”

“And why is that?” Vesta idly twirled a curl.

“Because them what does mostly enjoy breaking the spirit? It be the challenge, ye see.”

“Oh? But what happens when a spirit won’t be broken?”

“A life of misery,” the maid answered with aplomb. “For when a woman weds, she becomes the property of her husband to do wi’ whatever he wishes. If he wishes to beat her into submission, that be his right to do so. Do ye ken, my lady?”

Vesta digested this bit of information with a thoughtful moue. “Then I shall take great care to observe how my future husband handles his horses.”

“Incorrigible chit. I don’t ken what my mistress was thinking.” The maid shook her head with a martyr’s sigh.

***

“I noticed the knocker is up on the house on Upper Grosvenor when I went for my morning ride,” Captain DeVere declared to his brother as he removed his gloves.

“I am well aware,” remarked Lord DeVere while his manservant lathered his face and neck with shaving soap.

“Then you received notice of Vesta’s arrival?”

“Not officially, but I make it my business to keep informed.”