“I saw your face, Mrs. Perfect Widow.”
“Don’t call me that.” Two years since Roger Faircloth’s death and Minerva still had not shaken that horrible moniker. If only they knew.
“You looked as if you’d seen a ghost. And then you doused that ghost in tea and tarts.”
“It was an accident.”
“An accident is a cup of tea, not an entire pot. Cut line, Minerva. Sebastian Brightworth is known for three things.”
“Only three?” Minerva struck her thigh with her fist. Nine years of impeccable behavior and grace tossed onto the rubbish heap. She tightened her lips. Too late, but it was worth a try.
“So there is something between you.” Dytey pounced like a cat on a mouse. And God pity the mouse to catch Dytey’s eye.
“There most certainly is not.” She stood and turned to make a discreet escape. Unfortunately, her graceful leave-taking ran into a jungle of potted ferns the size of small elephants. Ditey latched onto Minerva’s skirts and pulled her back.
“Oh no, you don’t”
Minerva sat down and pulled a stray fern frond from her hair.
“Everyone says it. Brightworth has three talents – making money, keeping money, and seducing women.”
“Lovely. It’s comforting to know some things never change.” Now she’d done it. Perhaps a small confession might hold Ditey at bay. “Very well, yes, I know him.”
“It will please Mama to know you would not throw a tea tray at a perfect stranger.” Ditey folded her arms across her chest and then raised one arm to press two fingers to the side of her face. “Well?”
Minerva shook her head. “A lady should not throw a tea tray at anyone – stranger or not.” Creighton’s mother would hear of this. She suppressed the urge to scream.
“Nonsense. I’d throw a tea tray at Lord Fitzhugh in a heartbeat. He is always telling me to behave. And that officious friend of Creighton’s, what’s his name? Mr. Darcy. I’d throw an entire dinner service at him.”
“Dytey, really! Darcy’s a prominent gentleman and rich as Croesus.”
“Then he should dashed well buy some manners.” She narrowed her eyes. “Just as you are trying to buy some time. Out with it. This instant, Mrs. Faircloth, or it’s the fish pond for you.”
Yes, security had its price, but it was often paid in loneliness. She and Dytey had been friends since before Roger’s death. Minerva had few friends. Roger had not been much for society, for many reasons. Just once, she wanted to confide in someone, to tell someone about the worst mistake she’d ever made in her life. Perhaps she simply wanted someone to tell her she had not been the fool her poor parents proclaimed her. The fool Roger Faircloth swooped in to rescue for all the right reasons, even if she was the wrong woman.
“You must give me your word of honor.” She couldn’t believe she was about to do this.
“You have it.” Dytey squealed. She grew silent, looked at Minerva. She took her hand and Minerva realized her own hands were cold because Dytey’s were warm, the hands of a friend. “Minerva, you must know I would never betray a confidence.” Poor dear looked so very serious.
“Oh, it isn’t that terrible, dear. I simply have never told anyone, save my parents and my husband, and as they are all dead…”
“I will take your secret to my grave, my friend.” She raised a cheeky eyebrow. “So long as you don’t insist I do so in the near future.”
“Lackwit.” Minerva took a deep breath. “I have known Sebastian since we were children. My father had the living on his father’s estate.”
“The Earl of Haddonfield.”
“Yes, not many people realize he is the present earl’s brother, or rather half-brother.”
“They can consult Debrett’s for themselves. What happened?”
“His father died when he was eight and he and his mother were sent away. I only saw him every now and again when he and his mother returned to, well I don’t really know why they returned, but they never stayed long.” She knew, but some things were not her secrets to tell. “The winter I turned seventeen his cavalry regiment was posted to Weatherby. He danced with me at the assemblies, and he escorted me to the fair. It was all good fun. He was a handsome lieutenant. I was flattered and…”
It hurt. Minerva had spent nine years pushing those few months behind door after door, farther and farther away from her memory and her heart. One look into those brown eyes and every door flew open and the pain, and yes, all the rest, came back like a flock of birds, home to roost. Damn him.
