Chapter 3

Three

Few things truly shocked Minnie. She’d seen more than her fair share of despicable behavior, bad manners, and cruelty in her lifetime. And that was just from her family. She herself lived a life that was considered outlandish by most of the ton .

Seeing the wicked sculpture in the art broker’s office, and then learning that it had been created by Lord Lawrence Godwin himself shocked her in a way few things had. Never in all her days would she have expected such a mild-mannered, kind, and distinguished gentleman like Lord Lawrence to be capable of creating something that was not only erotic, it was magnificently accomplished and really quite beautiful.

“You have talent,” she complimented Lord Lawrence once they were in the carriage, finally making their way out of London along the western road.

“Hmm?” Lord Lawrence hummed, dragging himself out of his contemplation of the scenery they passed as he stared out the window. Or, more likely, pulling himself from all-encompassing thoughts.

“I merely observed that you have exquisite talent in sculpting,” Minnie said, hugging herself tighter, as the carriage hadn’t completely warmed up yet.

“Oh,” Lord Lawrence said with a small smile. “Thank you. While all of my brothers and cousins were intent on attending university to broaden their education in the classics and in land management, or, in Alden’s case, in herpetology, all I wanted to do was draw and play with clay.”

Something about the way he said that, the hunch of his shoulders and the sheepish look that accompanied the self-effacing gesture had Minnie certain there was much more to the story than met the eye. Just as she was certain there was more to the story of why the former Lady Wimpole in Wiltshire was in possession of an erotic sculpture he had fashioned.

“I studied mathematics at Oxford,” Minnie said when Lawrence didn’t seem keen to keep the conversation going. “Mostly as they applied to financial matters.”

Lawrence’s brow shot up, and he sat a little straighter. “I would have thought you would study poetry and exotic works of literature from far-distant lands,” he said.

“I studied a bit of that,” Minerva said with a nod. “But as delightful as sad ballads and tales of woe from the orient are, they do not assist one in making wise investments and providing independent financial security.”

Lawrence’s expression registered surprise again, which made him look like a man of half his years. Minnie knew from her association with the Godwin family through her friends that Lawrence was the middle of Lord Gerald’s three sons, and that he was about fifty years of age, but even the streaks of silver in his dark hair couldn’t disguise his youthful spirit.

“Are you financially independent?” he asked, his curiosity clearly genuine and not at all disapproving.

“I am,” Minnie nodded. “I have been quite successful in investing in shares of ships trading with the American colonies, though now that they are rumbling for independence, I intend to redirect my investments elsewhere.”

“How extraordinary,” Lord Lawrence said. Minnie could see that he actually meant it, unlike most men she discussed her financial adventures with.

“I have no intention of being dependent on anyone for my position in life,” she said with a shrug. “Least of all a husband.”

Just thinking the word “husband” cast her mind back to her escape from a wedding she had not wanted, and to the possibility that Owen had pursued her to London. She gave a little shiver, then pulled her coat tighter around her arms, using the excuse of the cold to dismiss the gesture.

“Perhaps you would care to ride in the seat beside me?” Lord Lawrence asked carefully. “I see you are chilled, and sitting closer would keep us both warmer.”

“No, thank you, Lord Lawrence,” Minnie said, instinctively suspicious about his reasons for asking. “I am enjoying the view from here.”

It took her a moment or two to realize her words could be taken to mean she wanted to gaze upon Lord Lawrence’s handsome figure as they drove on. She had to admit that he was finely formed, particularly for a man his age. He was tall and broad of shoulders, with a trim waist and very little paunch, unlike most men his age of her acquaintance. His face was pleasingly formed, with strong lines and cheery eyes.

“I mean the view of the countryside out the window,” she corrected herself all the same as she grew warmer at the way Lord Lawrence smiled. “I do so love the way rain bathes the countryside in soft greys.”

“By all means,” Lord Lawrence said with a small nod. “I would not want to impinge on your enjoyment of the countryside .”

