The Devil's Match (10 page)

“Then you will be friends?”

“I don’t know, but I refuse to be her adversary
any longer. You might reconsider your own feelings in the
matter.”

“Actually, Aunt Di, I already have, for a woman
in love sees all things in quite a different light.”

Diana arched a brow. “Does she, indeed?”

“But of course!” Vesta grinned. “I am now
brimming with happiness so it only seems fair that Papa should be
happy too. And she will be his companion when I am gone. So it
seems nothing is quite what we thought. Nothing except for you,
Aunt Di. What shall you do when Hew and I are wed?”

“I haven’t yet decided. Mayhap I’ll just move in
with you and become nanny to your children.”

“Lackaday! You jest! Everyone knows nannies are
plump and wrinkled.” She furrowed her brow. “You know, I quite
think Polly might suit.”

The maid gave a loud snort.

“I thought you and Polly nigh despised one
another.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Vesta’s grin
broadened. “Polly and I have a perfect understanding of one
another. But that’s not what I came to tell you. You missed the big
announcement at breakfast. You and Phoebe will not have to attend
to a thing, because Hew and I are to be wed at Woodcote Park, my
godfather’s estate at Epsom.”

“What?” Diana shook her head. “Why?”

“Because the setting is lovely, and everyone
who’s anyone will already be there for the Derby. Hew and I love
the races. This way we can attend without any delay in the
nuptials. Uncle Vic is taking care of all the wedding arrangements.
So you see, it’s perfect.” She beamed.

Diana’s gaze narrowed. “Perfect for DeVere, you
mean. That’s the truth of it. The selfish cad simply wasn’t willing
to sacrifice a horse race for your wedding.”

“But you know how he is about his racing stud,
Aunt Di. It’s one of the only things he cares about. Besides, his
stallion won all his matches save one at Doncaster this week, and
he feels certain of a win in the two-thousand-guineas race.”

“Really? Did he happen to say which race he
lost?”

“I’m sure he did, but I paid little heed. If you
really wish to know, Papa could surely tell you. Why do you
ask?”

“Because I have a young mare in training at
Doncaster. I did not attend her maiden race because of your party,
but I received a message from my groom this morning that she won me
fifty guineas.”

“Did she, indeed?” Vesta squealed. “Then you
must take her to run at Epsom!”

“But Woodcote Park.” Diana shook her head. “You
must know after all that happened there, I have no wish ever to
return.”

“But it’s all in the past now, Aunt Di. Please
say you will come. I would be so very disappointed if you did not
stand up with us. Besides, wouldn’t it be a delight to see your
mare beat Uncle Vic’s stallion?” Vesta gave Diana a wicked
grin.

Diana hesitated for a long moment. There were so
many very good reasons not to go, but the temptation to do so was
overpowering. “I confess the only thing I would love more in this
world than to see Lord DeVere taken down a notch, would be to be
the one to do it. Yes, Vesta,” Diana replied, “I will go to Epsom
with you, and my mare will race.”

Chapter Ten

Woodcote Park, Epsom, two weeks later

The excursion from Doncaster to Epsom was
nothing like the melancholy journey Diana remembered from four
years prior. Wishing to banish all unhappy remembrances, she had
made certain it would be so. Instead of riding in the carriage with
Phoebe and the maids, she and Vesta had cajoled Hew and Sir Edward
to allow them to travel most of the trip on horseback. Joining the
gentlemen and small army of outriders and grooms, their pace had
been brisk and their spirits high, perhaps elevated even more so by
the frequent stops at the better taverns and posting houses along
the way.

When they finally arrived at DeVere’s country
house, Vesta was bubbling over with excitement. “Isn’t it lovely
here!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll take you over the grounds shortly,” said
Hew as he lifted his fiancée from the saddle and handed the horses
off to the grooms. “This expanse of park surrounding the house
abuts the Epsom racecourse.”

“How delightful! I am so happy to be arrived at
last. Only two more days, Hew.”Vesta sighed. “It’s been an
interminable torture to be in one another’s company and not be
permitted five minutes alone.”

“Your father is right to enforce the rules of
propriety,” Hew remarked.

“Lackaday! How unromantic you are.” Vesta
pouted.

“You should be pleased Hew respects your
father’s wishes,” Diana berated her.