“You fell in love.” Dytey sighed. For all of her four and twenty years Aphrodite Forsythe was still a hopeless romantic. Funny, yet all too appropriate, how those two words always came together.
“I fell in love. Sebastian fancied himself in love or at least he told me so.” How could she have been so foolish? No, that wasn’t fair. He had loved her. But not enough.
“Oh, Minerva, did you…well, you know.” Dytey’s cheeks turned quite rosy. She did not know, which was a good thing. Minerva wished she didn’t know. The lies one tells oneself.
“He proposed, Dytey, on a beautiful night in May and when I said yes—”
“The two of you were carried away by your passions and oh, my goodness.” Dytey swooned dramatically across the arm of the settee, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead. “With Colonel Brightworth. He’s so handsome and so—”
“Devoted to his money he forgot to meet me at the church in Wilton’s End two evenings later after I rode twenty miles there with my portmanteau on the back of a pig farmer’s cart.” Now she might laugh at her own foolishness, but then it had been devastating. Dytey wasn’t laughing.
“Oh, Minerva. I’m so sorry. What a horrible scoundrel. Forget Darcy. Sebastian Brightworth deserves two dinner services dumped on him.” She sat up and took Minerva’s hands once more.
“From a great height.” Minerva did smile then. She’d been right to tell her friend. Even if the past hurts stretched and rose in her mind like an old woman rising in the morning. At least someone knew and was outraged for her. Nine years too late. Her parents had only been disappointed. And Roger had been… prepared.
“How could any man love money more than you?”
“Oh, you are a good friend, Dytey, you wicked girl.” Minerva gave her a brief hug. “He sent a note. The vicar had it when I arrived. I don’t know who delivered it. I only know it said he’d reconsidered and he could not afford a wife. He was going off to war. Perhaps he didn’t want to make me a widow as soon as he made me a wife.”
Dytey made a vulgar noise. “Nonsense. He took your virtue and then left you there to deal with the scandal. What an arse. How can you make excuses for him?”
“I am not, not really. I was young and foolish. He was young and foolish.” She cast back in her mind to the boy she knew and then the young man. “Life was not kind to him, Dytey. He lost his father and his home when he was eight and his mother died when he was twelve. There are things you don’t know and, I was as much to blame as he was.”
“That is monumentally unfair, Minerva.” Dytey folded her arms across her chest and stuck her chin out mutinously. “He broke your heart and simply rode away. You might have been with child and he left.” Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Edward isn’t, I mean. Oh, Minerva, you weren’t, were you?”
She laughed. “No, widgen. Edward is only eight years old. He was born a full year after I married Roger.” A thought so fleeting as to be a mere phantom crossed her mind and pressed against her heart. To have Sebastian’s child, would it have been a curse or a blessing? Wiser not to think on it. Even better not to think on Sebastian Brightworth at all. Unfortunately, she’d just dumped tea all over a very large, very male, too damned handsome reminder. A tiny shiver scampered through her. In a hothouse conservatory. Good Queen Bess’s garters, he’d not only turned her clumsy, he’d stolen her wits.
“I cannot sit when I am so angry.” Dytey stood and pulled Minerva up with her. She linked h
er arm through Minerva’s and dragged her through the laburnum back onto the path through the conservatory. “Walk with me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“How can you be so calm? The man who tossed you aside and ruined your life.” She stopped, looked at Minerva, and marched on. “He did ruin your life, didn’t he?”
“For about five weeks. Then Roger proposed and life went on. Really, Ditey, it was all so long ago.” Her friend didn’t need to know how her parents had fretted and cried. Or how Roger had convinced them she might be with child and needed to marry immediately. She’d never asked Roger how he knew. At the time her only thought had been to allay her parents’ fears, especially her father’s. Being a vicar, especially on the estate of an earl, meant a great deal to her father. And some small, vengeful part of her had hoped Sebastian might change his mind and return only to find her married to another. Seventeen-year-old girls were not the brightest of creatures, especially broken-hearted seventeen-year-old girls. And no matter what she’d told Ditey, Sebastian had broken her heart. And poor Roger Faircloth had paid the price.
