“Oh, you poor thing,” Minerva said sympathetically. “Shall I have someone fetch you some willow bark tea?”
Harriet smiled and nodded, feeling worse than ever. “Yes, I’m sure that’s just the thing. That and some fresh air will do me the world of good. Are you ready to go down to breakfast? We’d best hurry if we don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”
“Oh, yes, I am, but… I was wondering if… if you might lend me a book, please?”
Harriet blinked at the girl, rather surprised. “Certainly, though… I don’t read a great many novel as a rule. At least, I don’t have any with me. I expect Matilda does, though, if—”
“Oh no,” Minerva said, her cheeks flushing a soft pink which made her look lovelier than ever. Harriet held back a sigh of frustration. “I don’t want a novel. I… I’d like something educational.”
Minerva put up her chin, a slightly defiant glint in her eyes that assumed Harriet would judge her too stupid to read such a thing.
“Of course,” she said, smiling at Minerva. It was a wonderful thing if the girl wanted to use her brain and Harriet would be happy to encourage her. “What subject did you have in mind?”
“Erm….” Minerva said, looking a little panicked. “What is there?”
“Well,” Harriet mused, opening the lid on a case that held the books she’d brought with her.
“Good heavens!” Minerva exclaimed, staring down in astonishment. “You brought all those to a house party?”
Harriet pushed her spectacles up her nose and shrugged. “I like to read. Now, then,” she said, looking down at the books. “I only have a limited selection here, but there’s philosophy, physics, natural sciences, chemistry….”
“Oh, um…. Chemistry, perhaps?” Minerva ventured, looking very uncertain.
“Oh, well, in that case, I shall lend you this,” Harriet said, selecting Conversations on Chemistry, the book Inigo had sent her. “I’ve read it myself, though I need to read it again as I was rather er… distracted and I don’t feel I appreciated it as I should. The author is a woman, though she’s not credited, but I have a friend who knows her and thinks highly of her. I thought it an interesting read for a beginner to the subject. It was very well and clearly written.”
Minerva took the book from her with a daunted expression suggesting she believed it would bite her.
“Don’t look so terrified.” Harriet smiled. “It’s not in Greek, I promise. Just try small sections at a time. If they don’t make sense, why not come and ask me and we’ll talk about it? Not that I can claim to be anything of an expert, far from it, only it is a subject that interests me, and I would like to learn more.”
“Is there any subject that doesn’t interest you?” Minerva asked, still looking rather intimidated.
“No,” Harriet said with a sigh, frowning at her book collection. “That is my besetting sin. I can’t settle to one subject and do it justice. I just enjoy learning, and if something new is set before me, I want to know about it. So I never really learn anything in sufficient depth, which I fear is a dreadful weakness.”
“But you know quite a lot about many things. I mean… I know nothing about… about anything! Unless you count knowing which dress to wear to what occasion, how to curtsey to a duke or a viscount, how to make tea, embroider, or a dozen other useless talents.”
“Minerva!” Harriet said, appalled. “That’s not the least bit useless. Those are things we need to know to navigate the world we’ve been born into, and consider why you know nothing else? You’ve never been to school, have you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, how ought you to know anything at all? Women are kept in ignorance to keep them docile and easy to control, if you ask me. Many men fear an educated woman as they might just discover we’re every bit as intelligent and capable as they are. Not all men,” she added, for fairness, for Inigo had encouraged her studies without hesitation.
Minerva stared down at the book in her hand and took a deep breath. “Well, I shall try, Harriet, and I shall come and talk to you about it if I can’t make head nor tail of the dratted thing.”
Harriet smiled at her. “Well, that’s a good start, and I shall look forward to having someone to talk to about it, I can tell you. Now, come along. We’d best hurry.”
***
Minerva travelled with Harriet, Lord St Clair, and Matilda, with Bonnie and Ruth following in Ruth’s carriage with Henry and Jerome. They arrived in Tunbridge Wells in good time, with the carriages setting them down close to The Walks. The general plan seemed to be to look at the shops, visit the nearby Chapel of Ease, King Charles the Martyr, have something to eat and then walk it off in The Grove park afterwards.
