Page 40 of The Devil to Pay

“Well, I never did,” Polly said with a shake of her head. “You look splendid, Miss Davenport, truly. I never saw you look so lovely.”

Selina gave a shaky little laugh, quite unable to take her eyes from the unfamiliar image in the mirror. The dressmaker, Mrs Hughes, had done her proud. She had rejected the first two dresses given her, in a lovely jonquil yellow, which Selina had thought very pretty but Hughes had been adamant would not do at all. Happily, Selina had also added four other gowns, just in case, including one of deep purple and another of black, which bore a large quantity of lace she’d thought might be useful. To her surprise, Mrs Hughes had instantly taken up the purple, insisting it was the very thing alongside the black lace. Selina had been exceedingly dubious, never having worn such a bold colour in her life before, but now…

Her heart gave an odd thump as she turned this way and that. She looked, well, not pretty, exactly—no one could ever describe her as pretty—but, as Polly said, she did look rather splendid. The gown was cut low over the bust, descending over her bosom in a demi-coeur style. It was set off with a black lace pelerine with two falls, and three more deep flounces of black lace at the bottom of the skirts. Despite the lace, the style was severe, and the cut seemed to highlight her large bust, making her waist look ridiculously small in comparison. Polly, who had been urged into the role of lady’s maid for the night, had begged to be allowed to do Selina’s hair for her. Selina usually did her own hair, but she remembered Mark’s words and let Polly have her way.

The results were startling. The uncompromising styles she usually favoured scraped the hair from her face and wrestled her long, heavy locks into submission with more pins and liquid Bandoline than she cared to admit, often giving her a shocking headache by the end of the day. This style, far less severe, left some curls free to fall gently about her face and entirely changed her forthright profile, softening her features and the rather fierce line of her jaw.

“Oh, miss, put it on now, please!” Polly said, holding out a square leather box, lined with white silk. The girl was almost bouncing with excitement and Selina turned, her throat growing tight as she looked at the magnificent necklace. Her mother had left it to her, and Selina guarded it jealously, knowing her father would have sold it if he could. It was the one thing of value she owned, worth a small fortune, but she would rather have died than part with it. The necklace comprised a graduated series of large, oval amethysts, each set within a frame of diamonds. The last amethyst, a huge stone, hung like a pendant over her décolletage and, as Selina allowed Polly to fasten it in place, she remembered Mark’s words to her.

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.

For the first time in her life, she felt like a queen, and though it was irrational, she wished he hadn’t gone away. It was for the best; she knew it was. It was just as he’d said, they’d kill each other or something… though he had not explained what the something was and it plagued her, wondering what he had meant. But he’d had to go. He was only dallying after all, amusing himself with a gently bred spinster while he was rusticating for a bit. No doubt he was back in town by now, passing the time himself with far more sophisticated beauties and not sparing her another thought.

The idea made her throat tight, as that kiss… oh, that kiss would live in her memory until she drew her last breath. She had not known, had never understood, what it was to be kissed in such a way. She had been reshaped by that kiss, branded by it, and she did not think she would ever be the same again.

She was grateful to him, she told herself. It had been a generous thing for him to kiss her so splendidly, and to make her feel as though he’d truly desired her. He had made her feel alive, and wanted and feminine in a way she had not believed possible. For he was big and strong and not the least bit intimidated by her, and for the first time in her life, she had felt almost delicate.

He had never tried to crush her or made her feel like she was wrong for taking charge either, for making decisions, for taking what she wanted and kissing him back like a madwoman. So yes, she was grateful, but she was glad he was gone all the same. She truly was. Absolutely. Glad and relieved. Now there were no distractions. She could get on with her life and her new purpose. Tonight, she would find herself a suitable husband, or at least, make some tentative steps in that direction. For surely Mark Briggs, or whoever he was, could not be the only man in the world who was not afraid of a strong-minded female, and whoever or wherever that man was, Selina was determined to hunt him down.

Chapter 15

Hart,

I need your help. What do you know about roses?

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Hartley De Beauvoir (adopted son of Inigo and Minerva De Beauvoir) from The Most Hon’ble Jules Adolphus, Marquess of Blackstone.

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

“You’re going to the assembly… in Monmouth?” Pip repeated, as if Jules had just announced he intended to fly to the moon.

“Well, why else do you think I’m all tarted up?” Jules said irritably, checking his cravat in the mirror yet again, despite knowing Briggs had worked a miracle and it was a thing of perfection.

“Yes, but… in Monmouth,” Pip said again, disbelief in his astonished expression.

“Yes, in Monmouth. Whyever not? I’ve always known you’re a bit of a stickler, Pip, but I never knew you were such a damned snob.”

“I’m not!” Pip retorted, laughing. “I’m just trying to imagine the Marquess of Blackstone at the local assembly. My God, everyone will lose their minds.”

“Well, the Marquess of Blackstone isn’t going,” Jules shot back, tugging at his waistcoat. “Mr Mark Briggs is going.”

Pip shook his head and groaned. “Oh, Jules, you utter pillock.”

“What?”

Pip settled down in the chair by the fire and sighed. “There’s no point in me explaining it. I can see you’ve got your mind made up and I know what a pigheaded devil you are. But you’re heading for a fall, old fellow. A spectacular one, too, unless I’ve missed my guess.”

“Curse it, Pip, what the hell do you mean by that?” Jules demanded.

Pip’s expression softened. “You’ve gone and got yourself all in a knot over Miss Davenport, which is precisely why I warned you not to mess with her. You’ve never been able to resist a challenge, and she’s the kind of woman to be a red rag to that pride of yours. But she’s not the kind you dally with, and you know it, which means this is serious.”

Jules felt a tinge of colour crest his cheekbones and turned to look at the fire, frowning down into the flames. “It’s not… I don’t—”

“Oh, stow it, Blackstone. You can fool yourself if you like, but not me. But if you go wooing the lady as someone you’re not—”

“But she doesn’t know me,” Jules cut in. “She doesn’t know about all the ridiculous things I’ve done, the mess I’ve made of everything. If she did… But she likes me, Pip. At least I think she does, and she admires my writing, and doesn’t just want to be with me because I’m the heir to a dukedom. You, of all people, must know how liberating that is!”

Pip snorted and returned a crooked smile. “Obviously, I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you are lying to a woman you’ve got feelings for. If this is serious, if you mean to court her, you must tell her before it goes any further.”