“If you would be so kind as to let me pass,” she asked, hoping that he would at least have the decency to step out of her way.
He did not. Instead, he grabbed her basket and looked at its contents.
“How dare you!” Her protest sounded less appalled than she had intended it to. “Not only are you impolite, but your behaviour is downright rude. Please let me go.”
“Tell me the truth about why you came here, and I will let you go,” he replied and let his fingers glide across the binding of her notebook. This was a surprisingly gentle gesture, almost as if he were stroking an animal.
When he lifted his gaze, Minerva noticed that his eyes had changed too. Instead of their earlier austerity and coldness, they now seemed almost warm.
“I write,” she admitted with a quiet voice, and immediately regretted her words. During those last few minutes, she had broken every promise she had ever made, although involuntarily, to her Aunt Catherine. Here she stood, with the notorious Duke of Scuffold, and on top of that, she had admitted that she was writing a novel!
“Why? Do you want to become famous? Or do you miss London’s conversation and write purely out of boredom?”
“Neither one of your suggestions is true. I write because it is a need.” Getting braver by the minute, she pushed out her chin, a gesture he acknowledged with a slight twitch in the corners of his mouth.
“And for that you need to come to this forsaken place?” The irony had almost completely disappeared from his voice. He sounded curious and maybe even a little nostalgic. This was very strange indeed, but Minerva was determined to use his softness to her advantage.
“Yes, it is beautiful here. I love the clearing in the trees and the pavilion, even though it is in such disrepair and so very lonely.”
“Well, well, look at what we have here, a hopeless romantic.” He frowned. “What do your relatives think about the fact that you are not only an eager writer, but also that you are walking around in the grounds of a stranger, without company?”
“They do know where I am,” she lied and hoped that he wouldn’t notice the redness rising into her cheeks. “If I do not return shortly, they will come to look for me.” She hoped that this was clear enough, even if she didn’t say aloud what she really wanted to say.
“I will make sure that you arrive home safely,” he said. “Would you allow me?” He stretched out his hand towards the basket, but Minerva hastily pulled it away and out of his reach. Everything was allowed to happen, just not that! If anyone were to see her together with the duke and told her aunt, then it would all be over! Her aunt would not only prohibit her from leaving the house for good, but she would also take away her writing!
“No,” she said quickly. “Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I shall find my own way back.” Since he did not budge, she pushed herself past him, trying to keep as much distance as she possibly could.
“I think it is necessary,” he insisted. His eyes gleamed mockingly. “After all, I need to make sure that you do not get lost in these woods. Or, that you are frightened… by a ghost.”
The heat in her cheeks deepened. How long had he been there, before she saw him? Had he listened and heard her talking to herself?
“Please,” she said one more time, and this time she didn’t try to hide her desperation. “If you accompany me back home, my aunt will most certainly hear of it, and I will never be allowed to come back here again.” She bit her lip and suppressed a moan of frustration. Now she had given everything away! “I mean, of course, that I do not intend to set foot on your land again. I promise. But my aunt will lock me up, if she hears about this.”
“Well, that would be catastrophic,” he agreed with her in earnest.
For a second, Minerva was convinced that she had won. Just like Marianne de Lacey, she had managed to distract the unscrupulous duke with her wit and her words, and had manoeuvred herself out of an impossible situation! But her feeling of triumph died quickly when she saw his smile. His eyes gleamed provocatively. Before he said anything, Minerva already knew that she wouldn’t be able to escape as easily as she had hoped.
The duke took her hand and leaned over it, as if he wanted to kiss her fingertips. A tiny ball of fire appeared inside Minerva’s chest as she felt his warm breath caressing her skin. “I want to propose a deal,” he said thoughtfully. Minerva felt ice-cold. What would a man like him demand from a woman, whom he had completely in his hands?
“You will return here, in one week, at the same time, and you will allow me to read your work. In turn, I will not tell your relatives about your secret.”
Minerva made a noise that was a cross between a complaint and surprise. “I will not be able to do that,” she objected. “I can only ever come here when my aunt and uncle are away visiting their friends. I do not think that they will leave the house again, so soon.”
In fact, it was actually highly unlikely that her Uncle James would leave the comforts of his study any time soon. For him, a certain amount of time had to pass between excursions, so that he was able to recuperate from the strain of the last visit. Knowing him, one week would hardly be enough to prepare for the challenges of talking to other people, which he considered mere gibberish. The duke tilted his head sideways. In his eyes, she saw a dare which scared Minerva, and at the same time she felt a growing need to laugh hysterically.
“You can leave that to me, Miss Honeyfield.” He almost purred with satisfaction and let go of her hand, which he had held indecently long in his own. “I will await you here in exactly one week.”
Minerva watched as his tall figure disappeared into the woods – carefree and with a small melody on his lips – without looking back at her one more time.
She was caught in a trap.
Chapter 5
It was of such infamy, it had no equal.