“Are you going to take the waters?” Harriet asked Matilda, who pulled a face as they passed by the Chalybeate spring.
The water had stained everything it touched a vivid orange, it was so rich in iron. A lady stood with a dipper at hand which you had to pay for the use of. The water itself was free, but if you wanted to drink it in a genteel fashion you paid for the privilege.
“No, I thank you,” Matilda said with a shudder. “I’m fit as a fiddle. If I was ailing, perhaps I’d force it down, but not if I don’t have to.”
“Agreed,” said St Clair with a smile. “Perhaps if they served it with brandy….”
Everyone laughed and moved on.
“Do you think it will rain again?” Harriet asked, looking up at a pale blue sky tumbled with an increasing number of fluffy white clouds. Darker, heavier clouds were visible coming in from the west, though.
“Well, I brought my umbrella, so it ought not,” Matilda said with a wink.
“Oh, Bonnie, let’s go back in here,” Ruth said, tugging at Bonnie’s arm as they passed a shop with its window bursting with hats and lavish bolts of fabric in all the latest colours. “This is where I bought that dear little hat.”
Bonnie and Minerva exchanged a glance. Minerva shrugged and returned a rueful smile.
“Jasper!”
Jasper turned as his brother hailed him, having come across a man they appeared to both know.
“Good heavens, it’s Rothborn,” Jasper exclaimed in surprise.
“Solo Rothborn?” Matilda enquired, looking over at the man with interest.
Minerva followed her gaze but could see nothing but the back of the man’s head. He was tall and broad shouldered with light brown hair, but nothing more of note.
“Who is he?” she asked, curious why it was such a surprise.
“Solomon Weston, Baron Rothborn,” Matilda said as Jasper excused himself to speak with his friend. “He’s a recluse, hardly ever seen in public. That’s why everyone calls him ‘Solo’ Rothborn.”
Minerva turned back to Harriet who was eyeing the bookshop two doors down with a longing expression. “Shall we go in?” Minerva asked, hopes fluttering.
Harriet flashed her a grateful smile. “Why not?”
Minerva held her breath all the way around the bookshop, which was sadly devoid of any evidence of her quarry. Harriet had settled in a corner with some formidably sized text book that made Minerva’s head hurt to even contemplate, so she wandered the aisles alone. She smiled, delighted to discover copies of Prue’s book, lovingly bound in scarlet leather, and spent a while browsing the novels before returning to Harriet, who was still ensconced with her tome.
“I… I think I’ll wait outside,” she offered, to which Harriet lifted a hand, not looking up. Minerva gave a rueful smile and went back outside. She found Lord St Clair heading towards her as she exited.
“Have you seen Miss Stanhope?” he asked as he drew closer. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Yes, with her nose in a book,” Minerva laughed, gesturing behind her.
Jasper smiled, and Minerva’s breath caught at the look in his eyes. “I thought as much,” he said ruefully, before hurrying inside.
Lucky Harriet, Minerva thought with a sigh. How might it feel to have su
ch a man so in love with you? Harriet was a fool if she didn’t snatch him up. Minerva turned back towards the shop Matilda and the others had gone into, wondering if they’d be anywhere near finished yet, and then paused as she saw the face she’d been searching for.
“Mr de Beauvoir!”
Minerva’s breath caught as she realised what an outrageous thing she’d just done. She’d never been properly introduced to him and here she was in the street, to all intents and purposes alone, and hailing a man she hardly knew.
The man stopped, his dark brows drawing together as he looked at her without the slightest trace of recognition.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…?”
“Butler,” Minerva said at once, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “We met in the book shop. The one over there,” she added, gesturing to it as his expression showed no sign of his remembering her. How humiliating. It wasn’t like it had happened weeks ago! “The fellow shouted at me when he dropped his books, and you very kindly defended me and told him it was an… accident,” she trailed off, feeling increasingly mortified.
