Page 22 of The Devil to Pay

“You what?” Jules glared at him. “I knew I’d been bilked, you crafty devil.”

“Too late now,” his smug valet chuckled, swigging ale from a brown bottle.

“Give me that,” Jules muttered, swiping it from him and taking a few deep swallows.

“So, how are you getting on with Miss Davenport?” Briggs asked.

Jules took another draw from the bottle, considering this. “I’ve no idea. I feel like a mouse being toyed with by a cat with sharp claws and teeth.”

“Aye, she’s a canny one, I reckon.”

Jules nodded, remembering that bold stare she’d given him. It had done something to him, that look, as though she was wondering what he looked like without his clothes on. Heat had run up and down his spine and his brain had gone begging, missing the edge of the table and dropping half a tonne of books on his blasted foot. The smirk on her lush mouth when she’d told him to be careful had not helped. He’d not known whether he wanted to put as much distance between them as possible—one of the larger continents might suffice—or kiss her.

“She runs this place single-handed, from what I can gather,” he said grudgingly, for he’d seen enough of her to recognise a capable hand on the reins. Everyone looked to her for guidance, never even considering asking for the general’s advice. Jules reckoned there was a good reason for that. “Her father’s a bit of a lout, that much I do know. Never liked him above half. He’s well enough when he’s sober, if you want to talk about hunting for the next three hours—which I don’t. But in his cups, he’s like a braying donkey; too loud, too raucous, and far too fond of the sound of his own voice.”

Briggs nodded. “Figured as much. There’s an older brother, you know. Hubert. Sounds like a niffy-naffy character.”

“Hubert Davenport,” Jules mused. “I’ve never come across him, or at least I don’t recall.”

Briggs shook his head. “You wouldn’t. A fribble, by all accounts, wouldn’t run with your set. A member at Coker’s, so that says it all. Got turned down by the Sons of Hades, from what I hear, and was none too pleased about it neither.”

Jules gave an amused laugh. “Leo is a stickler. He doesn’t care about breeding, but if you’ve not the blunt, the character, and three references he approves of, you’ve no chance. But if he’s inheriting all this, why is he not here?”

“He’s hardly ever here, unless he needs to sober up or keep his head down, according to Griffith.”

Jules frowned. For all his own scandalous ways, he never neglected his estates, or the people that relied upon him. Christ, his father would have strung him up by the balls long since if that were the case. He might drink and carouse and act as badly as any other young man on the town with money at his disposal, but he knew better than to let down those who depended on him for their living.

“Who’s Griffith?”

“The fellow Dixey has got me working with. He’s a good sort, been here man and boy. Doesn’t like Hubert none, that I can tell you. Apparently, he had a younger brother, a year younger than your Miss Davenport. Well-liked by everyone and doted on by the ladies of the household, but he died about four years ago.”

Jules looked sharply at Briggs. “Really? But the mother died only three years ago.”

Briggs nodded. “Aye, they’ve had a rough run of late. She died in childbed, her fourteenth, counting those that didn’t make it, according to Griffith. The doctor warned them she’d not survive another baby, but it seems like the general cared little for doctor’s orders. Between losing her son and another pregnancy, Griffith says the heart went out of her. Signed her death warrant, by all accounts.”

Jules gritted his teeth, having suddenly lost his appetite. Not that it was an unusual story. He’d heard such tales from his mother over and again. Women treated like breeding machines until their bodies gave out, usually carrying them off and the babe too. It was sickening. He could not imagine risking a woman’s life in such a way for the gratification of his own pleasure. It wasn’t as if there weren’t methods to prevent conception, methods the man must bloody well know. His mother fought against such things, defying convention by insisting that women knew about their own bodies, about how to prevent unwanted pregnancies. But she was a duchess, and as much as there were those who decried what she did, she was powerful enough and pigheaded enough to stand strong. With his father backing her up, no one could gainsay her. But for a woman out here in the countryside, the property of her husband… Jules scowled and got to his feet.

“There’s another sandwich,” Briggs said, looking up at him. “And an Eccles cake.”

“You have it,” Jules replied, patting Brigg’s shoulder. “Keep the cold out. I’ll see you later.”

“Right you are,” Briggs said, watching him curiously as he trudged across the wet garden back to the house.

Chapter 9

Sir,

We have been most pleased with sales of The Jewel and The Iron Key and are happy to let you know we are producing a second edition at once as there seems to be a great appetite for the romantic adventures you have so been so good as to supply us with. This is wonderful news, I am sure you will agree.

Have you reconsidered the anonymity of your name? Whilst I must infer you are of an elevated position, surely the success you have enjoyed would mitigate any notoriety you might gain in revealing yourself? We will, of course, keep to your wishes in this matter, but it seems a pity.

The draft ideas you have lately sent us for a new piece of work are exactly the kind of thing to delight your readership. Melina Ravenheart is a wonderfully dreadful character, and I shall very much look forward to seeing what terrible things she does next.

We remain, dear sir, your obedient servants.

John Mortimer & Co.

―Excerpt of a letter to Anonymous from Messrs Mortimer & Co. Publishers, forwarded by Blackstone’s man of business.