Chapter 8

Eight

The only thing more difficult than breaking away from his sudden closeness to Minerva so that the two of them could begin their efforts to comb Tidworth Hall in search of his sculpture was when Lawrence had to share a bed with Minerva that night without touching her.

The search came first, of course. The two of them waited what they hoped would be a sufficient amount of time to allow Jessica and Lord Otho to retire for the evening before opening the bedroom door and poking their heads out into the hall, Minerva lower down and Lawrence a foot or two above as they peeked simultaneously.

They made a valiant first effort, but before they could do more than creep down to the end of the hall, near the top of the stairs, they were discovered by one of the upstairs maids who was intent upon her nightly duties.

“Is anything amiss, my lord?” she addressed Lawrence with wide, startled eyes. “Is there something I could fetch for you, my lady?” She turned her attention to Minerva.

“No, no, nothing is amiss,” Minerva replied, perhaps a bit too quickly, her voice pitched suddenly high.

“My dear wife finds it useful to take a brisk walk before bedtime,” Lawrence blurted nearly before Minerva had finished. “And since it has already grown dark and the weather is inclement, I’ve decided to accompany her on a stroll of the upstairs hallway.”

“Yes,” Minerva agreed enthusiastically. “I find that a walk before bed aids in my digestion.”

“As you please, my lady, my lord,” the maid said, curtsying awkwardly.

As she went about her duties, she eyed the two of them warily over her shoulder.

Lawrence swept Minerva along, proceeding to the end of the hallway, as if they truly were interested in a walk. They made an initial effort to search for the statue on that upstairs hallway as they did, but after opening doors into empty guestrooms and inadvertently startling two of the footmen in one of those rooms as they appeared to be about to engage in an activity Jessica and Lord Otho most definitely would not approve of, Lawrence deemed it too dangerous to continue the search.

“We will have to try again in the morning,” he whispered, disappointed, as he whisked Minerva back to their own guestroom. “I do not think it would be wise for us to be found out at this late hour.”

“Yes,” Minerva said with a hum. “We need more information before we can make an efficient search in any case.”

“Agreed,” Lawrence said as they reached their room and stepped back inside.

The night that followed was one of the longest and most painful of Lawrence’s life. It was easy enough for Minerva to undress in the seclusion of the dressing room, but because of the construction of her gown, Lawrence was required to loosen a few ties and help begin Minerva’s process of disrobing. That set his imagination off down a dangerous path.

Matters were not helped at all when he slipped out of his own clothing and into his nightshirt, which was entirely insufficient when it came to giving him the feeling of still being clothed as he climbed into the large bed beside Minerva. Her own nightgown in no way made him feel like she was still dressed either.

“Goodnight, Lawrence,” Minerva said over her shoulder as she stretched to blow out the candle she had placed on the small table on her side of the bed. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, dear wife,” Lawrence replied, pretending that he was merely being silly and not giving voice to the niggling wish at the back of his brain. “Do not fall prey to highwaymen in your sleep.”

Minerva laughed aloud, then settled into the comfortable bed with her back to him.

Lawrence twisted to the side to turn down the lamp on the table beside him, then flopped to his back, willing himself to sleep. He needed to sleep. He needed the comfort of oblivion, where he did not remember the sound of Minerva’s laughter, or the mischief that had been in her eyes during supper, or the way she’d kissed his cheek in her excitement earlier. He needed to wrap himself in nothingness so that he did not think ahead to everything the future might hold, or so that he did not contemplate the immediate moment he existed in, where he lay in bed with Minerva.

He could not do any of that, though. Sleep eluded him almost entirely as the night wore on. Worse still, he did not even dare to toss and turn to relieve the growing aches in his body as he did not want Minerva to know he was still awake. She seemed so still and peaceful, her breathing low and regular, but Lawrence was convinced that the slightest twitch on his part would pop her to wakefulness, at which point he would be forced to confess every reason he could not so much as shut his eyes.