De Beauvoir grunted, which Minerva took to be a sign he’d finally placed her.
“I did not realise I was speaking to such a celebrity,” she added, forcing a sunny smile, desperate to find something to say to him. “I understand your talks at The Royal Academy are highly thought of.”
“You are interested in chemistry, Miss Butler?” he asked, looking a little sceptical.
“I… I don’t know,” Minerva admitted. “I have this though,” she added hurriedly, fishing in her reticule for the book which was weighing it down. Harriet had given her a funny look when she’d stuffed it in her bag—it wasn’t exactly light reading, after all—but she’d hoped… well, for a scenario like this one. She showed him the cover and his eyebrows went up in surprise.
“Indeed,” he said with approval. “I know the lady who wrote it. You could not do better for an introduction to the subject. How are you finding it?”
“Oh,” Minerva said, feeling colour rise to her cheeks. “I only got it this morning, so I… I’ve not….”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find it illuminating. Now, if you would….”
Damn, he was going already.
“Oh, are you here to buy more books?” she asked, wondering why she was prolonging this agony when he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
“Er… no, not this morning. I—”
“De Beauvoir!”
He turned around, not looking especially pleased as he was hailed once more, this time by a group of fashionable people who were heading towards them.
“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, glowering. “Miss Butler,” he added, sotto voce. “Could I trouble you to remind me of an urgent appointment in precisely two minutes?”
“Oh!” Minerva exclaimed, delighted to be given the opportunity to be of use to him. “Indeed, you may.”
She turned her attention to the newcomers with interest. There were three men, one of an age with de Beauvoir, and the other two young dandies. With them was a stunning, exquisitely dressed woman also of around thirty years of age, and a lady Minerva took to be her maid.
“Lord Havisham,” Mr de Beauvoir said, acknowledging the older man before turning to the woman with a frown. “Ah, and Mrs Tate. Good afternoon.” His words were perfectly polite, but his reluctance to stand and speak with them was palpable.
“De Beauvoir,” said Havisham, either ignoring or blithely unaware of de Beauvoir’s indifference. “Tried to see that last talk of yours. Couldn’t get in the bloody door. Wanted to ask if you’d come and do it again for me and some friends. Clever chaps, all of them. Know you’d like them. Feed you, of course, and plenty to drink. In fact, come for the weekend!”
“A kind offer,” de Beauvoir replied, looking as though he believed it anything but. “I’m afraid I have work commitments.”
“Oh, nothing that won’t wait, I don’t doubt,” Havisham replied, waving this away with the careless indifference of a man who’d never worked a day in his life.
“Oh, Mr de Beauvoir, do forgive me for interrupting,” Minerva said, sensing him bristling with irritation, “but you do have that appointment….”
“Yes,” de Beauvoir agreed, snatching at the exit she offered him. “Quite right, Miss Butler.”
“What appointment would that be, Inigo?” the woman who’d addressed him as Mrs Tate purred. She gave Minerva a pointed look and smirked. “I’m sure they’ll wait a few more minutes, for a price.”
Minerva gasped in outrage.
“You overstep, madam,” de Beauvoir said, his voice so coldly furious that Minerva felt the chill of it even when it was not directed at her. “The appointment is with my solicitor. I was merely walking Miss Butler back to her companions. If you would excuse us.”
He held out his arm to Minerva, who took it with alacrity, sent a look of sheer triumph towards the vile Mrs Tate, and stalked away with him, nose in the air.
Once they were out of earshot, de Beauvoir let out a breath.
“Miss Butler, I must beg your pardon for having subjected you to such a scene.”
“Oh, please don’t apologise, I was never more entertained,” Minerva said, grinning up at him. “And it appeared you really needed an escape route. I was only too happy to provide one. What a ghastly woman.”
He nodded. “I cannot disagree. It’s a strange thing, but some women seem to take a man’s disinterest in them as a personal affront, especially if they are considered beautiful.”
