She stared at the painted yellow silk wallpaper. Green vines and tiny pink flowers curled around the walls to make the room appear a bower from some bygone era. Everything in Creighton Hall spoke of money, power, and a family long used to having both. In her fight against her husband’s brother she knew she’d need all of it to keep him from winning custody of Edward.
Sebastian had listened to every word. He’d squeezed her hand when she’d explained how the man insisted Edward go off to a school in the north of England – a school for the infirm. Infirm. Her son was no more infirm than Sebastian or his friends. Roger’s brother simply wanted him out of sight. And the man’s wife had been even more adamant. She’d produced two daughters and saw Minerva’s son as a threat. Children sickened in these special schools. They died. They disappeared. Through it all Sebastian had listened, and comforted, and said not a word. Only at the end.
“Trust me, all will be well. Never doubt it.”
She didn’t trust him.
Minerva pressed her fist to her mouth to smother a sob. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She trusted him with her body. She trusted him with her secrets. She had no choice about her heart. But in spite of everything that had passed between them in the last few hours, she did not really know what his intentions were. And the young girl who’d risked it all nine years ago and paid a seven-year penance with a man as condemned to their marriage as she had been, that girl whispered in her ear.
“What have you done, you silly woman?” Minerva slid down in the bed and punched her innocent pillows into submission. “What have you gone and done?” She let those abated tears fall and eventually, still silently weeping, sank into sleep.
* * *
“Minerva. Minerva, wake up!!”
An all too familiar hand shook her shoulder and ended Minerva’s troubled sleep by stripping the counterpane off the bed.
“Ditey, for goodness sakes, am I not allowed one day to sleep late?” She rolled over and covered her head with one of the pillows.
“Certainly, dearest, but not today.” Her voice came from the direction of the wardrobe, which, by the banging and clattering, she was rummaging through like a sneak thief. A very noisy sneak thief. “Get up. I have your clothes here. Get dressed.”
Minerva threw off the sheets and slid out of bed. She shuffled her feet in search of her slippers. The sun streamed through the windows. Ditey had obviously opened the drapes at some point. The Aubusson carpets blocked the chill of the wooden floors, but her feet were still cold. Her pretty peach muslin day dress lay draped across the blanket chest. Ditey stood at the chest of drawers and flung out undergarments and stockings.
“Good Lord, Ditey, what time is it and what has you in such a frenzy?” Minerva stepped behind the heavily embroidered screen to perform her morning ablutions.
“It is nearly eleven. I cannot believe you are still abed.” She peered over the top of the screen as Minerva finished washing her face. “Mama is looking for you.”
Minerva pressed the towel to her face. Her entire body went still. Her heart slowed. She took her time to dry her face and hands before she stepped around the screen to take the chemise Ditey handed her. “The countess is out of bed at this hour?”
“Yes. God help us all.” She tossed a set of stays over Minerva’s head and spun her around to tighten them. “I suspect Melghem has been about some mischief. I walked by Mama’s drawing room this morning and saw the two of them in there with their heads together.”
Minerva turned her shaky fingers to adjusting her stays and then set to donning her stockings. One foot propped on the chair at her vanity, she gazed down at what she was doing in the hope Ditey would not detect her worry. “Did you hear what they discussed?”
“Something about Creighton and the colonel and some sort of plan. Mama kept saying you must be told at once.” Ditey touched her arm. “She didn’t sound upset so much as… sly.”
A plan? Creighton and Sebastian had a plan? For what?
“I wasn’t aware your mother could be upset.” Minerva pulled on her dress and turned around for Ditey to help her fasten it. “And sly is her normal tone of voice, my dear.”
“True.” She touched her fingers to her lips and frowned behind them. “I think Melghem has been spying on Creighton and his friends, sneaking about and listening and watching when they aren’t aware of it.”
If she was watching Sebastian last night she certainly saw far more than she bargained for, the old prude.
