Page 31 of The Devil to Pay

“Oh, drat the fellow,” she said, disappointed.

He looked back at her in surprise, and she sighed. “Well, he was coming on nicely. Everyone likes him, and he works hard and knows his job… and now I shall have to find another gardener.”

The gentleman who was not Mark Briggs had the grace to look rather sheepish. “Oh, well, yes. Eventually, I’m afraid. He may be a worthy gardener, but he is a most excellent valet, and I really couldn’t part with him. However, he has decided to stay on and finish the rose garden, so you have a little time.”

“Ah, as to that, I do not think there will be a rose garden this year,” she said, ignoring the little stab of regret as she spoke the words aloud. It had been a foolish project from the start. Too frivolous when there were so many other more pressing concerns.

“Whyever not?”

He sounded almost annoyed, and Selina looked at him in surprise.

“Oh, the usual. Papa has been busy in town. I never did understand how a gentleman can run up quite so many debts in a short space, but I suppose that’s just my provincial attitude. A man of fashion, as you quite obviously are, must find it an inevitable part of life.”

“That did not sound like a compliment, Davenport,” he said with a wry smile. “And fashionable or not, I do not run up debts I can’t pay. Anyone who does or puts their family in an uncomfortable position to satisfy his own pleasures, is an unmitigated arse.”

She gave a shocked gasp at his words, not for swearing in front of her—well, yes, partly because he had sworn in front of her—but not because she disapproved, but for his understanding she would not be missish about it. She liked that he had believed that. Except she had gasped, and now he was looking at her with concern. Selina laughed, for she had only been surprised, and his face eased as he realised he’d read her correctly. A new thought occurred to her.

“You know my father.”

He shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. Selina told herself not to notice the way the fabric of his coat tightened over the muscle in his arm as he did so. She failed.

“Not exactly.”

“You know of him and avoid him whenever possible, then,” she said, daring him to deny the truth of her words.

He hesitated, and she saw the ingrained desire of a gentleman to give a polite answer war with what he really wanted to say.

“Yes,” he admitted, observing her reaction cautiously.

She could not help but grin at him. “Very sensible.”

A breath of relief escaped him, and he laughed softly. “I did not wish to cause offence.”

“Oh, you couldn’t, not in that way, at least,” she said cheerfully. “Papa cares nothing for us, so I decided long ago I wouldn’t care a button for him either. It wouldn’t be so bad if he were interesting, but he’s a crashing bore, and his loathsome cronies are even worse.”

“How the devil did that man produce someone as interesting as you, let alone that ravishing creature I saw on the stairs?”

The smile froze on Selina’s lips. Oh. Of course. Abigail. Selina might consider her merely a baby, but she would be of age soon enough, and there was no denying she was a beauty. She would cause a sensation upon her come out.

Selina pushed aside anything resembling hurt pride or disappointment and reminded herself sternly that there was no romance here. Not for her, at least. If he was as well-bred as she suspected, it might well be a splendid match for Abigail, though not for several years yet. There was perhaps a chance he might be willing to wait for such a pretty creature. Not that she had a dowry to speak of, but judging by his coat and boots this man was not short on funds. Abigail was a henwit, though, and perhaps he would grow tired of her, though she could play piano and embroider as well as their mother had done. Perhaps that was all he looked for in a wife. It was true of many men. That it might apply here made Selina feel unaccountably melancholy. No doubt his mistress would be witty and clever and beautiful to make up for it. The chances of this fellow not having a mistress in town were not worth calculating. She felt vaguely sick. Selina did not wish to see her little sister made unhappy by an unfaithful husband, even if he looked like every hero the romantic creature had ever dreamed of.

“My mother was a beauty,” she said, forcing herself to speak with ease when she felt as if his words had knocked out the wind of her. “Abigail takes after her, though she’s little more than a child really. I’m told I’m like my paternal grandfather. He was big, you see. Well over six feet, though lamentably, I also inherited his and Papa’s dreadful red hair. Poor Julia is convinced she will die an old maid, as she’s stuck with it too. I can’t convince her myself, obviously, seeing as I’m living the life she fears, but she’s far prettier than me, so she’ll not have any trouble,” she added with a determinedly bright smile.

Mark—though Selina was having increasing difficulty thinking of him with that name—seemed not to hear this. He was studying her with an odd expression.

“I like your hair.”

“W-What?” This comment seemed so outrageous Selina took a step back, a hand automatically raising to her ungovernable curls.

“It suits you.”

She bristled, her chin going up. “There’s no need to be insulting.”

A look of confusion settled upon that far too handsome face. “Insulting? But that was a compliment.”

Selina snorted. “A backhanded one, perhaps.”

“No, Davenport,” he said, a steely note entering his voice. “A straightforward compliment.”