Page 8 of The Devil to Pay

You will hear soon enough what a monumental fix I have got myself into, and there’s no one to blame but myself. Please don’t get on your high horse and come back hell bent on vengeance, for you must take your frustration out on me. By the time you read this, I shall be the Marchioness of Kilbane.

I can almost hear your shout of horror, but it truly was not his fault. Even Papa has accepted that much. I pursued him and… well, never mind the details, suffice to say we were seen in an innocent but outwardly compromising position. So, our fates are sealed.

If you want the truth, I am not entirely displeased, for I have had every intention of marrying Kilbane, though I did not expect it so quickly or in such a manner. What I cannot bear is the heartbreak in Papa’s eyes, the sorrow in Mama’s. I wish you would come back so at least they might have something to take their minds from their wayward daughter.

I miss you.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington to her older brother The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, Earl of Ashburton. (Children of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

19th February 1845, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

The explosion of wrath emanating from the breakfast room made Jules stop in his tracks halfway down the stairs. A footman, who had been about to carry in a basket of freshly baked rolls, hesitated outside the door and sent Jules a look of sheer panic. Jules hurried down and plucked the basket from the fellow’s hands.

“I’ll deal with this. Off you go,” he instructed.

The footman fled with a murmur of thanks and Jules opened the door to find Pip white with rage, a crumpled letter in his hands.

“Pip?” Jules said carefully. “Bad news?”

Pip sent him an incendiary look. “That bastard Kilbane,” he growled, a savage glint in his eyes. “I’m going to cut him up into tiny pieces and feed them to the pigs.”

Jules blinked, never having heard Pip speak with quite so much violence. “Righty ho. I’m sure anyone would feel the urge, devilish fellow, but any particular reason?”

“He’s ruined my sister.”

Jules sucked in a breath of shock. “Show me,” he demanded.

Pip handed him the letter, which was nigh on illegible, it was so crumpled. Jules smoothed it out and read it through. Pip paced as he did, muttering under his breath and punctuating his plans to head south with grisly illustrations of what the wicked marquess had in store when he got his hands on him.

“Er… Did you read all of it?” Jules asked hesitantly, having got to the end of Cat’s bombshell.

“No, just the salient part,” Pip growled. “Damn him! It will upset Tilly if I go, I could murder him for that alone, and the workmen are finally getting on and making progress and—”

“Pip, I think you should read it all,” Jules said, interrupting this tirade and holding the letter out to him.

“Why?” Pip asked suspiciously, taking the letter as if it might explode in his face.

“Don’t murder me too, Pip, but the fellow didn’t ruin her, he married her. And…” Jules said, holding out his hands when Pip turned purple with rage. “She says even your father has accepted she trapped Kilbane, not the other way around. You’ve not been around these past months, so you don’t know, but it’s been clear to me she’d set her sights on having him. Lord, she says as much.”

“She’s just a child!” Pip raged. “She doesn’t have the slightest idea what she wants, what kind of man he is.”

Jules sent him a pitying look. “I know you want to think that, but the truth is she’s a lot older and wiser than you realise. You’ve been a tad preoccupied of late, old man, and I think your sister has grown up a good deal whilst you weren’t looking.” Pip looked so miserable Jules softened his words. “Read the letter Pip. Write back to her and be kind. She’s feeling wretched for having upset everyone, but not for having married the fellow. You must see the difference. Don’t let her think you’re angry with her, or disappointed. She needs someone to support her. It ought to be you.”

Pip glowered but gave a taut nod and marched off, letter in hand. Jules sat down with a sigh and served himself breakfast, wondering how Briggs was getting on. The man had ridden over to Llun-y-mynydd the lair of the infernal Miss Davenport, to enquire about a job as a gardener.

Briggs had grumbled and whinged about having to dress in old clothes bought from a bewildered workman and in which he’d dare show his face in London, but Jules had told him two hundred pounds was enough to soothe any injured feelings and to buck up.

To be fair, he had done, and had ridden off at first light to do his best. Not that he was above predicting doom and catastrophe before he went, but Briggs was pessimistic by nature and Jules had paid no heed.

It was close to midday before the man returned, riding up the overgrown driveway, his face flushed from the cold and a satisfied look in his eyes which Jules did not entirely trust. Hurrying out to meet him, he took hold of the horse’s bridle.

“Well?” he demanded as Briggs leapt down from his borrowed mount.

“I got the job,” Briggs said with a grin.

“Of course you did!” Jules said, slapping him on the back and feeling like a proud father. “Best fellow for the job by miles, I reckon.”

Briggs snorted. “Only fellow. She’s not advertised it yet, but she seemed happy enough with my credentials, though it’s a good job I wrote to my father to warn him first thing, because she’s going to contact to him for confirmation I’m who I say I am. He’ll think I’ve taken leave of my senses.”