Minerva had the sudden urge to laugh. Hysteria, no doubt, brought on by juggling two men, a soon-to-be mother-in-law, an angry child, a battalion of guests, a friend determined to get her into trouble, an impending wedding – her own. All of that and now her future mother-in-law’s meddling maid sought to set the entire juggling act on fire. Or perhaps simply the juggler.
Ditey and Minerva hurried through the sitting room into the corridor. A pair of maids curtsied and hurried towards the stairs to the first floor.
“Sally,” Minerva called after them.
“Yes, Mrs. Faircloth?” The maid turned and bobbed another curtsy.
“Do you know if my son has had his breakfast?”
“He has. And that handsome colonel took him out riding right after.” The other maid tittered. “He’s in the nursery now with Katie. Your boy, not the colonel.”
Minerva looked at Ditey who rolled her eyes and then grinned.
“Thank you, Sally. That will be all.” Minerva took Ditey’s arm and hurried her up the corridor towards the green drawing room where she’d delivered the dowager countess a blistering setdown less than a day ago.
“Well, he is handsome, Minerva,” Ditey chided.
“The maids are not supposed to notice.”
“They’d have to be blind and half dead. Minerva?” Ditey stopped just beyond sight of the door into the countess’s drawing room.
“Ditey, what is it?” She squeezed her friend’s hand.
“That first day, when you dumped the tea tray on Colonel Brightworth?”
“Thank you so much for reminding me.” Minerva smiled, but Ditey did not.
“I was in the billiards room spying on them, just as you said. But as I was leaving I saw Melghem coming down the corridor. I ran to the library doors to catch you and when I looked back Melghem wasn’t there. I think she ducked into the billiards room.”
“And now she has shared what she learned with your mother.” Minerva wondered how Ditey and Creighton had grown to be such good and kind people in such a house.
“You know my brother’s secrets and I know you cannot tell me.”
“No, I cannot.” She may have betrayed her betrothed with Sebastian. Whatever happened in the next few days, Minerva had vowed to keep those secrets and she would. She owed Lord Creighton that much.
“Minerva, if it is in your power, don’t let my mother hurt him any more than she has already.” Ditey loved her brother dearly. She might well be the only member of his family who did.
“You can count on it, my friend.” Minerva kissed her cheek. “Will you come in and face the dragon with me?”
It took no more than a quarter of an hour. Fifteen minutes for a woman whose unhappiness went soul deep and her obedient lackey to teach Minerva a lesson she thought she’d learned at seventeen. Trust was something dearly bought, cheaply sold, and never to be given to men whose demons dictated the way they lived and loved.
Minerva sat and listened to Melghem tell what she’d heard in the library the day Sebastian arrived at Creighton Hall. She looked not at the maid, nor at the countess, nor even at her friend seated with her on the settee, clasping her hand for dear life. Did Melghem embellish some things and leave others out altogether? More than likely. She told the tale to serve her mistress and serve her mistress she did. The expression of triumph on the Dowager Countess of Creighton’s face reminded Minerva of Edward’s dog Precious after she’d torn the head off a rat.
It was a shame really. For as Minerva sat there,
humiliated and betrayed by not one but two men, her blood ran colder and colder. Her mind grew keen. Her path grew clear. And Lady Creighton’s triumph turned to naught, though the poor woman did not yet know it. When the recitation ended, Minerva rose from the pretty settee.
“Thank you, my lady, for bringing this to my attention. I trust you will allow me to deal with it as I see fit?”
Next to her Ditey continued to clasp her hand and shake her head in disbelief.
“Of course, my dear,” Lady Creighton fairly purred. “I am so terribly sorry you have had to suffer such a horrible betrayal. I have no idea where my son learned such horrible dealings.”
“Really?” Minerva indicated to Ditey they should leave the room. “I do.” With that she and her friend marched out of the drawing room and did not look back. Once they were in the corridor Ditey tried several times to speak.
Minerva patted her hand. “Where do you supposed your brother is?”
