Epilogue
Medford Abbey, Kent, 1794
"Bloody hell!" Ludovic's shaking hands sloshed a puddle of amber liquid onto his new boots as he topped off his tumbler of brandy.
"Damme, with as much practice as you've had, one would think you'd become accustomed to this by now, Vic," Ned said.
"Hang me if it ever gets any easier." DeVere raised his glass but suspended the motion in midair. "It's quiet," he remarked. "Too quiet."
"All of our children are outside with the nursemaids," Hew said. "Vesta thought it best to keep them occupied."
"No. Something's gone wrong." Ludovic felt the blood leaching from his face. He slammed down his glass and raced upstairs, taking the steps by two.
"My lord, you mustn't!" cried Polly.
"The hell you say!" He pushed past the maid without apology and burst into Diana's chamber. Her face was drawn and deathly pale, her russet hair damp and clinging to her face and pillow. She looked up at him with glazed eyes and a wan smile.
"Diana!" he cried, bile rising into his throat. His gaze darted to the midwife with rising panic.
"She will be fine, my lord," the midwife reassured. "She only needs rest. It's never easy delivering twins." As if on command, a chorus of shrill shrieks filled the air. Vesta and Phoebe stepped forward, each with a babe in arms.
"Twin sons," they chimed.
"Twins?" he replied aghast. "Another set of DeVere twins?"
"I fear we'll have need of another nursemaid, my love," Diana said.
"Dear God, Diana, we'll need a bigger house!"
"But are you not pleased?" she asked, a pained look clouding her eyes.
"Pleased? The words escape me." He threw himself to the floor beside her bed, taking her hand in his and plying kisses to every knuckle before gazing at her with a twitch of his lips. "If children are truly a blessing from heaven, I should count myself the most fortunate of men, but then again, I wonder if this number may also be a penance for my past sins."
Diana gave a soft chuckle. "Eight children! Whoever would have thought The Devil DeVere would become father to such a brood?"
Ludovic looked on with adoration as Phoebe and Vesta placed an infant in each of Diana's arms. She offered a milky white breast to each eager mouth, instantly muffling their cries. "A devilishly hungry duo." Diana gazed down at the infants with a tender smile. "I thought to call them Deverel and Dante."
DeVere nodded his approval and smiled down at the suckling infants. "We certainly have kept up our end in procreating the line." Ludovic chuckled. "Mayhap even of repopulating Kent!"
"You both have, indeed, my love." Diana flashed him a wry grin. "You do realize that between Hew and Vesta's litter and our brood, this greedy pair now makes an even dozen DeVeres? God forbid they follow in your footsteps!"
Ludovic smirked. "My darling Diana, there is no doubt in my mind they shall soon come to terrorize the countryside as the "Devil's Dozen."
~ This is definitely NOT the end!~
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Victoria Vane
Sneak Preview: Jewel of the East
King's Place Brothel, St. James- 1784
"Are you quite certain Mustafa?" Salime repeated in astonishment. Her mute servant gave a firm nod of his giant beturbaned head. She resumed her fitful pacing of her chamber, kicking at the silk-tasseled cushions that littered the floor. This was the third time in a week that one of her clients had failed to keep his scheduled appointment. It made no sense when she had always been in such high demand. Indeed, known as the Jewel of the East, Salime was the most sought-after courtesan in all of London.
She wondered now if after nearly five years of reining supreme, her star had begun to fade. No, it was unthinkable! It was also impossible, for she had taken careful measures to ensure no man would ever become bored with her. Just as a concubine only had one night to couch with with the sultan, Salime had adopted a policy of never accepting the same gentleman twice. In doing this, Salime promised her clients an experience never to be forgotten… nor to be repeated. And no other woman in all of England could equal her skills in the erotic arts… save perhaps one— the only one Salime had ever entrusted with the Eastern secrets to a man's ultimate pleasure.