Minerva nodded, understanding how a glamorous woman like Mrs Tate would be irritated by de Beauvoir not giving her a second glance. It had rankled Minerva that he’d not remembered her after all.
“Yes, well, for some of us our faces are our fortunes. Take that away and… and I suppose it’s rather frightening to contemplate what’s left. If there is anything left,” she added, feeling a twist of anxiety knot in her stomach.
It was a moment before she realised de Beauvoir had stopped and was staring at her rather intently. Minerva gasped, realising she’d spoken carelessly and practically admitted she was an empty-headed pea hen. Well, and so she was for having spoken without thinking, she thought with a surge of irritation.
“And what do you think you’d find, Miss Butler, if you were not blessed in such a way?”
Minerva swallowed, put on the spot by the rather forthright question. Oh, well, she’d likely blown any chance of getting to know the man better; she may as well speak her mind. “Not a lot,” she admitted. “I… I’ve always been rather frightened of clever people. My cousin Prue is terribly clever. She’s a writer,” she added, giving a wistful sigh. “I hated her for a long time because she made me feel stupid in comparison, but I know it wasn’t her fault now, it was my own lack that made me angry with her.”
She looked up and found herself the subject of those intense grey-green eyes. Heavens, but they were forceful. Minerva had the strangest feeling he could see right into her brain… and wasn’t that a terrifying thought?
“I think, Miss Butler, that you are a great deal more intelligent and perceptive than you give yourself credit for.”
“Oh,” Minerva said, glowing with pleasure at his words.
“If I were you, I’d read that book. I think you might surprise yourself.”
“I-I will,” she stammered, finding her heart thudding rather too fast in a not altogether unpleasant fashion. She stared up at him, drinking in his rather uncompromising features. It was a harsh face, to be sure, but one that she felt engraved upon her soul, unforgettable. He hesitated for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision.
He reached into an inside pocket and took out a small silver case, which he opened. “My card, Miss Butler,” he said, handing it to her. “If you find the book of interest, or have any questions, you may write to me.”
Minerva swallowed and took the card from his hand, wishing she wasn’t wearing gloves as their fingers b
rushed. “Thank you so much,” she said, her voice rather faint. “I shall do so.”
He nodded, put his card case away, and gave her a slight bow. “Good day to you, Miss Butler.”
“Good day, Mr de Beauvoir,” Minerva said, still feeling a little dazed.
She watched him stride away, his tall and rather gaunt frame disappearing into the crowds, as she clutched the card tightly in her grasp.
Chapter 13
My dear Harriet,
How are you? What is happening with St Clair? Are you to marry?
I feel like the most abominable friend for leaving you alone at such a time. I ought not to have allowed you to have talked me into leaving. Dearest Harry, do please tell me everything, and you need only say if you want me to return. You may rely upon me to do so at once.
― Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Kitty Baxter to Miss Harriet Stanhope.
1st September 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Harriet looked up, the discreet cough beside her ear jolting her out of her reading.
“Oh, Jasper,” she said with a sigh. “You startled me.”
“Really?” he replied, looking sceptical. “You were so engrossed I’m fairly certain a meteorite could have fallen on the Wells and you’d not have batted an eyelid.”
She gave a little huff of laughter and shook her head. “True enough. How long have I been here?”
“Half an hour at least, I’d say.”
He gave her a fond smile which did odd things to her stomach.
“Did you know, scientists used to believe meteorites came from volcanoes on the moon, or were caused by lightning or condensation in clouds? That is, until a fifty-six pound meteorite fell in a field by Wold Cottage in Yorkshire. It fell out of a clear blue sky and left a crater twenty inches deep! What a shock that must have been.”
“I didn’t know that,” Jasper said, grinning at her. “But I can’t tell you how much I love that you do.”
Harriet flushed, wondering if he was teasing her, but he seemed sincere.
“Come along,” he said, taking the book from her hand.
“What are you doing with that?” she protested.
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 13