“I don’t know.” Ditey looked to see who was coming up the stairs from the entrance hall. “Robbie, a word if you please.”
Minerva did not know what emotion her face betrayed. However, it must have matched Ditey’s. Robbie paused mid-step and for several seconds looked as if he might vault over the balustrade back into the foyer and from there out the front doors.
“Y-yes, Lady Aphrodite?” He swallowed loudly.
“Where are Lord Creighton and Colonel Brightworth?” Ditey asked, her voice seething.
“In the l-library, my lady, I believe.”
“Thank you, Robbie,” Minerva said softly. “That will be all.” He scooted past them and scurried down the carpet to disappear behind the servants’ door set into the wall at the end of the corridor. “Ditey?”
Her friend stopped at the top of the stairs.
“Would you check on the luncheon and make certain the guests all have what they need?” Minerva’s hands shook. She hid them behind the full skirts of her dress. Her skin had gone clammy in spite of the furnace of rage stoked in her heart.
“Of course… if you are certain?”
Minerva joined her on the landing. “I am. I have to do this myself.”
Ditey smiled and touched her hand. They descended the stairs in silence. Once in the foyer Minerva headed towards the library and Ditey went towards the kitchens.
“Oh, Minerva,” she called from the hallway to the far side of the staircase.
“Yes?”
“Should you need help with the bodies, I have a lovely spot picked out on the far side of the lake.”
“You are the very definition of a dear friend, Aphrodite.” Minerva half-smiled at her friend’s laughter trailing towards the back of the house.
Women had little power in life, but in this she had it all. She knew Sebastian and Creighton to be fierce players at whist. Minerva was about to trump them both. And their damnable honor guaranteed their loss. And hers.
Stealing Minerva: Chapter Twelve
Sebastian did not have to drop his jaw at the sum Creighton named. Fitzhugh did it for him.
“Faircloth is willing to spend that much money to win custody of his brother’s son?” Fitzhugh fairly shouted.
“Do sit down and lower your voice. It isn’t necessary for the entire house to know.” Creighton, seated at his desk, waved Fitzhugh into a chair.
“It might have been nice, however, for me to know.” Sebastian sat on the edge of the desk.
“Why? What difference does it make to you?” Creighton leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his chest. “Spending money on solicitors and court fees is the sort of expense you avoid at any cost.”
“How would you know?” Sebastian had not had a wink of sleep. His friends irritated him with their assumptions, no matter how true they might ring. Minerva would never relinquish her son and she would do whatever she had to do to protect him. Even make a marriage with no hope of happiness.
Even a whisper of a future in which Minerva was married to Creighton shifted Sebastian’s world between gut-wrenching pain and all-encompassing rage. It made for blessed little intelligent consideration of what to do next. Time and a clear head – both in short supply since he’d lain in Minerva’s arms and dared to think he might seize what he’d never hoped to have, once he’d walked away all those years past. A head for business proved useless when one pondered following… his heart? Holy hell.
“Your brother tried to give you an estate. You refused to even see the solicitors, let alone pay them. I believe your exact words were ‘Bugger the solicitors and the earl who sent them.’”
“And I only wanted to bugger Shakespeare.” Fitzhugh mused with a grin. “Brightworth avoids spending money on anything at any cost.”
“Then it is a very good thing he will not have to, isn’t it, Lord Fitzhugh?”
Sebastian had survived years on the battlefield by virtue of one instinct. That instinct alerted his body to action and his soul to the possibility of death. At the sound of her voice he raised himself from the corner of the desk and wished he’d let that last Frenchman finish him off at Waterloo. No. Such. Luck.
Minerva, looking every bit the avenging goddess, stood with her hand on the back of a high-backed leather reading chair. She’d slipped into the billiards room and traversed most of the library with the three of them none the wiser. And then her eyes met his.
Every drop of blood in his body slid as melting snow to Sebastian’s feet. He nearly looked down to see if it puddled there on Creighton’s expensive carpets. As one, his friends turned their heads towards the place where she stood. With the same unified precision, they rose to their feet.
