Chapter 6

Six

Lawrence figured there was an even chance that Lady Minerva was either telling the truth or making the entire outlandish story of leaving an unwanted fiancé at the altar and escaping with the help of her maid on her wedding day. The tale was outlandish, but so was Lady Minerva.

If he was honest with himself, Lawrence liked Lady Minerva’s outlandishness. He liked how different she was from any other woman of his acquaintance. He liked her vivid, often macabre imagination. He liked the easy way she carried herself and pleasing shape of her, even when she was squashed in a carriage seat, squirming to be comfortable as they jostled over bad roads.

He liked the soulfulness of her dark eyes and the softness of her hair, which always found a way of escaping from the careless chignon she kept it in while they traveled. He liked the porcelain softness of her skin, even if it had gained color since they set out from London. And her lips…. Well, her lips inspired thoughts in him that were best not thought of when they were stuck in such close proximity for so long.

The simple truth of it was that he liked Lady Minerva Llewellyn, and even more astounding, Lawrence was relatively certain that she liked him as well. There was something easy in her manner that had developed over the course of the last few days that made him nearly certain of her regard. It was in the way she now smiled at him freely whenever he gestured with her, the way she propped her feet up on the seat beside him sometimes so she could stretch out as they traveled, and the way she touched him so freely, almost without thought.

Yes, Lawrence was certain of it. He and Lady Minerva liked each other.

But with that knowledge came a terrifying feeling of doom. Things had always started off well for him in the past, but a woman’s passion cooled all too quickly when she discovered he was not the man she thought he was. He was not perfect. He had glaring flaws. In the past, every time those flaws had come to light, the women he’d given his heart to would leave him, laughing as they went.

“My lord, are you quite alright?” Lady Minerva asked as they rolled across Wiltshire on their final approach to Tidworth Hall, where the former Lady Wimpole, now Lady Jessica Bellinger, lived with her husband, Lord Otho Bellinger.

“Hmm?” Lawrence glanced up from the hole he was boring into Clarence with his gaze. “Oh, yes,” he said, smiling tightly.

“You and Clarence seemed to be in deep discussion,” she said, eyeing him carefully, then glancing to her faithful skull companion, then back to Lawrence. “Is there something the two of you would like to share with me? I’ve found that while Clarence is an excellent listener, he is not much of a conversationalist.”

Lawrence relaxed by a hair, and his smile relaxed with him. “I was just relating stories of days gone by to our hard-headed friend,” he said.

Lady Minerva’s lips twitched as though she were hiding a smile. “You know I love stories of days gone by.”

Lawrence’s smile faded. He needed to tell Lady Minerva the sad tale of his failed love affair with Jessica, but the humiliation of it all was too much.

Then again, Lady Minerva had been free with her own tales of woe, if they were to be believed.

“I was telling Clarence a tragic love story,” he said, figuring he owed Minerva the same sort of truth she had shared with him, but grateful to have Clarence as a buffer.

“They are my favorite sort,” Lady Minerva said, closing her book and setting it aside, as if indicating she was ready to hear all. “Clarence’s as well.”

Lawrence sighed. “It’s the story of a bright-eyed and eager young artist who spent a lovely summer in East Anglia, years ago, at the house of a certain Lord Wimpole.”

“I see,” Lady Minerva said, nodding seriously and shifting into a position to listen.

“The young artist was very much enamored of Lord Wimpole’s daughter,” Lawrence told his embarrassing story. “He fawned over the lady horribly and asked to draw and sculpt her.”

“And she allowed this?” Lady Minerva asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, yes,” Lawrence said. “She welcomed it. The young artist had already gained something of a reputation for his work by that point, and it was considered an honor to be an artist’s muse.”

“Naturally,” Lady Minerva nodded.

Lawrence pinched his face and stared at Clarence again. “Many a lovely summer’s night was spent in passion that would not otherwise have been permitted or welcomed,” he continued. “And while the young artist was by no means a lothario or more than passingly talented in the techniques of the night—” Lady Minerva’s lips twitched with the urge to smile again, “—those nights held great promise.”

“I should say so,” Lady Minerva said, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

That nearly threw Lawrence from his story entirely. He suddenly realized that Lady Minerva had an impish streak in her. And if what his brothers and cousin had told him about her friends and other Oxford Society ladies was true, they were educated in the same sort of nocturnal activities as men were and engaged in them the same way gentlemen did.

But that was a subject best not examined at present.

“The young artist was quite certain that his proposal of marriage would be accepted,” Lawrence went on, wincing a little as he did.

“I take it the proposal was not accepted?” Lady Minerva asked, a hint of compassion in her voice.

“No, it was not,” Lawrence said flatly. “When the question was asked, the lady in question…laughed.”

“Laughed?” Lady Minerva’s voice was suddenly hard and incredulous.

“I was deemed an unsuitable suitor,” Lawrence confessed, lowering his head slightly. “Good enough to bed, but not enough to wed.”

“And what, pray tell, were the lady’s objections to the match?” Lady Minerva’s emphasis hinted that she did not think Jessica was a lady at all to refuse him. Lawrence liked her feisty defense of his honor, though.