It occurred to him deep into the night, when Minerva coughed suddenly and shifted that she might be caught in the same sort of sleepless throes that he was, but Lawrence did not dare to ask Minerva if she was still awake. Instead, he turned onto his side with his back facing her, a position which felt far safer, and watched the dying embers in the fireplace until his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off.

It felt as though no time at all had passed when the maid came in to relight the fire in the early hours before dawn. Lawrence used the excuse of the domestic interruption to twist to his other side, where he found Minerva lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. It was a comfort to see that he was not the only one suffering from an inability to let go of the waking world.

When the maid finally left and silence reigned again, Minerva turned her head to him and said, “I’ve had an idea,” as if their conversation from the night before had never ended.

“I am all ears,” Lawrence said, trying not to yawn or give any indication of how exhausted the sleepless night had left him.

Minerva sat up, hugging the bedclothes around her. “We ask Lady Jessica for a tour of the house,” she said.

Lawrence sat as well, making certain the bedcovers on his side were tucked thickly around his waist just in case. “A tour of the house?” he asked.

“Yes.” The light in Minerva’s eyes said she had given the matter much thought and was excited for her idea. As always, Lawrence found that excitement contagious. “Your Lady Jessica is quite enamored of the efforts she’s made to renovate Lord Otho’s house,” Minerva went on.

“She is not my Lady Jessica,” Lawrence pointed out, feeling that fact keenly.

Minerva made a slight sweeping gesture with one hand, as if it did not matter. “I am certain she will show us every room in this blasted house. If she has your statue on display, we will certainly see it. Even if she’s placed it on a high shelf or behind a curtain or some such nonsense.”

Lawence nodded. “I believe you are correct.”

“Once we’ve seen the statue, it will be a simple thing to go back later, when we are given some time on our own, to take it away to the carriage for when we depart.”

“Good thinking,” Lawrence said, perking up a bit. “If necessary, we can employ Silas to assist us as well.”

“We most definitely could,” Minerva said, beaming. “I believe this mission will require minimal effort, once Lady Jessica has given us a tour of the house, and we will be in possession of our prize and on our way before nightfall.”

Lawrence reached for Minerva’s hand, then squeezed once she gave it.

Of course, that small gesture caused very large feelings within his chest, and a bit lower.

He ignored them all as he rose from bed and began his preparations for the day ahead of them, carefully keeping his eyes averted when Minerva did the same.

The trouble was, Minerva was in no way correct when she’d assumed that after a tour of the house, they would find the statue and be on their way.

“And this is the small library,” Jessica told them three hours into the interminable tour, as Lawrence’s stomach was beginning to protest with hunger, because the tour had delayed luncheon. “As you can see,” Jessica went on, standing in the center of the room and gesturing to one of the walls, as if she were a guide in a particularly stuffy museum, “no expense was spared to import the hand-printed paper from the finest manufacturers in Northumbria.”

“Yes,” Lawrence said with a stiff nod, “I have heard that Northumbria is known for its wallpaper manufacturing.”

“The Kingdom of Northumbria has been quick to employ many of the new manufacturing techniques that steam power has brought us,” Jessica said. Then, rather than launching into what could have been an interesting discussion of advances in industry over the last decade or so, she stepped over to one of the bookshelves and said, “Lord Otho has an immense collection of religious texts and books on moral improvement. I have found them quite edifying since our union several years ago.”

By the tone of Jessica’s voice, she found them, and perhaps Lord Otho, as dull and tedious as the entire, hours-long tour had been.

“Do you collect any artwork at all, Lady Jessica?” Minerva asked as they moved on into the large library, which was adjacent to the small one with a door between them. “Or have your and Lord Otho’s collecting interests mostly been of a literary ilk?”

Jessica paused to look at Minerva with a frown as they stopped in front of a huge, stone fireplace in the large library, over which was hung what appeared to be a larger than life portrait of Lord Otho as a young man. He’d looked just as dull in his youth as he did in his old age.

“I am not entirely certain I approve of art,” she said, sending Lawrence a short look. “In my experience, that which is tasteful has already been claimed by museums throughout the New Heptarchy, and that which remains for private consumption should never have been undertaken in the first place.”