“The servant charged with oiling those folding doors is annoyingly proficient,” Fitzhugh muttered under his breath.
“I’ll have him killed tomorrow.” Creighton shot Sebastian a speaking glance.
“Does she…” Fitzhugh’s question died on his lips.
Minerva exuded a malevolent calm. She did not move. The imperceptible squeak of leather pressed without mercy drew Sebastian’s eyes to her hand, knuckles whitened to bloodlessness against the dark brown of the chair’s upholstery.
“I fear you have interrupted a rather dull conversation, my dear.” Creighton started forward. His progress was quelled in two steps by the sphinxlike gaze Minerva turned on him.
Thunder rolled insistently in the distance. The first spatters of a heavy rain threw themselves against the stained-glass window behind them. Sebastian’s fleeting hope for mercy fled, leaving the taste and smell of burned out ash in its wake.
“Have you paid him yet?” Minerva’s dispassionate tone scalded him to his bones.
“Paid him?” Creighton’s faintly insipid reply sealed all their fates. She knew. Worse, she knew they knew.
“I hope you have not, my lord, as he has failed to accomplish what you hired him to do.” She spoke to her betrothed, but her eyes never stopped their cold assessment of Sebastian’s face.
“I have no idea what you—”
“Creighton. Don’t.” Sebastian nearly choked on the words. Something unfurled in his chest, something hard and sharp. It stole his breath.
“Indeed, my lord. Good advice. Do not insult my intelligence. I know I am a mere woman, but I do have more than a few wits about me.”
“At this point, I’d say she is the only person in the room who does.” Fitzhugh raised his hands in surrender at the alacrity with which Sebastian and Creighton turned on him.
“One thousand pounds is the sum your mother mentioned, Lord Creighton.” She released her grip on the chair and stepped towards them. “Later raised to two, I believe.”
Say something, you fool! The voice in Sebastian’s head sounded a combination of his father, Creighton, Fitzhugh, and Fitzhugh’s grandmother, of all people. The image made him want to laugh, but he feared if he did, he’d never stop.
“I do wonder, was the exorbitant fee a testament to my virtuous character or to the distastefulness of the task?”
“A chance?” A battle flag of color rose in her cheeks. Her hands balled into dainty fists. “For what? To pledge your precious fortune to keep Faircloth from taking my son? To risk living in poverty again should it not be enough? All for the sake of a boy who would never survive going away to school?” She gasped as the breath left her body. “A chance to beg my forgiveness?”
“Yes,” he fairly shouted. “I did not know who Creighton’s betrothed was when I came. When I learned it was you…” He should not have looked at her. Every ounce of grace his tongue ever owned fell down the stairs of his shrinking intellect and sat there in a broken heap.
“Yes, when you learned I was your assigned victim you persuaded Creighton to double the wager. After all, you’d already seduced me once. How difficult might it be to do so a second time?”
“My mother and her demmed maid are for Scotland in the morning,” Creighton growled to no one in particular.
“Not far enough.” Sebastian took another step towards Minerva. “I know I don’t deserve it, but if you would give me a private interview.”
I’ll make an even bigger shambles of this.
He had not an inkling of what he might say or do. Nor any notion as to why. He only knew he had to do something.
Fitzhugh and Creighton tried to edge towards the doors leading into the corridor.
“No need to creep away, gentlemen. Colonel Brightworth and I have nothing further to say to each other.”
Something tore loose in Sebastian.
“Wrong.”
He stalked the last few steps and reached for her arm. She stayed him, hands raised as if to ward off a blow. Indignant horror seized his lungs and held his tongue prisoner. The truth of her quiet fury outbid Sebastian’s urge to berate Minerva for even entertaining the idea he’d ever strike her. For he had struck her – nine years ago and now. Not all blows came from fists. Not all wounds bled. Some withered and destroyed with a whisper. And no amount of shouting healed them.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 74