“Aunt Di, don’t you ever crave stolen kisses in
moonlit gardens? But then again, you had ample opportunity the
night of the engagement party, did you not?” Vesta gave a
mischievous laugh.

“You knew we were out there and locked the door?
How could you?” Diana protested.

“My apologies, Diana,” said Hew, “I was unaware
of her mischief. I told her not to interfere where you and my
brother are concerned.”

“It matters little now,” Diana murmured half to
herself. “For here I am, back where it all began.”

“Are you all right?” Hew asked. “I feared it
would be too much to ask you to return. If you’ve changed your mind
about it, you need only say so.”

“No. It is a beautiful place, Hew, and perfect
for your wedding,” Diana said. “I shall be fine. I refuse to put a
damper on such a happy occasion.”

“Thank you, Aunt Di,” said Vesta. “I so much
wanted to be wed here. Will you please show me the grounds now,
Hew?”

“But what of the unpacking? Don’t you wish to
see your rooms first?” Hew asked.

“Polly can attend to my things, can’t she, Aunt
Di?” Vesta asked, her gaze never leaving Hew’s face as she
spoke.

Diana noted the high color in Hew’s cheeks and
the gleam in Vesta’s eye as well as the impatient tone of her
goddaughter’s voice. “We shall manage.” Diana sighed in
capitulation. “But pray don’t be long.” Her remark went unheeded,
as they were already bounding together across the lawn in the
direction of the yew maze.

“It’s obvious two days can’t come soon enough
for either of them,” said Phoebe, joining Diana as her husband
tended to horses, grooms, and servants.

“Yes,” said Diana, “but one can only hope Hew
can rein her in.”

“I think she truly loves him,” Phoebe said.

“I think she does too,” Diana agreed. “Shall we
proceed?” She nodded toward the house.

Phoebe smiled in reply, and the two women
advanced arm-in-arm to the white marble portico of DeVere’s
Woodcote Park.

***

Diana didn’t see DeVere until supper that
evening, a lively event that encompassed the pillars of the turf
world who gathered seasonally at each scheduled racing venue.
Casting her gaze about the drawing room, Diana recognized many
familiar faces, Lords Derby, Egremont, Grosvenor, Clermont, Captain
Vernon, Sir Charles Bunbury, who was the Steward of the Jockey
Club, and the Duke of Queensberry, whom she had formerly known as
Lord March.

The women who joined Phoebe, Diana, and Vesta
were scarce, but included the actress, Elizabeth Ferren, Lord
Derby’s longtime mistress, and Margaret, Lady Bunbury, best known
for her tranquil tolerance of her husband’s lifelong racing
obsession.

During the hour before supper, the men and women
were mostly segregated by gender, the men laughing, drinking, and
swapping horse tales, while the ladies pursued more quiet and
genteel conversation at the other end of the gallery. While Diana
had yet to exchange any words with DeVere since her arrival, the
respite had only served to increase her tension. Against her will,
she found herself casting frequent glances at him across the room
that thankfully he was too occupied to notice.

When supper was announced, Ludovic greeted Diana
with little more than cool civility. “Baroness”—he inclined his
head—”as Vesta’s godmother, I fear you will be obliged to accept my
escort to supper.”

“You honor me, my lord,” Diana replied, adopting
a deceptively tranquil smile. She was placed at her host’s right
hand, with the duke taking his position on DeVere’s left, followed
by Hew and Vesta, far too occupied with one another to pay much
heed to the rest of the company, which seemed to grow more
boisterous with every newly opened bottle of wine. Reflecting upon
another dinner at this same table at which she had once covertly
studied her host, Diana observed that while outwardly DeVere was
still the munificent lord of the manor, providing a bountiful table
and free-flowing wine, something subtle had changed. There was a
restless edge to his seeming languor, a hardness that accompanied
the indolence.

Careful to avoid any private discourse with
DeVere, Diana feigned interest in every other conversation around
her, picking up snatches of theater gossip from Phoebe and Eliza,
breeding pointers exchanged between Lord Egremont and Captain
Vernon, and a sotto voce mention by the duke to DeVere of the
availability of his last Italian mistress. DeVere’s apparent
interest in the subject made her want to grind her teeth. Yet
seated beside the man she couldn’t ignore, Diana somehow managed
her serene façade for the long hours of the affair until the last
cover was finally removed.