Again, she sent Lawrence a look that had him flushing hot and wishing he hadn’t dressed in so many layers that morning. Her words were clearly an admonishment for the very work of art he and Minerva were seeking out now. Though as he recalled, Jessica had had an entirely different opinion on the matter as she’d splayed naked across a settee for him while he sketched her form for the sculpture he later carved.

“I prefer landscapes myself,” Minerva said, imitating Jessica’s snobbish demeanor in a way Lawrence was certain Jessica did not catch onto. “Particularly rainy ones. Preferably with a graveyard in the scene.”

Lawrence fought not to smile as he remembered the two of them standing in the graveyard near the inn more than a week ago. He had never seen the charm of the bleak until that moment, but now he craved grey clouds as much as he craved sunshine.

Minerva glanced to him with her chin tilted up and her mouth set in a straight line, like Jessica’s was. That imitated expression melted away into something much warmer and more vibrant the moment their eyes met, however. Try as he might, Lawrence could not hide the giddy smile of delight at Minerva’s playfulness, past and present.

The sweet moment was interrupted as Jessica’s maid slipped into the library with them.

“If you please, my lady,” the maid said, dropping an anxious curtsy.

“Yes? What is it, Prissy?” Jessica snapped.

The maid swallowed and said, “Cook would like to know when you plan to take your luncheon, as he’s made soup and it’s getting cold.”

“When we are ready,” Jessica said, as if the poor maid were trying her patience.

“Yes, my lady,” Prissy answered with a half sigh and another curtsy.

As she turned to go, Minerva stepped after her. “If it would not be too much trouble,” she said, glancing back at Lawrence with light in her eyes, “could you show me to a convenience or water closet of some sort, if Tidworth Hall has such a thing?”

Again, Lawrence fought not to smile. Minerva was most definitely up to something.

“Certainly, my lady,” Prissy said, smiling as she left the library with Minerva.

Lawrence watched until they were gone, then turned to Jessica with a happy smile.

That smile left him a moment later when Jessica reached for his arm to lead him over to a small couch, saying, “I am glad we have this moment alone, Lawrence. There is something I’ve hoped I would be able to say to you.”

Twin jolts of hope and dread struck Lawrence simultaneously, leaving him confused and easy for Jessica to lead to the couch. On the one hand, he hoped she might reveal the location of the statue if they were alone. On the other, which surprised him even more, he dreaded what might happen if it transpired that Jessica still maintained an affection for him and wished to pursue him.

That notion was proven false moments later, once they were seated, when Jessica fixed Lawrence with a firm look and said, “This may come as a strange question, but are you entirely attached to your lady wife?”

Lawrence blinked at Jessica, no idea what she meant by a question like that.

His startlement made him slow to answer, and as had happened many times in the past, Jessica lost patience with the time it took for him to gather his thoughts and pushed on before he could speak.

“Lady Minerva is extraordinarily odd,” she said, frowning as if she was sharing an important, if unfortunate, truth. “I do not believe you have done yourself any favors by attaching yourself to her.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lawrence asked, an iron knot forming in his stomach.

“She is strange, Lawrence,” Jessica said, as if she were speaking to a child. “I have been informed that she is in possession of a human skull that she treats as a pet.”

“Yes, Clarence,” Lawrence said with a frown.

Jessica blinked at him. For a moment, she eyed him as though he were a dangerous animal who might bite. Then she rested a hand on his forearm, and said, “You were never an adequate judge of character, but I think you may have done yourself a real harm by marrying a woman like that.”

The way she spoke, with such sourness and arrogance, twisted the knot in Lawrence’s gut. “Lady Minerva is unusual, to be sure,” he said.