Until now, given the exorbitant rates Mrs. Hayes demanded for her company, Salime had always benefitted from preferential treatment. But the madam was gone, having bowed out after a legendary career. The bawd had passed the baton to Kitty Matthews, the number two courtesan of King's Place, a fact that had always rubbed the other woman raw. As spiteful and vicious as her namesake, Kitty made no secret of her resentment of the one she called 'the heathen whore'.
Salime had paid her little heed, however, for life in the brothel was really little different from petty jealousies she had known in the Imperial Harem, a place where rivalry for favor was a way of life, but with Mrs. Hayes retirement, change had come, and none of it to Salime's benefit. Kitty had begun by demanding a higher percentage from Salime, raising "the procuress' poundage" from five shillings per guinea to ten. It was unfair in the extreme, but going into private keeping as a gentleman's mistress was not an option for Salime for her secret would quickly become revealed and her reputation lost. No, Salime had little choice but to remain at King's Place where at least she had the benefit of her ever-present Mustafa to defend her person, even if he could do nothing to protect her livelihood. To that end, sadly, she had only herself.
"Come Mustafa," she ordered her eunuch. "I have need of answers." Something was not right. She knew it in her bones. Snatching up a veil to conceal her face, Salime departed her private rooms in search of a footman.
"Baron Winthrop, he has not arrived?" she accosted the wooden-faced servant who attended the opulent reception rooms. "He was to see me this evening, but has yet failed to appear in my chambers. Has he taken to cards or other entertainments?"
"He is not at cards," the servant replied, his eyes failing to meet her gaze and then shifting away from her face altogether, to focus over her left shoulder. It was not an outright lie, perhaps, nevertheless, he concealed something.
"Then you have seen Lord Winthrop?" she demanded.
The footman's gaze darted about the lavish room and then to the soaring frescoed ceiling form which was suspended a massive Venetian crystal chandelier. "Aye," he answered.
"That is all? It seems you would make me draw the truth from you in slow agony, much like a bad tooth? Perhaps Mustafa would be a more effective tooth drawer than myself?" She half- turned to the giant eunuch who stood behind her with arms crossed over his massive chest. Her threat was not without effect. The footman's formerly deadpan eyes widened. "His Lordship came as appointed, Madam Salime, but I was instructed to conduct him to Madam Kitty's chambers."
"To Kitty?" Salime frowned. "And he remained there?"
"To the best of my knowledge."
Salime's frown deepened to a full blown scowl. "And the evening last," she continued to press him. "Did you also conduct Sir Phineas Weatherby to Kitty's chamber?"
"Those were my instructions, madam, but I only follow the orders of the one what pays my wages," he added apologetically.
Hiding her distress by this revelation, she slipped a few coins into his palm. "You will tell no one we have spoken."
With her blood boiling, Salime spun away with bracelets clanging and silver bells on her slippers jangling. Kitty was poaching her clients! It was unconscionable! But how could she have managed it? While Kitty was attractive in the common English way, she had never rivaled the allure of the exotic Salime, and now there were three in one week?
Suddenly the pieces began falling into place. They were small things, trifles hardly worth mentioning, that had first disappeared from her room — a bracelet, a couple of silver bells, a scarf, but over the past two weeks,
Salime had noticed items of her clothing had also gone missing. At first she had suspected one of the chambermaids of the thefts, but then wondered what a simple English girl would do with a pair of Turkish Trousers or a bejeweled girdle.
How stupid she had been! The answer was now so obvious for the petty jealousies and intrigues at King's Place were no different from those of the Imperial Harem, with every woman vying to be the number one. Now it was clear her most noted rival intended to usurp her place.
So instead of returning to her own chamber, Salime marched to Kitty's apartment where another liveried servant barred her entrance. She lifted a brow and commanded . "Mustafa, open the door."
Without hesitation, Mustafa placed his huge hands on the footman's shoulders, easily lifting the shocked servant him out of the way, and then with a single kick, the door splintered from its frame. With a bow to his mistress, Mustafa then stepped aside.
She boldly entered the room and the scene before her stole her breath, for the chamber was a near duplication of her own! Brass lanterns provided a low glow of light, countless yards of silk draped from the ceiling and covered the walls. Turkish rugs and cushions scattered about.
