Page 39 of The Devil to Pay

Taking his courage in his hands and not daring to linger a moment longer, he moved back to her, pressed a sweet, regretful kiss to her cheek.

“Goodbye, my adorable Boadicea,” he murmured, and walked away.

Chapter 14

Jules,

I don’t know if this letter will reach you, but a little bird suggested I might find you here. If the rumours flying about town are true, I think you had better come home, my lad.

It’s time to face the music.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Most Hon’ble Jules Adolphus, Marquess of Blackstone, from his father, his Grace, Robert Adolphus, The Duke of Bedwin

8th March 1845, Llun-y-mynydd, Monmouthshire.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” Pip demanded.

Jules looked up from the plate of breakfast he had been contemplating for the past five minutes but hadn’t actually touched. He blinked, torn from his tangled thoughts by Pip’s irritated demand.

“Sorry, old man, wool gathering. What was that?”

Pip set his coffee cup down with a clatter, glaring at him. “I asked what the devil is wrong with you, Blackstone. You’ve been moping about the place ever since you got back from your ridiculous adventure with Miss Davenport. Are you certain you didn’t do anything terrible over there? I’m not going to have an irate brother or that dreadful father on my doorstep, demanding you marry her?”

“No!” Jules exclaimed, stung by the accusation. “Certainly not.”

He ought not to have kissed her, though. Oh, Christ, how he wished he hadn’t kissed her, for now he could not get the memory of it out of his head. He couldn’t get her out of his head. The dance was tonight, and she was going, intending to find herself a husband. The vision of some paragon of the gentry with political ambitions sweeping her off her feet kept intruding on his thoughts. Some lusty squire's son with big shoulders, putting his hands on her, on his Boadicea. Not that she was his, he didn’t want her to be his! But the thought of it still made his stomach churn with an odd mix of sorrow and jealousy. Good God, she was driving him distracted. He’d send himself to Bedlam if he kept this up.

“Jules!”

“What?” Jules jumped to discover Pip staring at him with a peculiar look on his face, as if he’d never seen him before.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Pip said, a slow smile curving his lips, amusement glinting in his cool, silver eyes.

“What?” Jules demanded, suddenly on the defensive. To his dismay, he felt heat crawling down the back of his neck.

Pip chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, smirking and picking up his knife and fork.

“What the devil are you looking so bloody smug about?” Jules stared at him uneasily. The idea that Pip might have an inkling about what the trouble was did nothing to soothe his state of mind.

Pip rearranged his face to something less likely to get him thumped, but there was a tremor of laughter in his voice. “Not a thing, old man. I say, when is Briggs coming back to you? I’ve never seen you look so disordered. He’ll pitch a fit if he sees the state of that cravat, and you desperately need a shave.”

Jules glowered. He was well aware he did not look his sartorial best. He’d not been able to muster the energy to shave himself this morning, and whilst he was more than capable of doing it, and of tying his own cravat, it took concentration, and he seemed to have lost the knack. Damn that dreadful, diabolical girl! He wished to God he’d never heard the name of Davenport. She was ruining him. “Briggs will be back shortly. He finished work yesterday and is packing up our belongings at the cottage this morning. I sent the carriage for him about an hour ago.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Pip said with a grin. “There’s post for you there, by the way. I may be mistaken but I believe I recognise his grace’s hand on that top one. You’ve been run to ground, my friend.”

Jules’ stomach clenched as his gaze drifted to the letters. It was indeed his father’s hand. With a sense of inevitability, he reached for it and broke the seal. He scanned the brief note, a little surprised by the lack of condemnation and threats to his person if he did not present himself immediately at his father’s door. Lord, perhaps things were worse than he’d thought if his father had decided to be kind to him. He didn’t think he could bear that. Far better his sire should rant and rage, and tell him what an imbecile he was, than try to protect him, or—worst of all—be kind and understanding and yet so dreadfully disappointed.

Jules’ stomach, already in a delicate state, tied itself into a knot. He pushed his breakfast away with distaste and opened the letter from Leo, which compounded matters by telling him to get himself back to town. Well, that was that, then. As his father said, time to face the music.

He’d best leave tomorrow morning. There was a wrenching feeling in his chest.

“Everything all right?” Pip asked gently. “You’ve turned the ghastliest shade, you know.”

Jules gave a short laugh. “For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap,” he said darkly.

Pip looked vaguely alarmed. “Steady on, Blackstone. Biblical quotations from you at this hour of the morning are enough to ring alarm bells. You’re not about to do anything daft now, are you?”

Jules considered this and gave Pip a long, searching look. “You know, Pip, I rather think I am.”