Before he could continue to sing Minerva’s praises and to say she was the most beautiful and interesting woman he had ever known, Jessica rushed over him with, “Yes, precisely.” She patted his arm sharply. “You are a fool, Lawrence,” she said as if stating fact. “Everyone knows that you border on being simple. I did not think you would do something so foolish as to marry a madwoman, though. Is it a matter of income? Is she an heiress of some sort who has provided you with an ample dowry? Because the appeal cannot be in her person or appearance. Who is she mourning at any rate? A father? A mother? Her skin is so pale and there is nothing fashionable at all about her carriage.”

Lawrence was stunned speechless by the viciousness of Jessica’s observations. He could only sit there, gaping at the woman for being so catty.

Which, of course, only furthered Jessica’s belief that he himself was mentally incompetent.

“Really, Lawrence,” she said, shaking her head and withdrawing her arm. “I would have thought that your family would take better care of you. You are not so far gone as to be in need of an asylum, but surely one of your kinsmen would offer you a place in their house so that they could watch over you.”

Lawrence merely stared at Jessica. He was as incredulous as she was, but for a drastically different reason. He could not believe that he had ever found the woman desirable in any way. Worse still, it was not as though he’d never noticed her unkindness and sharp dealings with others before. He’d known she was opinionated and prickly, but she had once been beautiful, and he’d let himself be swayed by that.

Now, however, not even Jessica’s fading beauty could persuade him to have any feelings toward her but revulsion. She was nothing like Minerva, that much was certain. Minerva may have been approaching forty and no longer in the bloom of youth, but she was still beautiful. Perhaps more so for the touches of silver that had already found their way into her dark hair.

Minerva was lively and clever. She did not care what others thought of her or what the ton dictated a woman of fashion should be like. She was unapologetically herself, and Lawrence adored her for it. He adored her wild and sometimes macabre imagination. He found her conversation constantly surprising and filled with new ideas. He imagined that even were she twice as old as she was now, she would be one of those timeless beauties whose inner glow defied every wrinkle and whisp of silver that changed her appearance from what it once had been.

“I am happy,” he said at last, forming the wealth of thoughts running riot in his head and heart into those simple words. “I am happier than I have ever been when I am with her.”

It came as a gentle shock, but not an unwelcome one. His luck with love had always been terrible bordering on comedic, but somehow, he’d suddenly stumbled into perfection.

Jessica did not share his view of the situation. She fixed him with a sympathetic smile, as though he’d just admitted he was afflicted with consumption and his days were numbered. “Of course you are, dear,” she said, patting his arm condescendingly.

Lawrence was spared from his impulse to say something rude to Jessica when Minerva swept back into the room, nearly running, a bright, triumphant smile on her face. Lawrence stood right away and turned to her, like a flower to the sun. Or perhaps the moon.

“Lady Jessica, I am to inform you that your cook simply will not wait and requests that we make our way to the dining room at once, as luncheon will be laid out, whether anyone is there to eat it or not,” Minerva said, hurrying to Lawrence’s side.

Jessica huffed and shook her head. “This is intolerable,” she said, starting for the door. “I shall see to the matter at once. But it may be safe to say that we will have to continue this tour after our repast.”

“Whatever you think best,” Lawrence said.

He started out of the room after her, but Minerva tightened her grip on his arm, holding him back.

As soon as Jessica had left the library, Minerva spun to him and whispered, “I’ve discovered the location of your statue.” Her entire countenance glowed with mischief.

“You have?” Lawrence asked, his heart beating wildly, not so much because of their mission, but because Minerva was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen when she was up to no good.

“Yes,” Minerva went on, twisting to face him fully and gripping both his arms. “I thought to ask Prissy, since servants generally know everything about their masters, and I was correct.”

“Oh?”

“Prissy says that there is a wicked, lascivious statue in one of the attic storage rooms in the west wing of the house,” Minerva went on. “The servants think it is delightfully naughty, and it has become something of a jest in the house. I asked her to describe details, and she was quite clear that the female part of the statue is most definitely Lady Jessica in her younger years.”

“That is Primavera in Splendor,” Lawrence said, both embarrassed and elated.

“I knew it,” Minerva said, brimming with victory. “We’ve discovered it’s location. All we need to do now is sneak up there in the dead of night to steal it.”