With deeply reddened cheeks, a hem crusted in dried mud, and in a state of mind that bordered on panic, Minerva returned to her relatives’ house. At least Aunt Catherine and Uncle James had not yet arrived back from their visit. As quietly as possible, she snuck into the home and released a sigh of relief when she overheard Anna talking to the cook in the back of the house. It sounded as if the two women were involved in a heated debate, but Minerva did not take the time to listen in. She hurried up the stairs, climbed clumsily out of her dirty dress, and hid it quickly inside the travel trunk. In her haste and awkwardness, Minerva had not only stained the light-coloured muslin even more, but she had forgotten to take off her mud-covered boots first, which resulted in a deep tear in the fine fabric. How should she dispose of it? She was almost certain that Aunt Catherine would notice if she burned the unsalvageable dress. As she slipped into her bright green muslin, thoughts were racing through her mind. No, although Lady Marianne would have burned the dress – it would make a wonderfully dramatic scene – how could she have succeeded in the endeavour, without the smell of burning betraying her?
She would throw the dress away at the next available opportunity. Or, she could ask Anna to wash it for her, secretly.
She would have to think of some excuse for why she had changed her clothing. That was not the most pressing problem. No, that honour went to the Duke of Scuffold, whose threat gave her a headache. What would he do if she decided to ignore his demands? So far, her uncle and aunt had been rather lenient with her, when it came to reprimands. Much more lenient than she deserved, given her continuous disobedience, she thought, slightly embarrassed at her behaviour. She strained to reach the buttons at the back of her dress, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What kind of human being had decided that women should wear corsets? This uncomfortable thing made any of her movements simply impossible! Once she was married, she would never wear one of these fashion-items again, she promised herself silently. After all, her waistline was slender, even without the restricting concoction with its stiffening bones. Angry at herself, at the duke, at her parents, and even at Mr Meade, who had started this whole chain of events in the
first place – she threw her stockings into one corner of her room, before she fell onto her bed exhausted.
No, she would not cry right now.
Nor would she admit to her relatives what she had done this day.
There had to be a way to escape the duke’s clutches without her relatives finding out. If only she had an ally, someone she could talk to and confide in! But here in this God-forsaken village, she did not even have her own maid. What was her family thinking? How was she supposed to find a suitable husband when she was forced to run around like a rantipole?
Minerva held her breath as a thought started to form inside her head. Maybe there was a way she could solve at least one of her difficulties. She got up from the bed and studied her ruffled appearance, despite her careful attempts this morning. Her finger wiped away a speck of dirt that stretched across her forehead like an accusing mark. How on earth had she managed to get mud even on her face? Her first impulse was to rub her fingers across it, but then she lowered her hand. No.
The less presentable she looked the better.
* * *
It was much easier than Minerva had anticipated.
“Child, you look terrible,” her aunt had commented, when Minerva ran down the stairs to greet them. “What happened? Where have you been?”
“I am so sorry, Aunt,” Minerva replied after deciding to simply ignore the last question. “I was outside and fell, and when I saw how much work Anna was having, I did not want to keep her from her chores. I tried to fix my hair myself, just in case you are bringing back company, but…” She lowered her gaze.
Her uncle stepped closer and examined her carefully, as Minerva noticed from the corner of her eye. It was quite possible that he was scrutinizing the colour of the dirt to divine where she had been according to the consistency of the streak of mud. So, she kept her eyes averted and prayed that her aunt would come up with the desired solution for this problem all by herself.
“In the future, you will have to pay more attention to where you step,” she said. This was not how Minerva had hoped the conversation would go. Feverishly, she searched for a riposte that would steer her aunt in the right direction, but without revealing her little intrigue.
“I will be more vigilant, Aunt,” she answered obediently. “It was not really my fault – however, I am glad that none of your acquaintances saw me in such a state.” She shuddered dramatically. “What if a gentleman who happened to come by had seen me like this? It is inconceivable what opinion he might have had of me,” she emphasised the word inconspicuously. She held her breath. In the silence that followed, the noise that escaped her uncle’s lips was clearly identifiable as a disgruntled snort. She peeked up at his face. His expression was serious, and he carefully watched her face, but his lips were twitching.
Encouraged by his reaction, she now said openly: “Is it really impossible for me to have my own maid while I am staying here?”
“Hmm,” her uncle grunted, settling in a chair by the fireplace. “What do you say, Catherine?”
“Well,” her aunt started but fell silent again. Minerva looked at her pleadingly and, as she hoped, innocently. “Her father has explicitly written to us that she is supposed to learn to live with what we can provide her.”
“That is what he said?” Minerva had a very good idea what her father had intended by that. He wanted to drive her into Mr Meade’s arms and teach her humility. “Even my father can’t possibly wish for me to walk around like a…” she was searching for the right word but could not think of one.
