Page 18 of The Devil to Pay

“With the law?” she asked, lowering her voice.

He hesitated. If he was taken to court for adultery, it would certainly be trouble with the law, but that was not what she meant. He wasn’t guilty of a crime exactly, unless it was a crime against morality, in which case he was guilty as hell.

“No.”

She let out a breath. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. I do not relish the idea of having runners descend upon me to haul you away.”

“No runners,” he replied stiffly.

“Well, I am delighted to hear it,” she replied, eyes flashing. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? You may as well make a clean breast of it. For, if you know the first thing about gardening, I shall shortly see a fat pink pig winging its way past my bedroom window.”

Jules narrowed his eyes at her, folding his arms.

“You can look as brooding and Gothic as you please. I know I’m right,” she replied, with a haughty tilt to her chin, the maddening creature.

They stared at each other, but Jules refused to give.

“I shall figure you out, Mr Mark Briggs,” she said, enunciating the name with such precision it was clear she did not believe it to be his.

“I assume I’m dismissed?” he demanded, barely able to keep the irritation from his voice.

“Oh, no,” she said with a too sweet smile. “You’re a hard worker whoever you are and, providing I’m not harbouring a murderer or a revolutionary, those are too difficult to come by to dismiss you. Unless perhaps you wish to give notice. I shan’t stop you,” she added, with such a challenging glint in her eyes his temper sparked.

“Not on your life,” he said, giving her the benefit of a smile that showed too many teeth.

“Excellent,” she said briskly. “I shall see you at work bright and early tomorrow morning, then. Oh, and don’t worry, you won’t be in the greenhouses. I have something else in mind for you.”

And, before Jules had time to demand what the devil she meant by that, Boadicea left the room with a magnificent swish of her skirts, and the bearing of a duchess.

“Damn you, Davenport,” he muttered furiously. “I will get the better of you yet, you just see if I don’t.”

Chapter 8

Muir,

I’ve never received a letter before with quite so many references to arses.

You may wish to consider other such descriptions in future to avoid unnecessary repetitions.

Still, as appalled as I was by your illiterate scrawl, I do most humbly apologise for having missed your visit. I swear to you it could not be helped and I would not have abandoned you unless the cause was a desperate one. For God’s sake, tell me you did not let on to his grace that I’m staying with Pip?

Whilst the husband in question is not wielding an axe (at least as far as I know) he is threatening to sue me under tort law for criminal conversation with his wife. I’m keeping my head down in the hopes he might cool off before he drags us all through the mire. If my father gets wind of this, I’m in the basket this time. I think I’ve pushed my luck as far as he’ll stand and if this becomes public, I can hardly blame him if he decides to dig a hole and bury me in it. And before you ask me what the devil I was thinking, I wasn’t thinking at all. I never do when I get myself into these idiotic situations. It’s only afterwards when I see the mess I’ve made that I regret it and by then it’s too late. I suppose there’s a chance I’ll grow up one of these days but even my father seems to doubt it will happen now, so perhaps I’m wrong.

Apologies, old man. I would have liked to have caught up with you.

Yrs, etc.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Jules Adolphus, The Marquess of Blackstone (eldest son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to The Right Hon’ble Muir Anderson (Son of Gordon and Ruth Anderson, The Earl and Countess of Morven).

27th February 1845, Llun-y-mynydd, Monmouthshire.

“Reckon I know what kind of work she has in mind,” Briggs said mildly as they trudged up the hill to the big house the following morning.

Jules darted a look at him as their breath blew billowing clouds into the frigid air. Briggs grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

“Stow it,” Jules said irritably.

“You’re just on your high ropes because she figured you out so easily. I told you, you’d never pass for a low born gardener,” Briggs added with a smirk.