“She objected to many things,” he went on. “I was not an eldest son. I did not, at the time, have an estate of my own. I was merely an artist.” There were other objections, the ones Lady Minerva already suspected about him, but he could not bring himself to admit that Jessica, and so many others, had thought him stupid.

“What does it matter whether you owned an estate or not?” Lady Minerva argued, enough fury in her eyes to face down a gorgon. “You are the second son of the Duke of Amesbury. Under Wessex law, that makes you the Earl of Amesbury. Did this woman not think it was good enough to be a countess?”

“East Anglians scoff at Wessex titles,” Lawrence admitted with a sniff. “They believe they are silly and confusing, not worth the paper they are written on. And she is a marchioness now.”

“I see,” Lady Minerva snapped. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. “That does not endear the woman to me at all.”

“You have not met her yet,” Lawrence said. “She can be very charming.”

Lady Minerva huffed. “Any woman who would throw you over because of a Wessex title and the absence of an estate is not someone I wish to meet. And if she thinks so little of Wessex titles, why did she marry a Wessex marquess?”

“That I do not know. And I do not think you have a choice but to meet her at this time,” Lawrence said, glancing out the window himself. “We have just arrived at Tidworth Hall.”

Lady Minerva blinked at him, then leaned closer to the window, gazing out at the landscape they now traveled through.

Tidworth Hall was one of the grander houses in that part of the Kingdom of Wessex. He’d visited Lord Otho years ago, well before he’d married Jessica after his first wife had passed. He remembered being impressed by Lord Otho’s interest in horticulture and landscaping. The grounds truly were magnificent, though it was difficult not to have beautiful grounds in such a green and perfect part of the kingdom.

He knew from a few instances of being forced to make polite conversation with Jessica at balls that she had taken it upon herself to renovate the interior of Tidworth Hall upon marrying Lord Otho, and that she had brought a significant amount of her art collection into the marriage with her. Which was why Loesser knew that she had the statue he’d carved for her in her possession still.

It was the vague invitation to come to Tidworth Hall for a visit at some point, likely delivered for appearance’s sake at one of those balls, that Lawrence was counting on to gain them admittance to Jessica’s house now.

“I am anxious about this visit,” Lawrence admitted as Silas began to slow the carriage as the ground under the carriage turned to the sort of gravel that lined paths closer to great houses. “We will be arriving unannounced, so there is a chance we could be turned away.”

Lady Minerva shook her head. “A woman of no longer actually Lady Wimpole’s status would not turn away guest arriving at her door.”

“It’s Lady Jessica now, since she married Lord Otho Bellinger.”

“Whatever her name is, I will make certain we are given shelter, for one night at least.”

Lawrence drew in a breath, impressed and a little intimidated by Lady Minerva’s certainty.

“Would you….” He started, then second-guessed himself, biting his lip. When Lady Minerva stared at him, he tried again with, “Do you think you could….” That didn’t materialize into the question he wanted to ask either.

“Is there something I could do for you?” Lady Minerva prompted him.

Once again, he’d reached a point where there was nothing for it but to blurt everything out.

“When we are shown into the house and introduced to Lord Otho and Lady Jessica, do you think you could, that is, would it be alright for me to tell them that we are together?”

A slow smile of understanding spread across Lady Minerva’s face. “You wish to show them that you are worthy after all, and that someone wants you, even if she did not.”

“Yes,” Lawrence said, puffing the single word out on a breath.

Lady Minerva leaned toward him just as the carriage lurched to a stop and rested a hand on his knee. The motion of the carriage meant her hand slipped a bit too far up his thigh.

“Of course you can tell them we’re together,” she said with a wicked smile that had Lawrence’s breeches tightening. “I will follow along with whatever ruse you wish to perpetrate.”

Lawrence met her smile with one of his own, relieved, and also a bit giddy that he had found a friend as willing to get into mischief as he was.

He did not, however, anticipate the sort of mischief that blurted out of him less than five minutes later, once they’d stepped down from the carriage and been shown by the butler into one of the house’s magnificent parlors.

“Lord Lawrence.” Lady Jessica entered the room dressed in the sort of day gown that one generally only wore when they were staying at home for the day and not expecting visitors, a look of shock in her eyes. “What a charming surprise to find you here today.”

“I am terribly sorry that I did not write to inform you of our imminent arrival,” Lawrence said, bowing like a gentleman and taking Jessica’s hand once she came close enough to offer it.

And then the mischief happened.

“It is just that my wife and I were passing through on our way to Wales, and she has grown so fatigued, being in the delicate condition she is in, that as soon as I realized we were close to a friend’s estate, I assured her we would stop so that she could rest for a bit.”

The parlor went completely silent in the wake of his pronouncement.

Jessica pulled her hand away from his, her mouth opened as the smile she’d worn transformed into a look of shock.

But that shock was not nearly as pronounced as the look of stunned giddiness that Lady Minerva wore when Lawrence peeked, wincing, at her.

Lady Minerva looked as though she might dissolve into hysterics, but whether the good kind or the bad, Lawrence could not tell. A flush painted her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with surprise.

