Page 21 of The Devil to Pay

She inclined her head and Jules steeled himself for the barrage of questions that would follow, but none did. Instead, she turned back to the books and began sorting them. “I think we had best arrange them by subject and then alphabetically,” she said, glancing up at him.

Naturally, it wasn’t a question, but she seemed to look to him for his opinion, so Jules nodded.

“Very sensible.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and returned to her task.

Jules smiled to himself, and set about creating order from chaos, which he had to admit was a rather novel experience in his life which tended in the opposite direction. Rather to his surprise, he was soon absorbed in his work and the time passed far quicker and more pleasantly than it had in digging rose beds or washing greenhouses.

Try as she might, Selina was having the devil’s own job keeping her eyes from the intriguing Mark Briggs. Not that it was his real name. She’d lay everything she owned upon that fact, not that she owned a good deal. Her father had given her a miserly four thousand pounds as her dowry, laughable when he could spend more than that on horses in a year. She had a small allowance that her mama had left her, and few pieces of jewellery that were worth a pretty penny but that would break her heart to part with. What would become of her when her father died and Hubert inherited, she did not know. Though there was every possibility they would find Hubert dead in a ditch one of these fine days.

Not that she wished such a fate upon him, but she could not help but resent him when, even with his uncle’s hefty inheritance, her father had still bestowed a generous allowance on his heir. A fellow couldn’t be on the town without a bit of change in his pocket, as that would make his sire look like a regular pinch penny. That his eldest daughter was his unpaid housekeeper and wore gowns that were shabby and several years out of date was by the by, however, for no one saw Selina nor ever would, saving his cronies if the General deigned to show his face back home.

He only ever did return home with his friends in tow, for fear she might force him to face the myriad problems she dealt with every day on his behalf. If he was entertaining, Selina could not possibly bother him with such minor details as the fact the roof on the north side of the house was leaking again, or that the drainage in the lower ten acres must be dealt with at once, or any crop would rot before it germinated.

So, she arranged things as she saw fit. She had a brain in her head, and was quite used to dealing with land stewards, disagreements between tenants, and workmen who tried to charge her over and above the going rate because they thought her a silly female with more hair than wit.

That was certainly not the case, she assured herself, dragging her eyes reluctantly from the man across the room from her as he hefted a huge stack of books from the floor and set them gently upon the tabletop they had designated as the sorting area. He had once again rolled up his sleeves. He must run hot, she thought, for the room was not overly warm, and she watched in fascination as the muscles bunched and flexed in his forearms. She suppressed a sigh, wondering wistfully what his biceps looked like under the coarse cotton shirt, and decided the room was rather hotter than she’d previously thought. He turned then, catching her eye and Selina looked hastily away, crouching to pick up a small pile of books by her feet so he could not see her blush. She set them on the table and dared a quick glance at him to see his lips quirked in a smug expression that was both infuriating and mortifying at the same time.

She told herself not to be so missish. So what if she enjoyed looking at him? He was a big, virile man of splendid proportions and handsome features, and she was a healthy young woman. Obviously, it would please him to know he was admired; that too was only natural. There was nothing at all to blush over or feel silly about. The only men she ever spent time with were those who worked in the gardens, Owen, the footman, the grooms, and Jonah Hughes, the coachman, and not one of them could hold a candle to Mark Briggs. The only men of her own station were those cronies of her fathers, who were all of an age with him and were to be avoided after they’d had a few drinks. She never, ever, forgot to lock her room when they were on the premises, and she kept Abigail well out of sight.

Selina had already gained a reputation among them for being a harridan, for she did not respond well to being squeezed or pinched and had no compunction in using her elbows or stamping on toes to dissuade them from doing so. Her trusty umbrella had become her constant companion, and its steel tip could be wielded most effectively. Papa seemed oblivious to such insults, but then he was oblivious to his entire family for most of the year, so it was hardly surprising.

Before she knew what she was about, she found herself staring at Mark again as he carried another stack of books to the table. Inevitably, he looked around and saw her staring. This time she did not blush and turn away, but held his gaze boldly, before returning to her work. There, see what he made of that!

A sudden crash and a gasp of pain was her answer as she looked around again to see he’d missed the table and dropped the books he was holding on his foot.

“Do be careful.”

Not above smirking herself, Selina carried on with sorting the books, feeling much happier.

Jules took the cheese sandwich Briggs offered him and glowered at it dejectedly. It was raining again, and they were eating their lunch in the shelter of the greenhouse Briggs had been working in. Jules could have gone to the kitchens as he was now considered house staff, but he felt bad enough abandoning Briggs as it was. Besides, conversing with the staff seemed a dangerous undertaking. A cheese sandwich was not the kind of repast he was used to, however, and the scent of something rich and meaty had plagued him as he went outside via the servant’s entrance.

“Well, if you want steak and ale pie or roast goose, or venison and nice glass of claret, you need only say. We can be back at Goshen Court in a couple of hours, or better yet—”

“We are not going back to London,” Jules said, and took a large bite of the sandwich, chewing defiantly.

“Fine. Back to Lord Ashburton, then?”

“No.”

Briggs huffed and took a sandwich for himself. “It’s all right for you, tucked up nice and cosy in that library. Some of us are out here freezing our tallywags off.”

Jules snorted but slanted Briggs a look of concern. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I figured we’d both be in it together, at least.”

Briggs shook his head and returned a rueful grin. “It’s all right. I’m rather enjoying it, actually. Reminds me of when I was a lad working with my pa. It’s nice to be in nature for a bit. I’d forgotten how much I like it.”

Jules sat up, alarmed. “You’re not thinking of going back to it?”

Briggs sent him a look of such scorn, Jules let out a sigh of relief. “Have your wits gone begging? I’m at the top of my profession. Give up valeting Blackstone to be a gardener indeed! One day, I’ll be valet to the Duke of Bedwin. As if I’d give that up,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, I notice there’s no loyalty to me in that diatribe,” Jules said dryly. “Just the titles.”

Briggs chuckled. “Don’t sulk. You know I’d follow you wherever you go. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Jules agreed, accepting another sandwich. “And two hundred pounds richer for it.”

“I’d have done it for fifty,” Briggs admitted, grinning.