Minerva tensed at the comment and peeked at Lord Lawrence out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to be absorbed in the passing landscape. Any other man of her acquaintance would have pressed the matter, perhaps to the point of forcing her to take a seat by his side. Lord Lawrence had bowed to her wishes so swiftly that she wondered what game he was playing.

As the hours and miles passed, however, Minnie began to wonder if Lord Lawrence had any games up his sleeves at all. He seemed more than content to sit in silence with her, watching the world pass them by as they rolled sedately over muddy roads and past sodden fields and hamlets.

They stopped at a coaching inn that night, and the entire evening passed without incident. Lord Lawrence made certain Minnie had her own, small room, that they were fed, and that Silas, his driver, was given warm, dry lodgings as well. His kindness was apparent to Minnie in the friendly deference Silas showed him.

The next day passed in much the same way. Minnie brought a book out of her valise to read and pass the time, and in a test of how amenable to her eccentricities Lord Lawrence would be, she brought Clarence out and sat him on the seat beside her as they drove on.

“What a magnificent specimen,” Lord Lawrence observed once the carriage lurched forward along still-muddy roads, smiling at Clarence. “Where did you obtain such a thing?”

Minnie had only just picked up her book, so it could not be said that Lord Lawrence had interrupted her reading. Yet.

“I purloined my friend here from one of the medical laboratories at the physician’s college within Oxford University,” she said, daring Lord Lawrence with her eyes to object to her long-ago mischief.

“May I?” Lord Lawrence asked, reaching out for Clarence.

Curious to see what he would do next, Minnie nodded. “You may.”

Lord Lawrence picked up the skull and turned it over in his hands. The way he caressed it reminded Minnie that he was a sculptor. He had a way of following the ridges of Clarence’s facial bones as if he could see what they would have looked like covered with flesh, and stroking Clarence’s skull bones as if he would run his fingers through his hair.

The fleeting thought occurred to Minnie that she would not have minded if he wanted to run his fingers through her hair or caress her cheekbones in such a way.

She put that thought immediately aside as Lord Lawrence sighed his approval of Clarence and returned him to the seat beside Minnie, saying, “You are lucky to have such a beautiful ornament.”

Minnie blinked at him. He was not teasing her, nor was he merely lowering her defenses so that he could attack her for her oddities. It was…it was annoying, in a way. She shifted restlessly in her seat, reaching for Clarence to rearrange the way he sat. How dare Lord Lawrence unsettle her so by being so…so… nice ?

Her itching, uncomfortable annoyance with the man continued throughout the day when he let her read her book in peace without once interrupting to ask what she was reading or to tell her what he thought on the subject. Lord Lawrence seemed content to watch the world out the window, since he had not brought a book himself. After their stop at another inn for luncheon, he fell asleep as the carriage rattled on, making slow progress over the muddy roads. He snored a bit as he napped, but even that was frustratingly charming.

By the third day of their quiet, companionable journey together, Minnie had reached her limit of patience for traveling.

“I cannot sit for a moment longer,” she told Lord Lawrence when they reached yet another coaching inn along the road. “I simply must go for a walk to work some blood back into my legs.”

“I agree,” Lord Lawrence sighed. “As marvelous as the modern conveyance of a double spring carriage is, one simply must exercise the physical body now and then before it calcifies completely.”

Minnie paused in the courtyard in front of the inn and stared at Lord Lawrence with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t going to advise her on the dangers of walking in an unfamiliar country? He wouldn’t forbid her from going for a walk because it was raining lightly and her health might be at risk? He wasn’t going to order her to sit prettily by the fire in the inn while he arranged everything around her exactly to his specifications?

The nerve of the man!

“Let me just inquire at the inn to be certain they have rooms for us,” he said, holding up a finger to Minnie as he stepped toward the inn’s front door. “And perhaps they have a pair of umbrellas we could borrow for our walk.”

