Taming the Shrew (2 page)

Twenty-seven year old Raven de Vere grimaced in disgust. “You have the devil’s own luck.”

“It’s the de Vere resolve in action. If you weren’t lazy I’d hire you to act as my agents.” Groans and curses on baby brothers and work filled the room.

Belvedere de Vere scowled at his baby brother, “What are you going to do with the money, spend it on Vivian and Virgil again?”

“I’ll save a third, invest a third and pay off your tailors. This week I’ve received bills for three waistcoats, three coats, three pairs of leather breeches one round hat, an opera hat, three pairs of gloves, six pairs of stockings, two brown overcoats and another six linen shirts. You ordered six shirts last month and what do you need two overcoats for?”

“David was in dire need so I told him I’d won some money and took him to the tailors as an early birthday present. I didn’t think you’d want people to see him and think he’s you. I certainly don’t want people to see him in rags and think he’s me and I wouldn’t need so many shirts if Virgil, Vivian, Raven and Vaughn would stop stealing into my trunks.”

“It’s not our fault you have such excellent taste.”

“You’ll taste my excellent fist if you don’t stop picking the locks on my trunks.”

“Master Hervey...” Hervey was distracted from the unedifying conversation by one of the old family retainers extending a silver tray with raised eyebrows. “...it was delivered by a liveried servant. I couldn’t help noticing its pleasant feminine scent.” The room went deathly quiet as his brothers stared at the letter in Hervey’s hand with undiluted jealousy.

“Thank you Beecher. Hervey picked up the letter and sniffed it before waving the smiling servant away.

“Hurry up and open it. Who’s it from?”

“Let me read it and I’ll tell you.” Hervey broke the seal and unfolded the paper expecting to read a summons to visit a lady in financial trouble needing a discreet buyer of odds and ends, but stared in stunned silence at the single sentence.

Belvedere de Vere thumped the table, “Why are you smiling? Has Uncle William died? He promised he’d leave me something. Well? What does it say?”

“No one’s died, though I’m feeling rather faint. It says, ‘Mr de Vere, come to my house for tea at two o’clock this afternoon and don’t bring any of your ghastly brothers or I shant let you in. – Miss Juliana Browne.’” The rest of the table groaned in horror as Hervey tucked the letter into his trouser pocket, drained his cup and stood up. “Dreams come true at the least expected moments. Wish me luck.”

Avery made a choking noise, “We may as well wish you to the devil.”

Raven de Vere elbowed his brother Vaughn, “What if she kills him? Where will we live?”

“If I die the house is left in trust for you until you all marry when it’ll be sold and divided among the six of you.”

“Only six of us? What about Vernon and David?”

“Vernon inherits the rotten family pile in Somerset and David thinks I’ve dishonoured the family name with my pawnbroking. He can rot in gentile abject poverty with his sneering friends until after I help the rest of you.”

“You have a will at twenty-four? Who thinks of wills before the age of fifty?”

Twenty-six year old Vivian de Vere paled in horror, “What if she marries him? He’ll have to bed Medusa...Ugh!”

“If by some miracle the lady becomes my wife, I’ll perform my conjugal duties with the utmost pleasure and you will never take my place.”

“Thank the heavens. Don’t be surprised if she bites off your lips the first time you kiss her. Can you imagine waking up every morning to find those evil bluish-green eyes glaring at you? After her initial introduction to the marriage bed she’ll probably decide she hates it as much as she hates you. Where will you find happiness then? You’ll die a broken hearted drunk and we’ll all starve to death.”

Hervey took out his watch and noted the time. “Thank you Vivian, what would we do without your endless cheerful optimism? Do excuse me; I need to make my person exceedingly pleasing. We’ll clean the carriage tomorrow.” Leaving the squabbling table, thoughts of future profits faded as his inner eye was dazzled with an obstinate red haired goddess named Juliana Browne. On the way out of the room he paused at a mirror and surveyed his face with disinterest. His features were pleasant, if a trifle immature. At twenty-four he could still pass for eighteen. Miss Browne found his unfortunate youthfulness almost as unappealing as his wavy orange hair. The odds of winning the young lady’s love weren’t in his favour, but he enjoyed a risky venture. He’d staked his heart on a sharp-tongued vixen. The unexpected summons would either be his making or his death.