“You are too soft-hearted, Minerva. I shall never speak to him again for your sake.” Ditey righted several dainty pots of African violets on a little round table.
“Oh, you mustn’t cut him.” Minvera stopped and Ditey turned to face her. “We all have our reasons for the things we do or leave undone. Sebastian… Colonel Brightworth has more reason than most.” She wanted her to understand, but so much of his life was secret, some of it even to himself. She’d learned that too late or perhaps she’d been too young and lived too ideal a life before marrying Roger and losing her parents to a cholera epidemic two years later.
“You should hate him.” Ah, the drama of one who had never been in love, truly in love. Hating him meant she still had feelings for him and she didn’t have the right. She couldn’t.
“If I still loved him, I probably would, but I haven’t thought of him in years.” Liar. “It was a shock to see him again. Nothing more.” She tucked her arm through Ditey’s and continued their perambulation through the conservatory. “I am to marry your brother in a little over a fortnight and all shall be right with the world.”
“Or at least as right as it can be in Mama’s eyes.” They shared a knowing smile. “I don’t know how my brother is so fortunate as to have you as his bride. He is such an idiot when it comes to women. He actually chose well this time.”
“Ditey, dear, I shall tell you a secret.”
“Another one?”
Minerva elbowed her in the side. “All men are idiots when it comes to women. It is a miracle the species has survived this long.”
Ditey laughed. “My brother had better make you happy or he won’t survive. I’ll see to it.”
“First Colonel Brightworth, then Lord Fitzhugh, Mr. Darcy, and now your poor brother. The men in this house have no idea the danger they are in, do they? If they did, they would ride for Scotland and never return.”
“They can all go to the devil so long as my brother stays here and provides you with delirious happiness.” Ditey’s determined face and militant steps forced Minerva to laugh.
Her friend had the right of it, in a world where all was fair and equal. Pray God Aphrodite always had the choice to demand happiness and fairness in her life. Minerva had no such luxury. It wasn’t self-pity. She’d given that up long ago with any number of other things. Minerva and the Earl of Creighton had struck their bargain and delirious happiness had never been on the table for either of them. One didn’t miss what one had never had. She’d settled for security. She’d had practice at it. Delirious happiness and all of the joys and heights that came with it were for seventeen-year-old girls foolish enough to reach for it and nineteen-year-old boys who only trusted it for a moment. She’d secured Edward’s safety and that was all that mattered.
She had to put thoughts of Sebastian Brightworth out of her mind. And she would, as soon as she found a way to apologize for drowning him in hyson tea and strawberry tarts.
“Minerva?” Ditey had that coy, frighten the devil look on her face again.
“Yes?” What did the little minx want now?
“What was it like?” Oh no. Her cheeks weren’t rosy. They were bright red.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Minerva! You know what I mean. With Colonel Brightworth. He has a certain reputation. It is deserved?”
“My reputation for what?” a dark voice traced a path up Minerva’s spine.
Ditey gasped.
Minerva, inexplicably more furious than she’d ever been in her life, spun on her heel. And promptly upended a four-foot-tall vase of gladioli all over the conservatory floor.
“Hello, Minerva.”
Stealing Minerva: Chapter Three
While her face fumed in silence, her eyes fairly shouted. Oh, they snapped with pique at his stealthy approach and casual greeting. Their green depths flecked with amber reminded Sebastian of lying on his back peering up at oak leaves touched by the sun. A long, weary journey and even some concern peered from beneath her artist’s perfection eyebrows, but somewhere lurked her old admiration of him. And his heart stuttered for several beats. Still, she said not a word. Good for him, as he was owed a set-down of biblical proportions from this particular goddess of wisdom.
The light of the waning sunset prismed through the panes of the conservatory’s glass roof. It teased the strands of hair peeking from beneath her cap and bathed her face in its warmth. She’d grown more beautiful in the last nine years. Her form, yes, was more full and more softly curved, but it was more than that. She’d added grace and assurance to her carriage and a strength to her countenance he found difficult to resist. She drew him, even more than she had all those years ago.