As the footman brought in the bottles of port
and Madeira, the traditional cue for the ladies to withdraw, Lord
Egremont remarked, “I hear your Titan ran undefeated at Doncaster,
DeVere. I shall be running a full brother to last year’s champion,
Assassin, on the morrow. Do you care to make a gentleman’s
wager?”

“I fear you were misinformed about
Donacaster, my lord,” Diana interjected before DeVere could reply.
“Lord DeVere’s Titan only defeated the stallions and geldings, for
my own mare, Boadicea, prevailed in her maiden race against
all
runners.”

“Is that so, baroness?” remarked Lord Egremont.
“I was not aware you were also a follower of the turf.”

“I am, indeed. My late husband, Lord Reginald,
kept a fine stable of runners at one time.” Diana directed a
pointed stare at DeVere. “And I believe the horse, Titan, that you
speak of is even the progeny of our former stallion,
Centurion.”

“All too true,” DeVere confessed. “I had the
good fortune to acquire a number of fine horses from Lord Reginald
prior to his...unfortunate passing.”

It was a fact that needled Diana to no end, that
DeVere should now be making his turf name at her expense. “Though
little remains of our former glory, I still have a premium brood
mare in Cartimandua.”

“I remember her well.” DeVere gave Diana a
significant look. “I also recall having some small interest in her.
She last ran here at Epsom, did she not?”

“She was, indeed, a fine runner,” Hew
interjected. “I rode her myself and think she had a fair chance of
beating your Prometheus, dear brother, but then the races ended
rather abruptly...” He slanted a glance to Diana, who studied her
napkin.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Due to the unforeseen
circumstances, her racing career terminated early.” She turned to
DeVere with a challenge in her eyes. “But now I have her daughter,
a fine filly by Matchem that I intend to run in the Derby.”

“Then perhaps it is you and Lord DeVere who
should make a small wager?” Lord Egremont suggested with a
smile.

“That would entirely depend on what Lord DeVere
would be willing to stake.” Diana taunted her nemesis.

“Ah ha, DeVere!” Lord Egremont laughed. “I
wonder if perhaps the devil has finally met his match?”

“You must know by now that I like nothing better
than a worthy challenge,” DeVere said, rising to his feet, as well
as to her bait. “What do you propose, baroness?” His sardonic gaze
swept Diana with renewed interest.

“I am unprepared to answer, my lord. I think I
must sleep on it.”

He bowed over her hand. “Then I shall anticipate
your answer on the morrow.” As she turned to depart, he added in an
undertone, “It seems we may have unfinished business between us,
after all.”

She met his gaze over her shoulder. “Perhaps we
do at that.”

***

Ludovic caught up with Diana as she was going
into the morning room for breakfast. “Good morning, ladies.” He
inclined his head in polite greeting to Phoebe and Vesta. “Might I
have a private word with you, baroness?” he asked, cornering
Diana.

“Why certainly,” Vesta replied, giving Diana no
chance to demur. “Come, Phoebe.” Vesta took her stepmother’s arm
and compelled her through the morning room doors, glancing over her
shoulder with a grin.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked.

“Why can’t we speak here?”

“Because this matter of the wager is between us
alone.” He sensed her hesitation to be alone with him but offered
his arm all the same.

“All right.” She sighed.

He took her down a long hallway to the north
wing, toward his private apartments. He felt her tense, as if she
remembered what lie in their direction. He then diverted them
through a door into the family portrait gallery.

“I have not seen this room,” she said.

“It is a private place where we shall not be
disturbed. I never come here myself. I only use the room to store
portraits I’d otherwise be obligated to look upon.”

Diana strolled the periphery of the room,
studying the faces of Ludovic’s multifarious ancestors with an
ever-changing mein. “I recognize the styles of Sir Godfrey Kneller
and Allan Ramsay,” she remarked. “Is this last one by Sir Joshua
Reynolds?”

DeVere nodded with appreciation. “You know your
English painters.”

“Is this your mother and father?” She halted
before the aforementioned Reynolds. It was of a beautiful, young
woman holding a child on her lap, both of whom shared cobalt-blue
eyes that stared blankly out of the canvas. An elderly gentleman
with dissipated features stood behind the pair, one hand
possessively placed upon the lady’s shoulder.