Page 35 of The Devil to Pay

“Cake!” Benjamin piped up with enthusiasm. “Jammy want cake too, Charlie.”

“Yes, yes, you’ll have cake too,” his big brother soothed.

Polly frowned. “Mistress don’t like food in the library,” she said stoutly.

“Well, just this once, Polly, if you would be so kind,” Jules said, giving the girl the benefit of his most charming manners and a rueful smile. “All these dusty books give one a thirst, you see, and going up and down this ladder works up an appetite.”

Polly blushed but looked back at him with surprising boldness. “The books aren’t dusty, though, sir. Dusted them myself, I did.”

“Quite so,” Jules admitted sheepishly. “But I’d still like a cup of tea.”

“Oh, go on then,” she said with an indulgent air. “But it wasn’t my idea if Miss Davenport hears of it.”

“No, indeed, you warned us most severely that it was against the rules,” Jules agreed, winking at her.

Polly giggled and hurried away.

“Jammy have cake?” Benjamin demanded, apparently believing there was some doubt in the matter. Jules grinned at him.

“Yes, you’ll have cake, my lad. Never fear.”

By the time Selina had walked several miles up hill and down dale at a brisk pace, she was more or less in control of herself. Until she remembered the words he’d given her so easily, words that would be etched on her brain until the day she died.

There stands a warrior queen, was all I could think, a worthy opponent, the kind of woman a fellow goes to war with and prays he can win, for she’ll show him no mercy if he stumbles.

Perhaps if she walked to the south coast, that might do it?

Stop trying to wrestle those splendid curls into styles that can’t contain them. Free them and let them go wild, show off that outrageous figure to its fullest and stop apologising for being tall and magnificent and managing, and pretty bloody wonderful.

Oh, good heavens. What had possessed him to say such lovely things to her? For if he had told her she was beautiful and sweet and all the usual endearments men usually gave their beloveds—going on what she’d read—then she would not have had any trouble at all in dismissing it as Spanish coin, a fellow trying to turn her up sweet for his own advantage. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d agreed she was tall and managing and her figure was altogether too much, but he’d made them sound like advantages, things he admired.

She sighed, shaking her head in bewilderment. It was no good. She could walk herself into exhaustion, but it would not change what he had said, nor the manner in which he’d said it. For it had sounded genuine, like he meant every word… like he cared.

“Foolish nonsense,” she told herself sternly, ignoring the curious gaze of a soft-eyed cow that lifted its head to study her as she strode past.

A man like that, a man who looked like he did, with his ease of address and his charming manners, could have any woman eating out of his hand. She did not doubt he was practised in the art of dalliance, and likely it was normal behaviour for him. Probably, he was skilled at tailoring his comments to suit whichever woman he was with. Appearing to admire things which were obviously faults to most people would be a surefire way to gain favour. He would make her the object of his gallantry for the time he was here, and then he would leave without a backwards glance, and she would be a fool to read anymore into it than that. No doubt he was packing right now, ready to get away from this dull backwater.

As for why he should trouble to say such things, the answer was clear enough. No doubt, he expected a woman of her years to be more sophisticated and to know not to take such gallantry as anything more than a little light flirtation. But Selina wasn’t sophisticated. She had been little more than a girl when she had been thrust into the cruel waters of society and discovered she could not swim. At eighteen, she had packed up her dreams of being wooed, of happy ever afters and a man who would fall madly in love with her and want to share a life with her. She had set aside her hopes for a future and a family of her own, and when her brother and then her mother had died, she had picked up the shattered pieces of her life, hidden her own heartbreak away, and taken on responsibility for the household. Not that there had been a choice, for no one else was going to do it.

It would have taken very little to make her content enough with her lot. Her father’s respect and just a little gratitude for raising his children for him would have been something. A word of appreciation from her eldest brother, and the assurance that he would see her right when he finally married and took over the household, would have eased some of her fears for the future. For no new wife—no matter how sweet-natured—would want her husband’s managing sister in residence, that was for certain. So then what would become of her?

She supposed she would have to live with her Aunt Rita, a sour faced pinch penny who always smelled strongly of cabbage. Selina did not doubt Rita would lose no time in dismissing the minimal staff she kept on and have her take over the role of unpaid drudge. She supposed she was more than qualified to take it on.

Selina stopped in her tracks.

“Stop it!”

The cows in the field beside her took umbrage at the sharp words and lumbered away, mooing mournfully as they went. Selina clenched her fists, furious with herself.

“You are better than this,” she told herself. “Just because a handsome fellow has a bit of sport at your expense, there’s no need to get yourself in a tizzy!”

Except it hadn’t felt like sport; it had felt real. He had sounded earnest and sincere. She sucked in an uneven breath and tried to calm her heart. Glancing around to ensure only the irritated cows could see her, Selina put her hands to her breasts and traced their outline, smoothing her hands down over her waist, over her hips. She was very curvy and, as much as she despised their groping and lewd comments, her father’s friends certainly did not seem revolted by her size or her figure. She had just assumed she was the only young female in their vicinity and therefore better than nothing, but what if Mark was right? What if she was not a dried-up old spinster, as her father kept telling her, but still in her prime?

Papa would certainly not encourage her to marry, for then he would need to employ a housekeeper and take charge of the estate himself, not to mention keeping accounts and paying his own bills, and that was far too much like hard work. What if he had told her no man would want a bossy female of her stamp, merely to keep her in her place? Selina walked on, considering this.

It did not change the facts of her disastrous season, but perhaps away from the glittering society of the ton, in more familiar surroundings with less fashionable people… perhaps she might do better? It had not even been a possibility before, for with her brother, then her mother dying, she had been in mourning for years and in no mood for socialising even if it had been allowed. Now, though….

A dance would not be so bad, after all, and someone needed to keep an eye on Abigail. Hubert had promised faithfully to be back from town to escort them, but Selina had no faith in anything that unsteady creature said to her. Hilly had agreed to chaperone Abigail if he didn’t come, but at heart, Selina knew it wouldn’t do. Abigail could pull the wool over her nurse’s eyes with no difficulty and was too easily led to be left unattended. With looks like hers, the local bucks would fall over themselves to snare her, and she could do so much better than a minor squire’s son with limited prospects or fortune.