The Virgin Huntress (2 page)

“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, but I expect you to do your part too.”

“Of course. I would be honored.”

“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 damned fool up and married the chit when he surely could have enjoyed her without the leg shackles. Three years of celibacy surely affected his brain.”

“He has only a daughter. Perhaps he still seeks an heir. Speaking of which, do you never think of your own legacy?”

“It’s far too early, and I’m far too sober to contemplate such a topic. I generally prefer a couple bottles of port before waxing philosophic.”

“But what if you had not escaped the Turks? We are the last of the DeVeres, and you live recklessly. What if I’d been killed at Cowpens rather than just wounded?”

“Now
that’s
a highly disconcerting thought.”

“Precisely, Vic. You should wed. Just because one woman turned out to be a shameless grasping jade—”

Ludovic threw down his periodical with a scowl. “And wherever an ass falls, there he will never fall again.”

“I indeed marvel at that, Vic.” Hew beckoned the hovering footman for more coffee.

“That I have remained unwed?”

“No, that you are still an ass.” Hew grinned. “Although yet an
unmated
ass.”

“And that is precisely the state I intend to maintain. A man who lives alone is a god unto himself.”

“And a devil unto others.” Hew gave an exasperated sigh. Ludovic was six and thirty, Hew’s senior by eight years. With vast properties and a healthy fortune, he was expected to have settled down long ago, but following a jilt on the eve of his engagement, he had begun a downward spiral of drinking and whoring from which he’d never emerged. Now, over a dozen years later, it was his chosen lifestyle: drinking, whoring, and horses, that was. Ludovic’s one true, unwavering passion was his racing stud.

Hew studied his brother for a long, silent moment. “How can you wish to continue on indefinitely in this empty life you lead? You have an obligation, Vic. You should give the matter some serious reflection.”

Ludovic tipped his chair back with a devious grin. “Actually, dear brother, I already have.”

“What do you mean?” Hew asked. “You are going to take a wife at last?”

“No, dear boy.” Ludovic chuckled. “
You are.
”

It was a long moment before Hew could regain his powers of speech. “I can’t possibly have heard you correctly.”

“But I assure you, you did,” Ludovic said. “You see, I
have
thought about my obligation to ensure the propagation of little DeVeres and find I am not the slightest disposed to it. As matters stand, you would inherit all should anything unforeseen befall me. Therefore, Hew, I deem it
your
onus to get the heir.”

“But the title is
your
birthright.”

“And so it shall remain until my demise, which, by the by, I don’t hope for any time soon. Pursuant to that eventuality, however, you must ensure that I am not without an heir.”

“Me? You truly think to put this matter upon me?” Hew was astounded but not because he was opposed to the notion. On the contrary, unlike his brother who was completely hardened to women, Hew had long looked forward to taking a wife. He had even hoped to do just that once the war was over, and now with peace declared, only his finances remained an impediment.

“I can surely make it worth your while.”

“You would bribe me?” Hew asked.

“Let us call it an inducement. I mean to offer you a very generous settlement for your capitulation to enter the connubial state.”

“You
are
in earnest then?” Hew met his brother’s icy-blue stare with a cool one of his own, knowing it would be a grave error to show any eagerness. To do so would greatly diminish his negotiating power, but if he played his hand well, this strange turn of events could certainly enhance his future prospects. “How generous?”

“I am prepared to assign over the Staffordshire estate, one of the most productive of my holdings, and to place another thirty thousand in trust. You must, of course, sell your commission. It would be inconceivably inconvenient if you were to get yourself killed before completing your end of this bargain.”

“You need not fear on that score as I have just accepted the position of riding master to
what remains
of the Seventeenth Light Dragoons. It is a role in which I can function unimpaired by my injuries. But what of the
broodmare?
” Hew thought this too good to be true, that there must be a catch somewhere. “I can only assume you have someone already in mind.”

“Surprisingly, I do not,” Ludovic said. “I would not have you curse me the rest of your days. I shall let you enter hell by your own chosen path. I only ask that she be of good stock and bring a respectable dowry.”

“A broodmare with a fortune then. You know they say there is no greater rogue than a man who weds only for money.”

“And no greater fool than one who weds for love,” his brother quipped.

“Love does exist, you know,” Hew said.

“You waste your breath.”

Hew shrugged. “I hate to think you a hopeless case. You’ve never kept a mistress above a month, never formed any lingering romantic attachment. Tell me, Ludovic, is there anything you truly care about?”

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.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

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.”

“Do you think we should perhaps pay a courtesy call?” Hew asked.

“I am devoid of your enthusiasm to do so, Hew,” Ludovic replied in a bored tone. He continued while the valet stropped the blades. “I have already sent Pratt this morning to convey my compliments and offer his services. As for myself, it is generally my preference to fulfill social obligations only when truly obliged to do so. I know it is inevitable, but it can wait another day.”

“But they are two women alone in London,” Hew answered. “Even if you do not feel it your duty to pay the initial call, I do.”

“Far be from me to stop you then, brother mine. As for me, I have a prior engagement at Tattersall’s this afternoon, and then I am off to see to some things at Epsom. Care to defer the duty call and join me instead?” He raised his chin for the first swipe of the razor.

“No, thank you, but I’ll be sure to make your excuses. When do you return from Woodcote Park?”

The valet paused to allow his answer. “I haven’t given it any thought. Must you always plan everything?”

“It suits me to do so,” said Hew. “I find a measure of comfort in routine.”

“And I find it excessive tedium,” said DeVere. “But have it your way. I should be back the day after tomorrow. We’ll sup together then.”

***

“There is a messenger for you, my lady,” announced the stony-faced butler.