Page 4 of The Devil to Pay

18th February 1845, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

“Good God!”

Jules looked up from his plate of eggs and bacon at Pip’s exclamation as the latter set down his teacup abruptly. They had fallen into a reasonably comfortable routine over the past few days and only really spent time together at mealtimes, each man giving the other space to do as he pleased. As far as Jules could tell, Pip divided his time equally between his daughter and his estate manager. During daylight hours, the place was a hive of activity, with workmen thronging the place like ants, and only now did Jules understand what Pip had meant about the amount of work that had gone into the place already.

“Something amiss, old man?” he enquired, eyeing the pile of letters in the centre of the table with misgiving, for at least one was addressed to him, and he had been studiously ignoring it.

Pip was staring at the letter he’d just opened with astonishment. Jules’ stomach clenched.

“Emmeline Knight has eloped with the Marquess of Wrexham,” Pip replied.

“What? No!” Jules said, understanding why Pip looked so shocked. “That can’t be right.”

“See for yourself.” Pip handed him the letter and Jules scanned the contents.

“At Aunt Harry’s ball!” Jules said with a bark of laughter. Not that Lady St Clair was really his aunt, but they all referred to her as such, since they’d spent so much time at Holbrook House growing up. “Good Lord, but those parties are becoming notorious for goings on.”

“Why on earth would she do such a thing? I didn’t think she even knew him.” Pip frowned into his coffee cup as he considered this.

“Oh, yes, in fact, that’s down to me. I suggested Mother invite Emmeline to sit with Wrexham at that dinner party she threw for Lord Latimer.”

“So, it’s your fault. I might have known,” Pip said with a shake of his head.

“For all you know, they’re in love!” Jules shot back, indignant at the accusation.

“Then why elope? It’s a wonderful match for Emmeline in terms of rank and fortune. If they cared for each other, I don’t see that Gabriel would object.”

“Not Gabriel, no,” Jules said thoughtfully. “Sefton might, though.”

“Oh.” Pip nodded, conceding the point. “Miserable old goat.”

“Quite.”

Pip poured himself another cup of coffee and reached for the next letter. “For you,” he said, handing it over.

Jules groaned but took it, recognising Leo’s handwriting. It was little more than a few scrawled lines, but Jules let out a breath of relief. “Nothing yet,” he said, casting Pip a look of reproach as the man chuckled. He looked up as Briggs came in, bearing a copy of the Morning Post, neatly ironed.

“Thank you, Briggs,” he said, accepting the paper.

“Are you still intending to ride out this morning, my lord?” Briggs enquired.

Jules looked up from the paper to observe the weather outside. The sky was white and promised a freezing day, but there was no sign of rain, and he needed some exercise. As much as he had well earned a reputation for being an idle aristocrat, he enjoyed physical activity and was remarkably fit, considering his indulgent lifestyle. “Yes, I think so.”

“Very good, I shall instruct the stables to have your horse made ready.”

Briggs went out again and Jules finished his breakfast in peace. He was just setting down his knife and fork as Pip handed him another letter.

“A lady’s handwriting,” Pip observed, quirking one eyebrow. “Who knows you’re here?”

Jules frowned. Only one lady knew where he’d gone, one of the few people who knew his secret. Not that he’d told her, the wretch had figured it out and confronted him. She’d sworn to hold her tongue, and to keep him appraised of any information about his work in his absence. Having to leave the capital so soon after the release of his latest novel had been a blow, but he’d not had any option. Not that Lady Rose was old enough to be reading his work, and so he’d told her. She’d just laughed and told him her mama loved his novels and read them out to the family after dinner, acting out many of the parts.

How Rose had figured out he was the author of the bestselling titles, he still hadn’t fathomed. His mother, the duchess, knew. Of course. As she was an author herself, Jules could not have kept from telling her after his first success, but to his knowledge, outside of her and Rose, only Pip and Leo—and inevitably Briggs, for it was impossible to keep secrets from one's valet—knew of his success. Impatiently, Jules cracked the seal and opened the letter. A small cutting from a newspaper drifted out and he set it aside for a moment, reading the letter first.

My Lord Blackstone,

Your nemesis has been at work again. I enclose her review of “The Jewel and the Iron Key” submitted to The Lady’s Gazette. I think she is too critical. We thoroughly enjoyed the story and raced through it far too quickly. Please don’t take it to heart.

Yrs etc,