Juliana stared into the mirror over the mantel and compulsively checked her appearance; copper coloured braids held firmly in place by gold pins, well powdered freckles, and her grandmother’s diamond necklace framed by a gold silk morning gown. The necklace would remind the creature that she could afford a penniless groom laden with debts. Ten paces across her sitting room to the window she peered down the street for some sign of her caller and then paced back to the mirror over the mantel where she fondled one of the dangling earrings that matched the necklace. Hervey de Vere’s reply to her note said he’d happily oblige her every desire; he probably knew what she was going to ask him, but then he had asked her to marry him a thousand times. Chaining herself to the Hervey creature wouldn’t be worse then marrying some other impoverished miscreant. She looked at the clock; it was three minutes to two. If the man didn’t arrive in five minutes she’d find some other idiot to wed. A knock on the door made her jump. “Yes?”

“You have a caller Miss; a Mr Hervey de Vere. He says he has an appointment.”

“Yes he does and there’s no need to look at me like I’m robbing the cradle; he’s not as young as he looks.”

“Very good Miss, I’ll bring him directly.” She spun away from the door and walked towards the fire. He was a whole minute early. She couldn’t change her mind. Her husband would be Hervey de Vere; the orange headed, freckled fortune hunter who’d been following her like a starving dog for three years. People were going to laugh at her, but what did it matter? He’d do his duty and she’d be a married lady; she’d be Mrs Hervey de Vere. The thought made her feel sick, but not as sick as the thought of marrying one of his brothers. “Mr de Vere...”

There was a sudden knot in her stomach. She didn’t want her servant to see her anxiety. “Leave us and close the door!”

“Very good Miss.”

She waited until the door clicked shut before turning to face her destiny. He looked almost too young for a grand tour. “How old are you exactly?”

He smiled and bowed low giving her ample view of his orange hair. “Twenty-four years, three months and several days Madam...how old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“An excellent...”

“Do you shave?”

“Every morning Madam; shall I call on you tomorrow sporting a night’s growth? Do you prefer facial hair? I’d be happy to grow a beard...”

“I hate beards. The stinking smelly things are always full of crumbs.”

“That’s a relief. I shall continue...”

“Sit down!”

“As you wish...shall you be seated first?” She glared at his polite hand waving her into her chair behind the waiting tea service. She primly sat down and watched him take his seat with the ease of a life long friend. Aside from the orange hair, the man wasn’t completely unpleasant looking. His velvety brown eyes appeared intelligent and seemed to ground his even well placed features. The golden brown wool coat made his pale cheeks look fresh and healthy. His gold and white striped waistcoat went well with his yellow buff breeches rising out of his shiny black boots. He had to owe his tailor a mountain of debt, but that was to be expected. He was a fortune hunter not a wealthy Lord. “This is a pleasant little room. The greenish-blue colour makes your lovely hair look like polished copper.”

“Save your cant for the deaf. How do you take your tea?”

“However you make it.” Juliana returned his pleasant smile with a scowl and proceeded to put so much sugar in the cup that it spilled over the rim onto the saucer.

“Your tea...”

“Thank you...I was quite chuffed to receive your invitation this morning. It was unexpected. You’ve never shown any sign that you favour my company.”

“I don’t.”

“Pity; you wanted to speak with me; is there anything I can do for you?”

She made him wait while she poured her own cup of tea and added two small lumps of sugar. She held her saucer in front of her chest hoping it would strengthen her resolve. He was a man; there was a chance he’d reject her offer out of pride, stupidity or spite. She sighed and then sipped her tea before meeting his eyes. He was a consummate actor; the man somehow managed to look like he was admiring her. “Do you have much debt?”

“No.”

“How did you pay for your clothes?”

“How do you think?”

“I think you have wealthy lovers who pay your bills; you needn’t pretend you don’t sow your seed in willing fields Mr de Vere. I know all about your reputation.”

“Pardon me Madam, but I have several reputations. To which reputation do you infer?”

She could feel her temper rising as her cup and saucer rattled in time with her discomfort. The man was daring her to say it. She’d show him she wasn’t afraid of a few words. “Your reputation as an accomplished lover.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his pale freckled cheeks flush deep red as his rocking cup threatened to spill into his lap.