“Yes, please,” Minnie found herself saying, even though her natural instinct was to be annoyed over any infringement on her independence.

Lord Lawrence was quick about his errand. Minnie waited for him under the awning outside of the inn’s door as Silas drove the carriage around so he could tend to it and the horses. A few of the inn’s patrons and fellow travelers stared at her, but as Minnie had learned long ago, the black she wore immediately made those around her assume she was mourning someone, which meant she had peace and sympathetic looks instead of being accosted or, even worse, flirted with.

“Here we are,” Lord Lawrence said a few, short moments later, exiting the inn with two, sturdy, black umbrellas. “They do not mind if we borrow these. I paid well for the privilege, and for the rooms.”

“Thank you, Lord Lawrence,” Minnie said, desperately tempted to smile as Lord Lawrence opened an umbrella for her, then handed it over.

It irritated her to no end that she wanted to smile at the man. What had come over her that she was so quickly inclined to like a male of the species? Men had caused nothing but trouble for her in her thirty-seven years, constantly badgering her and attempting to woo her into giving up everything she was and cared about. How dare Lord Lawrence defy those trends?

The two of them started along a small path leading away from the inn, which Lord Lawrence said the innkeeper had recommended to him because of its expansive view of the hills around them. Indeed, the vista was breathtakingly beautiful in all its rainy, gloomy splendor. Not only that, Minnie spotted a small church with a graveyard a short distance down one of the hills.

“I intend to explore the graveyard,” she told Lord Lawrence, eyeing him sideways.

She waited for him to protest that a lady should not enjoy such things, but instead, he said, “Oh! What an interesting activity.”

Minnie clenched her jaw, waiting for the barb that would follow that apparent approval, but none came.

It was a relief to walk in the rain after so long tucked away in a carriage, and by the time they approached the small churchyard, Minnie’s expectations of being thwarted by Lord Lawrence had vanished, leaving her with a strangely light sort of contentment.

“I’ve always enjoyed graveyards,” she said as Lord Lawrence skipped ahead to open the small gate dividing the graves from the rest of the churchyard. “They contain such a rich history of humanity.”

“I suppose they do,” Lord Lawrence said, his expression as bright as a spring day, despite the increase in the rain’s intensity.

Still off-balance by his cheeriness, Minnie began to walk among the headstones, reading them and absorbing the names they contained. Her mind buzzed with a dozen stories to match the simple epitaphs she read.

“ Here lies Constance Whitcomb, beloved wife and mother ,” she read aloud.

“Poor thing,” Lawrence said.

Minnie glanced to him with a small frown. “Why poor thing?” she asked.

Lawrence nodded to the smaller stone beside Constance’s. “Her date of death is the same as the infant beside her.”

Minnie sucked in a small breath and glanced at the two stones, seeing the connection.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I’d wager that she waited for all of her—” she paused as she calculated Constance’s age at her death, “—thirty-one years to have a child, and when she finally did, the babe died before the night was done. Poor Constance died of a broken heart in the morning.”

Lawrence hummed, then said, “Perhaps not. Gauging by several of the other stones nearby, Constance and H-Harold,” he squinted as he read the stone, “had quite a few children.” He pointed to three other stones, stating the dates of those buried there aloud. “I’d wager that they had a lovely, happy family. Constance was the apple of her dear Harold’s eye and beloved by her children, most of whom lived to a ripe, old age. They may have lost their mother in childbirth, but Constance was well-loved and her memory was cherished by all.”

Minnie stared flatly at Lord Lawrence. “Dying of a broken heart is a far more romantic death than an ordinary, comforting one,” she said. “And her husband’s name was Harland, not Harold.”

“Oh? I beg your pardon,” Lord Lawrence said, blushing, and bowed to the headstone.

Minnie moved on, finding another name that struck her fancy.

