Page 60 of The Devil to Pay

You’ll never credit what I did on our last trip to Gunter’s. I was out with Lady Bailey, and we were sitting minding our own business, sipping hot chocolate, for it was perishing cold that day, and then this man walked past us. He was neat as a new pin, without so much as a hair out of place, and I was just thinking how much I envied him the ability to stay tidy and wishing I could emulate it when…

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Lucy Carleton to her aunt, Miss Sally Jefferson.

18th March 1845, Llun-y-mynydd, Monmouthshire.

Jules leapt to the ground and threw the reins of his sweating mare to the footman that came hurrying out of the house, without a word of explanation. His heart was hammering and had been doing so ever since he’d got the news that Lord Haversham was on his way to Monmouthshire.

He’d known the fellow meant to cause mischief but had assumed the bastard would content himself with a letter explaining what a foul devil Lord Blackstone really was. He’d been prepared for that. Though it would not aid his chances with Davenport, he felt certain he could explain to her that he was no longer that man, that meeting her had changed everything, had changed him. It might take him months to win her, years even… a dismaying thought, but not one that would stop him. She was the one. What it was about her that gave him such certainty he was not sure, except that perhaps Davenport herself was only ever entirely certain. She never prevaricated or made excuses. Davenport made decisions and stuck to them, she acted instead of endlessly talking about what she might do. She was a marvel, and he needed her and her certainty in his life.

The idea that Lord Haversham might have come here to harass and embarrass his Boadicea made something wild and angry thrash about in his chest. Jules was not a violent fellow. Though he was remarked to strip to advantage and had never made a fool of himself at the boxing establishment he frequented, he had nothing approaching a killer instinct. Yet if Lord Haversham had upset his Davenport in any way, he would not answer for the consequences.

He burst through the front door, relieved when Polly appeared to see what the commotion was.

“Where is Miss Davenport?” he demanded furiously.

Polly’s eyes went round, and she pointed to the back of the house and Davenport’s private parlour. “But you can’t go in, my lord. She’s got visitors.”

“Much I care for that,” he replied savagely and threw open the door.

The scene that met his eyes was not one he had expected. Lord and Lady Haversham were sitting together on the settee, gazing at one another like slightly older and jaded versions of Romeo and Juliet. Jules turned to see Davenport pouring out drinks, brandy by the look of it, and healthy measures too.

Despite his unheralded entrance, she had not yet noticed him enter the room. “I’ll have one of those too,” he said, for he felt like he’d walked into some peculiar parallel universe.

Davenport gave a little shriek and set down the decanter with a clatter. “Mark!” she exclaimed, and then blushed furiously, which was so endearing he wanted to kiss her. “I m-mean, my lord,” she added.

He smiled at her, hoping she could see his heart in his eyes, for it seemed his family could and teasing him had become their new favourite hobby. Stepping into the room, he closed the door and regarded Lord Haversham.

The man’s expression shuttered, his shoulder’s stiffening. “You!” the fellow said with undisguised fury.

Jules stood his ground but glanced back at Davenport, searching her face for signs of distress before he decided whether to take Haversham outside and settle their differences in the time-honoured fashion. She looked as poised and calm as she always did, but she’d likely look like that if the roof had fallen in, so there was no telling.

“Haversham,” he said coolly. “I see you decided to visit Miss Davenport in person. Have you enjoyed a nice little chat? Did my gently bred lady, alone in the house, relish hearing what you had to say?”

Haversham flushed at the implication he had acted with gross impropriety. As well he should, Jules thought savagely. Still, he got to his feet, vibrating with rage.

“And did my gently bred wife relish your—”

“Lord Haversham!” Selina’s tart voice cut through the insults and male posturing as effectively as if she’d taken the ears of small boys and given them a good tug. “Don’t you dare come into my house and subject me to any more of your invective and vile insinuations. We have established you are just as guilty as your wife, so think carefully before you make it worse again.”

Lord Haversham’s chin jutted mulishly but Lady Haversham got up, clinging to his arm, and kissed his cheek.

“Now come, Ronnie, darling,” she coaxed. “If I can forgive all your indiscretions, surely you can forgive my own little foolishness too? You promised.”

Haversham turned to regard the lady and gave a taut nod. Staring back at Jules with loathing, he added, “Stay away from my wife, Blackstone.”

“I’d be delighted to. No offence, Lady Haversham,” Jules added hastily.

The lady gave a little sniff and looked away, whilst Lord Haversham sent him a look of volcanic dislike, but merely added, “And I shall leave you and your fiancée alone, too.”

“Oh, but I’m not…” Selina began, but Lord Haversham wasn’t attending to her.

Instead, he turned back to his wife and his expression changed dramatically, the hard lines softening and his eyes glowing as he stared down at her. “Anything for you, my sweet buttercup.”

“Oh, Ronnie,” she sighed, and lifted her face for a kiss.

Jules shook his head, utterly bewildered, and walked over to Davenport. “Is it witchcraft?” he demanded.

She handed him a drink, darting a shy look at him. “Don’t be silly.”