Page 56 of The Devil to Pay

Once Hilly had woken up from her nap, Selina returned Benjamin to her care and took herself off to inspect the progress being made in the garden. She had avoided her new garden and the greenhouses in the ten days since Mar—Lord Blackstone had gone, but that would lead to disaster. She knew well enough how quickly her plans could fall apart if she was not there to manage things and oversee them.

So, she walked briskly, umbrella shielding her from the worst of the drizzle that had been interminable since she had woken, intent on making sure things were progressing in her absence. She arrived at a scene of chaos.

“Well, they ain’t our roses!” Mr Dixey insisted, thrusting a bit of paper back at a red-faced delivery driver.

The driver gesticulated furiously at it. As she drew closer, Selina realised it appeared to be an order form. Mr Dixey was flanked by two of the under-gardeners, who were gawping at proceedings as if they were at the theatre and enjoying themselves too.

“Well, it says here in black and white that they are,” the fellow said irritably. “Miss Selina Davenport and then some odd sounding house name I ain’t about to try to pronounce.”

Mr Dixey threw up his hands in frustration. “But we haven’t bought the roses yet. We always get our stock from Clive and Hughes and there’s been no order placed and, as I’m the one that would do it….”

“Mr Dixey, what is going on here, please?” Selina demanded, hurrying up to the men.

“Thank heavens, miss. This fellow has come all the way from Kent, and he tells me there’s nigh on two hundred rose bushes on those two wagons there, and that they’re yours.”

“How extraordinary,” Selina said, bewildered by this. “What makes you think so, Mr…?”

“Mr Peters, Miss Davenport, and there’s your name all right and tight at the top of the order. Now it’s not like the blast—beg pardon—it’s not like the roses need paying for. The order was paid in full before delivery.”

Selina took the proffered order form and stared at it. Between the drizzle and Mr Dixey’s muddy hands it was remarkably dog-eared, but she could make out the name De Beauvoir Nurseries and Landscaping, and her own at the top. Peering closer, she saw a dizzying list of roses, including many varieties she had discussed with Mr Dixey. There was no way she had been able to even consider such a fabulous array or number of plants, however, not on her meagre budget and… Her breath caught as she reached the bottom of the list and saw the name in which the account had been made.

“Oh,” she said, as the order form became suddenly rather blurry. “Oh, my.”

“Is anything wrong, miss?” Mr Dixey asked, his ruddy face crinkling with concern.

“Um…” Selina replied, but her throat was tight, and she felt suddenly rather unsteady. “No, but I… I have rather a headache. If… If you would excuse me.”

“But what about the roses?” Dixey demanded.

Selina could not answer. She needed a moment of privacy to steady her nerves and think about just what this meant? Because it was the most romantic gesture she had ever heard of, and she did not know what to make of it. She had spent the last days convincing herself and her stubborn heart that Lord Blackstone had only been toying with her, or at least, that he was not in earnest. Once he’d gone, she’d taken herself off to her brother’s room and shamelessly stolen an old pile of scandal sheets. She never looked at them herself, having no interest in the doings of people she neither knew of nor cared about. Now, however, she wanted to discover how the man spent his time.

It was nothing she ought not to have suspected and only reinforced her belief that he could not have been earnest in his declaration. He was a pleasure seeker, a man who took nothing seriously and only wished to enjoy himself. This was not the life of a sensible man she could rely on, one who would be a tower of strength and a friend as well as a husband. This she told herself over and over, yet she only remembered him sitting on the floor with Benjamin, building castles and playing cards with her other siblings, warning them about the dangers of gambling but making it fun too. She remembered him helping her arrange the library as penance for his foolishness, and his earnest desire to hear her opinions about his writing, even though it smarted to hear such criticism.

He'd said he’d been looking for something, she reminded herself wistfully, looking for her.

“Oh, what nonsense,” she said aloud, trying to laugh at the absurdity of a man like that wanting her, of all women.

But she could not laugh. Indeed, she felt very much like crying, and now he’d gone and sent her two hundred roses for her garden, and what on earth was she to make of that? For no doubt the extraordinary sum he must have spent buying and transporting them here was pocket change to such a man? Yet he had thought of her, of her rose garden. He could have just sent her a bunch of hot-house flowers, or sweetmeats, or something expensive and frivolous, but he hadn’t done that. He had thought about her, about what she would like, and he might as well have stepped inside her mind, for he had judged it perfectly. And now she was a wreck.

Giving her nose a hearty blow, she hurried back to the house, going by the front door as she did not want the staff seeing her in such a state. Shaking off her umbrella, she went inside and hung up her coat and hat. What she was to do about the roses she simply could not decide. She ought to send them back, but… but oh, she wanted them so very much. Even if she never saw him again, it would be a reminder that a handsome man had once considered her lovely enough to flirt with and express his admiration. That would mean a good deal in the lonely years to come.

Selina took herself off to her little parlour where a fire was blazing and sat down at her escritoire, determined to write a letter to the marquess and… well, she’d think of something.

Barely had she lifted her pen, however, when one of the upstairs maids knocked on the door.

“Beg pardon, miss, but there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Selina frowned, Polly knew all her neighbours, so this was a stranger. Not Blackstone, she told herself sternly before her heart began to thud, for Polly would have recognised him too.

“Did he give you his card?”

Polly nodded and handed it to her. Selina stared at the card, none the wiser. She got up, moving to the mirror to check her hair was tidy.

“Show him in, please.”

Polly bobbed a curtsey and hurried away, and a moment later showed in a man Selina had never met before. He stopped on the threshold, staring at her in surprise.

“Miss Davenport?” the man said, as if he doubted the truth of it.