“Oh, dear,” Jessica said, shaking herself a little as she remembered her manners. “What a miserable condition to travel in, and with all the rain we’ve been having. Please do have a seat, Lady?—”

“Minerva,” Lady Minerva answered in a strained voice as Jessica hurried over to her side, like she might faint at any moment.

“Lady Minerva,” Jessica said, ushering Lady Minerva to one of the settees and helping her to sit. “Of course you can stay here and rest a while. Do you require tea? Cakes? Something heartier to fortify you?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Lady Minerva said.

And then the blessed woman pressed a hand to her stomach and added, “It is early days still, as you can see, but I have been so queasy, and tea helps.”

“Yes, I remember with my children,” Jessica said, fawning over Lady Minerva, as if the two of them were suddenly bosom friends. “From my first marriage, of course. They are both grown and married themselves now. Lord Otho and I have not been blessed with children, but I can imagine that if we were, I would wish for the kindness of old friends while traveling as well.”

Lawrence was utterly gobsmacked by the way the scene had begun to play out. It must have been the magic of women. When one of them found themselves in a spot of trouble, it was as if an army of them were waiting to rush to their assistance.

Jessica glanced to him as she stood and made her way to the door, as if to fetch a maid. “You are more than welcome to break your journey here for a night or two, Lawrence—er, Lord Lawrence. I will go and find Lord Otho to inform him we have company, and I will have the housekeeper prepare a room for the two of you.”

“Thank you, Lady Jessica,” Lawrence said somberly, crossing so that he could sit by Lady Minerva’s side, like any doting husband with an expecting wife would. “You are most kind.”

Jessica gave him one last, almost incredulous look before shaking her head and rushing out of the room.

A few moments of bubbling silence passed between Lawrence and Lady Minerva before Lady Minerva pivoted toward him, arched one eyebrow, and said, “Your wife?”

“Yes, I know,” Lawrence answered tilting his head down sheepishly.

“Your expecting wife?” Lady Minerva added, her tone rising an octave.

“I panicked,” Lawrence whispered, snapping his eyes up to meet Lady Minerva’s. “I could not think of anything else that would engender sympathy to the degree that we would need it to stay in the house long enough to bring up the topic of the sculpture.”

Lady Minerva’s lips twitched and her eyes danced with mirth. She cleared her throat and said, “Might I suggest asking Lady Jessica if she is still in possession of the sculpture in question and then inquiring as to whether you could have it back?”

Lawrence lowered her head again. “Er, we had a bit of a row over the sculpture when we parted ways,” he admitted. “I asked for it back then, and she told me that she would never part with it, that it was a gift, and that I was a blackguard for asking that a gift be returned.”

Lady Minerva made a snorting sound and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“And,” Lawrence added, glancing guiltily up at her again, “the, er, subjects of the sculpture are very distinctly her and me.”

Lady Minerva burst out with laughter. The sound was so sudden and forceful that the maid who had just entered the room, as if to inquire whether there was anything they needed while tea was being prepared, nearly tripped over her own feet.

“Oh, Lord Lawrence,” Lady Minerva giggled, resting a hand on his knee. “You have painted yourself into quite a corner, haven’t you. Or should I say that you’ve carved out a difficult niche for yourself?” She continued to giggle at her bad pun.

Lawrence found her laughter contagious, even though they had landed themselves in an extremely serious situation. “I suppose I have,” he chuckled in return. He placed his hand over hers, leaned in closer, and whispered, “We should probably refer to each other by our given names, seeing as though we are married and you are with child, possibly twins.”

That sent Lady Minerva into another peal of laughter. “You do beat all, Lawrence ,” she said.

There was a sparkle in her eyes that completely took Lawrence’s breath away when they met his. Of all the women he could have asked to carry out an adventure filled with subterfuge like the one they were on now, Minerva was exactly the one he would have asked for. As mad as their reasons for being at Tidworth Hall were, he was certain he’d picked the right partner in crime for the visit.

The maid cleared her throat, drawing their attention.

“If you please, my lord, my lady,” the smiling maid said, “Lady Jessica would like to send the footmen to retrieve your belongings from your carriage, and she would like to know what sort of accommodations your driver is used to.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lawrence said, sitting straighter, but keeping Minerva’s hand in his. “Our driver, Silas, is used to good accommodations, so if there is an apartment in the stables or a room in the servants’ quarters, I would be grateful if he could be given a place there.”

“Yes, my lord.” The maid curtsied, and as she turned to go, she said, “Lady Jessica will return in a moment, and tea will be served shortly.”

“Thank you?” Minerva turned her thanks into an inquiry.

“Prissy, my lady,” the maid gave her name with a curtsy.

“Thank you, Prissy,” Minerva said. As soon as the maid left the room, Minerva added, “It’s always best to keep the servants on your side. One never knows when they will become useful.”

“If we have to pack our things in the middle of the night and escape from a church vestry, you mean?” Lawrence asked, grinning all over again.

“Precisely,” Minerva said, giving his hand a squeeze.

Lawrence now fully believed Minerva’s story about escaping her intended on the day of their wedding. He hoped that she still had that sort of daring and ingenuity. They were going to need it if the madness he could feel was about to begin came to pass.