Page 30 of The Devil to Pay

―Excerpt of a letter to The Most Hon’ble Lucian Barrington, The Marquess of Montagu from His Grace, Robert Adolphus, Duke of Bedwin.

3rd March 1845, Llun-y-mynydd, Monmouthshire.

“Not go to work?” Briggs stared at him in consternation.

“No. Well, the jig is up, as they say, so you don’t need to carry on if you don’t want to.”

Briggs rubbed the back of his neck. They’d just finished a simple dinner of fried potatoes and bacon, which had been surprisingly satisfying, and were sitting with their heels propped on the fender of the fire in the sparse little cottage, nursing large mugs of tea.

“But you’re staying on to finish the library?” Briggs asked, giving Jules an odd look.

Jules shrugged. “Well, I said I would, and we’ve broken the back of it now. May as well, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Briggs said, regarding him with a deal too much interest.

Jules flushed. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

Briggs shook his head, staring at the fire. “Not a thing, my lord.”

“Don’t put on airs to be interesting, Briggs,” Jules scolded him. “If you’ve something to say, spit it out.”

Shifting in his seat, Briggs studied Jules for a long moment. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said eventually. “You’ve acted like a stupid arse, and this is a way of making amends. I’m proud of you.”

Jules felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. “Oh,” he said, deciding he’d let the stupid arse comment go, in the circumstances. It wasn’t as if it was less than accurate. “Well, good. Thank you, Briggs.”

“What about you?” he asked with interest.

Briggs pursed his lips. “Reckon I’ll finish my job too. Don’t like leaving things half done.”

Jules nodded, accepting this as Briggs had always taken a pride in anything he put his hand to. He yawned broadly and stretched.

“Go on, you’d best get your beauty sleep,” Briggs said, an amused glint in his eyes. “You know how testy you get when you’re tired.”

Jules sent him a long-suffering look of reproach, wondered aloud why on earth he kept such a rude fellow around, and did as he was told.

Selina told herself she was being ridiculous, but it did not stop her from hurrying to the library the next day with all the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. The day outside was dismal and wet but the library was warm and cosy with a bright fire blazing, and Selina let out a little sigh of pleasure at the day to come, a day she was looking forward to immensely.

She realised she was happy and was startled as she comprehended it had been a very long time indeed since she had felt anything like it. Even the unexpected arrival of an outrageous bill her father had run up had not been enough to kill the sensation. It was dangerous, though, and she knew it. Mark Briggs, or whatever his name might be, was a dangerous man. Perhaps he was not the wicked scoundrel she had thought him, for he had apologised, and she had believed in the sincerity of his words. However, he was heartbreakingly handsome, and those green eyes were just… her breath hitched, and she told herself to stop it. She wasn’t an idiot. He was finishing the library because he had behaved badly and needed to make amends, and he wished to talk to her because he valued her opinions about his work. That was all. A man like that would have females throwing themselves at his feet wherever he went and would never be interested in Selina, of all women.

It occurred to her then that she didn’t even know if he was married! Not that it mattered. This was purely a business arrangement. Nothing more. So she would not be a ninny and do something so utterly foolish as to fall in love with him. She was far too level-headed for that.

The door opened and Selina turned with a smile, almost dropping the book she was holding as she beheld the magnificence before her. Her words of greeting died and all that emerged was a strangled sound of shock.

Whoever this man was, he had been devastating enough in the garb of a lowly gardener. Now, however, closely shaved and immaculately dressed in the finery of a gentleman, he was a work of art. Selina knew she was staring but she couldn’t help it. Wildly, she sought for something—anything—to say and blurted out, “Are you married?”

She cringed inwardly, very aware that her cheeks were blazing scarlet.

A look of surprise lit those astonishing green eyes, and his mouth quirked a little. “No, as it happens.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s good,” she said in relief, and then blushed harder. She’d set herself alight if she kept this up. “I mean… not good, exactly, but… if you were married and here, doing this, with me… not that we’re doing a-anything we ought not, only—”

He crossed the room and took her hands, staring down at her. Laughter glittered in his eyes, though it was a gentle expression, warm and kind, not the mocking kind of laughter such fashionable gentlemen had used to send her way during her one and only season.

“Good morning, Davenport. I’m sorry if I have startled you. It just seemed wrong to go about dressed as something I’m not. Also, I’m terribly vain and I missed my finery. Briggs assures me I’m the most dreadful peacock.”

“Oh,” she said, relieved to discover she could make a sound, for his hands were warm and strong and it was hard to breathe. She tugged herself free of his grasp before she could make an even bigger fool of herself. Selina walked away, needing to put some distance between them. It seemed to help as her wits gradually returned to her. “He’s your valet?” she guessed.

“He is.”