“Are you lost, Colonel Brightworth?” Lady Aphrodite’s tone gave him pause. Minerva had been talking about him and not in any way flattering. Creigthon’s sister usually flirted with him. Today she looked ready to do him considerable harm.
“How could any man not be lost in the presence of such beauty?”
The ever polite earl’s sister snorted and rolled her eyes. Not good.
“If you will excuse us, Colonel.” Minerva linked her arm with that of the younger woman and walked towards the doors at the far end of the conservatory.
His brain refused to work. As did his tongue. Well, that was lowering. He needed to speak to her. Yes, that was it. Speak. Say something.
“Minerva, don’t walk away from me.” Not that, however. He opened his mouth to say more, but immediately closed it. She’d let go of her companion and stormed towards him like a French infantrymen intent on destruction. He held his ground, but only by sheer force of will. She stopped so close to him the skirts of her pretty dress covered the toes of his boots.
“How dare you.” Her voice, a furious whisper. “Who do you think you are?”
“I—”
“I am soon to be mistress of this house, Sebastian Brightworth. Or did your friend, my fiancé, not inform you?” Face flushed, eyes turned to jade jewels, lips pursed in anger. Had she ever been this intoxicating as a girl?
“He might have mentioned it.” Keep talking, Minerva, or I will not be held accountable for my actions. He’d run mad. In the space of a few seconds in her presence he’d lost all semblance of charm and gained a roaring cock stand.
“Good.” She stepped back. Her bosom filled out the muslin of her dress with more allure than a half-dressed opera dancer. Especially when she was in high dudgeon. “You will please remember it for the duration of your visit. Good day.” She turned to go.
His hand shot out to grasp her elbow. “Minerva.”
She looked at his hand and followed his arm up to his face.
He shuddered at the blast of memory fired by merely touching her. His mind had left on holiday. His body was considering taking up residence as close to her as possible. A flash of sense came to him and Sebastian gently tucked her arm through his and covere
d her hand. “I have not seen Lady Creighton’s fish pond since it was completed.” He made a point of gazing at Lady Aphrodite, who stood arms folded and foot tapping across the way. “Might I ask you to show it to me, Mrs. Faircloth?”
She wanted to refuse him. Her body told him as much. She relaxed just enough and he took the opportunity to lead her toward the far side of the conservatory. He watched her exchange some sort of signal with Creighton’s sister. Lady Aphrodite frowned her displeasure, but she left him alone with Minerva. He did not doubt she stood in the corridor outside those far French windows, just in case.
“What do you want, Sebastian?” Minerva pulled her arm free and walked a few steps around the stone wall of the raised pond. His arm cooled where she had touched it.
He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at his boots. When he raised his head, he found her unflinching gaze on him. It was heartening she found him more interesting than the fish. “I would tell you how lovely you look and how Creighton is the most fortunate of men, but you know all of that.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I owe you an apology, Minerva. I should never have…” No, dammit, he would not apologize for proposing. “What I did was unforgiveable, but I am truly sorry.”
“Does Lord Creighton know?”
What the devil! He’d just apologized for leaving her at the altar and all she cared about was—
“What did you tell him, Sebastian? Did you tell him we—”
“Certainly not. I’m a gentleman.” He sounded affronted even to himself. “I told them I proposed and you accepted and then I—”
“Left me at the altar.” Her tone threatened to turn Lady Creighton’s pond into the Sahara. “I remember that part.” She took a step toward him. “Them? You told them? Not his mother. Oh, Sebastian.”
“What? Oh, hell no! Fitzhugh. I told Creighton and Fitzhugh. I wouldn’t give Creighton’s mother that sort of ammunition against my worst enemy, let alone a woman I…” Best not play that card too soon. And he was. Playing. At seducing her. For the money. Right. He clung to that idea like a soldier to his last rations.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 64