"How dare you interrupt us!" Kitty screeched and sprang from the pedestal bed.
Salime swept her rival with a contemptuous look, taking in the black wig that topped her head to the Turkish trousers encasing her legs. It was far worse than she had suspected for Kitty had not stolen only her clothes, but her very identity!
"Who is this woman?" His lordship demanded, while fumbling to close his falls.
Salime stepped toward Kitty with controlled rage and snatched the wig from her blonde head, tossing it to the befuddled nobleman. "Effendi,I fear we are both victims of a great fraud."
In a desperate act of retribution, Kitty yanked away the veil that draped over the left side of Salime's face. Kitty's jaw dropped and then she shrieked with delight. "So that's why you hide behind your veils? There is no room for such hideousness at King's Place. Remove yourself and your bedamned blackamoor from this house at once, you heathen whore!"
"As you wish." Knowing it far better to accept her fate with dignity, Salime gave a haughtly toss of her head, and turned on her beslippered heel. It was not the first time a rival had attempted to destroy her. Retrieving her veil, Salime ran her fingers lightly over the unsightly scar that disfigured the left side of her face, marring her once great beauty. It was for her a constant reminder of the danger of having fierce rivals and no true protector.
Victoria's Titillating Tidbits
Nearly everything recounted in this story regarding the scandalous life of Frederick Calvert, Sixth Baron Baltimore, is true.
Horseracing was a tremendous obsession with the upper elite through all of the Georgian era but reached its pinnacle in the prize money offered in the late eighteenth century. There was, indeed, a subscription race for mares only in Epsom, 1778 sponsored by Sir Chares Bunbury and Lord Derby. It was named The Oaks after Lord Derby's estate and offered a prize of two thousand guineas.
Reggie's race-fixing scheme was inspired by a similar anecdote I read regarding William Douglas, the Earl of March (who makes a brief cameo appearance in this story). When March learned his competitor tried to bribe his groom, he rode his own horse to victory just as Lord DeVere does.
True criminal investigations in the eighteenth century were rare. For those interested, here are links to a couple of fascinating sites on criminal prosecution: Law, Ideology, and the Gallows in 18th and 19th-century England.
About Victoria Vane
Victoria Vane is an award-winning romance novelist, cowboy addict and history junkie whose collective works of fiction range from wildly comedic romps to emotionally compelling romance. Victoria also writes historical fiction as Emery Lee and is the founder of Goodreads Romantic Historical Fiction Lovers and the Romantic Historical Lovers book review blog. Look for Victoria's new Contemporary Cowboy Series coming summer 2014 from Sourcebooks
AWARDS & ACCOLADES
Library Journal Best E-Book Romance 2012 for
The Devil DeVere Series
A Wild Night's Bride
Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
IRC Reader's Choice Best Historical Romance Nominee
Ind'Tale Magazine Rone Nominee
The Virgin Huntress
Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
Ind'Tale Magazine Rone Nominee
The Devil You Know
Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
The Romance Reviews Top Pick
Best Historical Romance Nominee 2012
LR Café Best Historical Romance Nominee 2012
Ind'Tale Magazine Rone Nominee
The Devil's Match
Night Owl Reviews Top Pick
The Romance Reviews Top Pick
LASR Reviews Book of the Month December 2012
Swept Away by Romance Best Historical Romance of 2012
Ind'Tale Magazine Rone Nominee
A Breach of Promise
Night Owl Reviews “Top Pick”
Reading Romances 5 flames and “Pen Award”
TBR Pile 5stars/Book of the month winner September 2012
LASR Erotic Reviews Book of the Month Nominee
The Romance Studio 5 Sweetheart Nominee
TRS CAPA Nominee 2012
Treacherous Temptations
Two Lip Reviewer's Choice Award
CONTACT VICTORIA
Email: [email protected]
Web: http://www.victoriavane.com
Blog: http://victoriavane.wordpress.com
Twitter: @authorvictoriav
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A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) Page 33