“Oh?”

“Apparently you’re charming, attentive and discreet.” The man stared at her with horrified disbelief. “Frankly, I can’t imagine how the word charming could ever be applied to you, but I must assume the other two adjectives are at least partially correct. Would you be willing to prove your reputation Mr de Vere?” The man looked like he might faint.

“Miss Browne, I don’t pleasure unmarried ladies and I certainly wouldn’t ruin you.”

“Don’t be an ass Hervey creature. I want a husband not a lover.”

The orange haired creature sighed in relief and relaxed into his chair, the brown eyes gleaming with intense emotion. “May I apply for the position?”

“If you want to marry me purchase a special license today and marry me tonight.” The man looked stunned. “Well? Do you want to marry me or not?”

“I’d be honoured to marry you Miss Browne.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Who else would be stupid enough to marry a penniless de Vere? I’ve had my solicitor draw up a legal document this morning. You’ll sign away your rights to my inheritance and I’ll give you a clothing allowance and monthly spending money. Gamble a farthing and I’ll poison you.”

His eyes lit up with amusement, “Clothing allowance and spending money? How much?”

“I don’t know...five hundred pounds a year for clothing and fifty pounds a month for spending sounds very generous to me.”

“Assuming the rumours of your fortune are correct, most men in my situation would demand five thousand pounds for clothing and at least a thousand pounds a month spending.”

“I’m not paying you seventeen thousand pounds a year to warm my bed. I’ve never heard anything so outrageous...so stupid.”

“The warming of your bed Madam I’ll cheerfully provide free of charge, but a gentleman has needs. Once I marry you I won’t be, as you put it, sowing my seed in other willing fields. Do you want other people to laugh at you because your husband spent his clothing allowance and can’t afford a new pair of boots? Fifty pounds... How would I buy you a decent Christmas gift?”

“Well how much would you need?”

“Five thousand a year in a lump sum would be acceptable.”

“You’re not worth five thousand pounds. I could buy a decent property with five thousand pounds.”

“You wound me Madam, but most men would refuse to sign away their right to be the financial head of their own household. You may find if you marry some scoundrel that such a document is unlikely to hold up in a court of law. The Law Lords are well known for their ill opinions of independent women, but if you endow me with five thousand pounds a year I’ll give you my word of honour that I’ll accept the situation we’ve agreed upon. If you honour your part of the bargain, I’ll honour mine. You may have heard I have a reputation for being a man of my word.”

“Well you had better be a charming attentive lover for that sort of money.”

“I’m not selling my affections Madam I’m merely negotiating terms of support. You’re a beautiful woman; it’ll be my pleasure to pleasure you. If I was wealthy and you were penniless I’d still want to marry you and I wouldn’t expect your father’s attempt to negotiate a settlement to be payment for your body. I’d merely see it has my duty to provide for you in the event of my death.”

“How morbid, are you hoping I’ll die and leave you wealthy Mr de Vere?”

“Actually I hope you’ll outlive me.”

“Why would you want to marry me if I was penniless?”

“Why do you think?”

Juliana’s eyes narrowed in irritation, “I have no idea why you think anything Mr de Vere, but I pray my children don’t inherit your awful hair or your predilection for stupid questions.”

“I like my hair...”

“I hate it. You look like you have carrots sprouting out of your head.”

“At least you won’t lose me in a crowded ballroom, unless my brothers are in attendance.”

Her lips parted showing her teeth, “I can’t abide your brothers. Why did your parents have so many awful sons? That Avery creature insulted me in the most disgusting manner yesterday and because of him, London is calling me Medusa.”

“I was very upset to hear he made you cry. It won’t happen again. My brothers have promised to be polite to you in future.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked them to...may I invite them for a wedding dinner here this evening? It’s wash day, the kitchen is full of wet clothes. We were going to eat cold ham sandwiches, but I’ve always hoped my wedding feast would be a little more formal.”

“I don’t want those hideous creatures in my house.”

“As you wish, but forbidding my family your house will justify their ill opinion of you. We’re a close family; they’ll think you very hard.”