“Paul Abercrombie,” she said, pointing to the stone of a man who had lived well into his eighties. “He was a terrible miser who made the lives of those around him miserable. He had two wives whom he poisoned, but they were so glad to be rid of him that they drank the poison willingly.”

Lord Lawrence squinted at the headstone and tilted his head. “Oh, no, that’s not it at all. Paul Abercrombie was a jolly, beloved soul. He hosted picnics for the entire hamlet at his country house every midsummer, even though he hardly had any money of his own. He was a wise and beloved grandfather to all who knew him. He loved his first wife dearly and never truly got over her early death, but when his wife’s fetching cousin came to care for him and the children in the hour of his grief, he fell in love with her, a different sort of love, and married her when the appropriate mourning period was over. They lived happily for the rest of their lives and never forgot the beloved first wife.”

Minnie wanted to huff and stomp away through the wet grass in protest. Lord Lawrence clearly did not know how the game was played.

She moved on, attempting to find a stone with a story behind it that he couldn’t possibly turn into a cheery, romantic tale.

“William Everley,” she said, pointing at a newer stone. The man had only been eighteen, and he’d died two years before. “Struck down by a speeding carriage while on his way to his wedding. The physician thought he could save him at first and amputated his mangled leg in an effort to save his life. But the wound turned gangrenous, and he died in agony after days.”

Lord Lawrence started, then turned to look at Minnie with a strange look of bewilderment.

“He was a soldier,” he said, as if it were obvious. “He died a hero on the battlefields of France, defending an entire village against Napoleon. He helped a distraught, widowed noblewoman to escape to England. She wished for him to escape with her, and she promised to marry him and make him a rich man. But Billy had a higher calling and returned to fight for what he believed was right. He took a bullet in the heart defending the captain of his regiment and was awarded a cross of honor posthumously.”

Minnie huffed and shook her head. “How do you know all that?”

“How do you know that he was struck by a carriage?” Lord Lawrence asked in turn.

“I have imagined it,” she said, tilting her chin up.

Lord Lawrence pointed to the headstone. “I have observed the carving of the Medal of Honor that was given to those who died in the war against Bonaparte on the headstone,” he said.

He kept a straight face, but his eyes glittered with mischief.

Minnie felt her face, and the rest of her body, heat over the observation. She had not noticed the carving. All the same, she thought her story was much more lurid and enticing.

“I believe it is time to return to the inn,” she said, picking up her skirts and stepping away from the gravestones. “As much as I do not mind the rain, it is increasing, and I am hungry.”

“I believe I smelled rabbit pie at the inn,” Lord Lawrence said as he jumped ahead of her once more to hold the graveyard’s gate open for her. Minnie noted that he did not poke fun at her for her observational failures. “The other patrons of the inn looked jolly and content, so I assume the inn’s cook is accomplished in their craft,” he went on.

Minnie walked past him with a nod of thanks for holding the gate, then waited so that the two of them could walk side-by-side up along the path back to the inn.

“Unless, of course, they were all just being poisoned into smiling and enjoying each other’s conversation,” Lord Lawrence added with a wink.

Minnie quivered on the inside, but as much as she wanted to believe she was shaking with rage, she had a terrible feeling that it was laughter, not anger, trying to escape from her.

“We shall have to be careful about what we eat, then, Lord Lawrence,” she said in as somber a tone as she could muster. “I would hate to be poisoned into laughing and enjoying anyone’s company.”

“Of course, of course,” Lord Lawrence said. “We couldn’t have that. I shall endeavor to keep all mirth well away from you.”

“Good,” Minnie said with a nod.

She had to turn her head away to hide the smile that would not be denied.

It angered her in frustrating ways, though. She was not supposed to enjoy Lord Lawrence’s, or any man’s, company. She was supposed to avail herself of Lord Lawrence’s assistance in getting her as far as Bristol, and then she would execute her plan and flee to Sweden.

She still intended to do just that, but now she wondered if Owen were the only man she needed to be wary of ruining her vision for her future life.