Page 46 of The Devil to Pay

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

“I thought you were Mr Briggs?”

Jules turned to Abigail, who was staring at him, her pretty nose wrinkled with confusion.

“I lied,” he said shortly, too anxious to come up with a more palatable explanation. “I was angry with your sister about something, and so I came here to get my own back, except—”

“Except you like her,” Abigail said with a grin. “You like her a lot. In fact—”

Jules sent her a look of pure exasperation. “Yes, I know. I know!” he said tersely. “I don’t understand why everyone thinks I’m a complete dolt, but I had gathered that much.”

“What are you going to do about it, then?” she demanded, folding her arms. “Faint heart et cetera.” She waved a hand airily at him, as if expecting him to perform a magic trick.

Scowling, Jules ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “What can I do? I must return to London tomorrow and she’s gone home and—”

“Well, go after her, then!” Abigail said, stamping her foot. “In romance novels, if the heroine leaves, the hero chases after her. He doesn’t just stand there thinking, oh well, that’s that.”

Jules stared at her. “A fair point well made. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned on his heel, and Abigail wished him luck as he went, which made him feel a little better. At least she didn’t seem to dislike the idea of him courting her sister. That was what he was going to do, he realised as he strode through the crowd, ignoring all the whispers and stares as people watched him go. Frustration gnawed at him as he waited for his coat and hat to be brought and he practically ran for the exit the moment they were handed to him.

As he pushed open the door to the building and felt the chill evening air hit his skin, he saw Hubert close the carriage door. It moved away, the horses’ hooves ringing out on the cobblestones. Hurrying down the stairs to the street, he knew he could not hail the driver and ask him to stop, for there were too many people watching.

Instead, he crossed the road, walking briskly in the same direction as the horses picked up speed. If they got too far ahead, he wouldn’t have a chance of catching them. They turned the corner, easing smoothly into a lively trot. Jules shot a quick glance behind him and looked about the street to be certain no one was watching and ran.

Though he was far fitter than many people might realise, being fond of boxing and riding and many gentlemanly sports, running had never been something in which he’d found any pleasure. Running on cobbled stones did not improve his opinion of the activity and he gritted his teeth as they slammed against the soles of his feet. The carriage was moving fast now and had already gained a considerable lead. Jules grabbed his hat before it hit the ground and ran full tilt towards the carriage. Finally coming alongside, he made a grab for the door handle, swung it open, and heaved himself inside.

His arrival in his beloved’s presence was not as elegant as he might have hoped. He’d intended to deposit himself in the seat beside her and make some urbane comment about just popping in for a chat. Instead, he found himself sprawled at her feet, gasping like a landed fish and feeling utterly ridiculous.

The shriek of alarm that heralded his entrance into the carriage swiftly became an indignant expression of outrage.

“What in the name of heaven do you think you are doing?” Davenport demanded, staring at him with an expression of such horror he wondered if this had been such a good idea after all. Especially as he couldn’t speak, too focused on trying to breathe to attempt more than a few garbled words.

“Need… talk,” he managed between gasps. “Give… give… give me a moment….”

He lay on his back on the carriage floor, heedless of the damage to his clothes—Briggs would have his hide for this—and narrowly missing getting his ankles broken as the carriage turned a sharp corner and the heavy door slammed shut.

Davenport peered down at him as if he’d crawled out from under something unpleasant.

“For heaven’s sake, get up. You look ridiculous.”

He didn’t doubt it, but the effort of moving was not appealing. Still, needs must. Grasping the velvet-covered seat cushion, he pulled himself up and heaved his body onto the seat beside her. Davenport moved away, pressing herself as far into the opposite corner as she could go.

“If you think I’m going to attempt to ravish you,” Jules said, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his face with it. “You have a very inflated notion of my prowess. I need a lie down in a dark room.”

“Then go and find one and leave me be!” she said crossly.

Jules sighed. “Davenport. I have a horrible reputation, as I’m sure you are aware. I’ve no doubt you think me a vile womaniser and I can’t say much in my own defence, except that I think I’ve been looking for something… for someone,” he amended. “All these years, and I didn’t know it. But I was looking in all the wrong places. My father tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen. It was you, though, my darling Boadicea. I was searching for a strong, impossible, intelligent, wonderful girl who was brave enough to put me in my place and tell me when I was getting it wrong. Someone who could see my mistakes and make them better, make me better…”

She blinked hard, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the carriage lamp. He hoped perhaps that was a good sign.

“You cannot be serious,” she said, but there was a quaver in her voice.

Jules laughed. “Listen here, Davenport. I’ve been a target for marriage minded mamas and their title hungry daughters since I was barely out of short trousers. I’ve been on the run all these years and have made a career out of dodging anything that remotely resembled a respectable woman. Yet here I am, literally throwing myself at your feet like a lunatic, and begging you for a chance to prove myself. To court you, my dearest Boadicea, is all I want. Just a chance to win your heart. Are you going to throw all that back in my face?”

She gave him a look of concern, as if she thought his recent exertions had somehow damaged his faculties.

“It won’t work,” she said, almost kindly, as if explaining something to a small child. “We are from different worlds.”