“The question is,” her uncle interrupted, “... how do we interpret your father’s words? Are we able to provide Minerva with a maid? The answer to that would be affirmative. Our financial resources allow it. The next question is whether we want it. Well, Minerva,” he nodded towards her, “... do you have valid arguments for that?”
She looked at him irritated. I do not need arguments, she wanted to say, but realised at the last minute, how childish that would sound. “Would you like me to plead my case as if I were in court?”
“I want you to learn how to act like an adult, which you are claiming to be,” her uncle retorted. Minerva’s cheeks turned bright red. “Oh, that hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied stubbornly. Her uncle wanted good reasons? Very well then. “I don’t want to keep Anna from her chores in the house,” she began. Neither her aunt, nor her uncle looked pleased with her answer. “My parents wish for me to find a husband. But how am I supposed to ever find a husband, if I do not… look clean and decently dressed?” Encouraged by her Aunt Catherine’s approving nod, Minerva continued: “Any man who looks at me is supposed to see in me his ideal wife – but how could he do so if my appearance fails to match his honour or if he should be ashamed of me?”
“Isn’t that mostly based on the way you behave, my dearest niece?” Uncle James’s question had been asked in a calm manner and without a hint of an accusation. “I would like to propose an exchange. We will agree that you will get your maid, a girl from the village, who will help you to get dressed and ready…”
“Thank you, Uncle. I appreciate it very much,” Minerva said, and she put all of her gratitude into her voice.
From beneath his bushy eyebrows, he glanced at her with a sceptical look. “… however, in return, your aunt and I would like to see some goodwill from you,” he continued and took a deep drag from his pipe. Minerva was not used to smoke, since the gentlemen at her parents’ house smoked in a different room to the ladies, and she started to cough.
Her uncle waved the white smoke away with his hand and waited for her coughing to subside.
“We, which means, your parents, have found another candidate who is interested in your hand in marriage. He is visiting his relatives here in Kent and will most likely pay us a visit within the next few days. I expect you to do what is expected of you, do you agree?”
“Of course,” she replied with a husky voice. Her chest tightened. There had been hours, even days, when Minerva had completely forgotten why she was here. She had actually begun to see her time with her uncle and aunt as no longer a punishment! Minerva was just about to say something when her aunt rose from the chair.
“I think it is time for us to go to bed. Tomorrow morning, we will talk about who is the most suitable for you as a maid. Have a good night’s rest.”
It took Minerva rather a long time, before she finally fell asleep. She tossed her uncle and aunt’s words back and forth in her mind. Today had been full of surprises, and unfortunately, most of them had been unpleasant. The infamous duke had her in his hands, her family wanted to force her into marriage by all available means – and she had nobody in whom she could confide her misery.
In her last letter, Georgiana had announced that it would take a little while longer for her to write a following letter, as her mother was also sending her to the countryside – to visit relatives in Yorkshire! Georgiana had sounded inconsolable. She considered Kent “more civilised” than the part of the country where she was banished to, and she said that she had no idea what to expect. Minerva had written back to her with encouraging words, and she had asked her to describe to her the wild, rugged landscape, so that she might use it in her book. Maybe that would distract Georgiana and perhaps even open her eyes to the beauty of her surroundings.
There was one good thing about the turmoil she had fallen into. Her decision to write a suspenseful novel was stronger than ever. She took a deep breath and clung onto the thought that burned inside of her like fire. If she were never to marry, then there would never be a man to prevent her from following her dreams and becoming a writer.
This in turn brought up yet another thought, which filled her with a strange restlessness. Now that she had lost all hope, she could meet the duke and his impertinent demands in a way she had not thought possible before. As it stood, she had nothing to lose. Not her good reputation, which would be ruined the moment her first novel was published; not her parent’s favour,
who only viewed her as someone they quickly needed to marry off; finally, not the goodwill of those who considered themselves leading the way in society.
However, before she turned her back on the Beau Monde entirely, she would make sure that she taught the Duke of Scuffold a lesson.
Like so many others, he believed that she was nothing more than a silly little girl. Minerva would convince him of the contrary.
She just didn’t know how.
Chapter 6
As unexpected as a rain shower after a long sunny day, Marianne met the duke’s sinister smile.
The following week brought two surprises.
Aunt Catherine, who always got up early in the mornings to clear up her garden behind the house with an iron hand, was waiting in the breakfast room for Minerva, nervously crumbling up a slice of bread. “There you are, child,” she greeted her niece. “I don’t really know where to begin,” she mumbled, partially turned towards Minerva, partially talking to herself. Minerva noticed two letters lying on a plate next to her aunt.
The seals had already been broken. One letter was in the very fine handwriting of her mother – the other one had been written by someone whose writing she was not familiar with. Bold, energetic strokes embellished the top of the paper.
Minerva sat down across from her aunt and took a slice of toast. “Have you found a girl from the village, who will be able to help me?”
“No, that is not as easy as you might think,” her aunt replied, whilst absentmindedly taking both letters into her hand, then putting them back again and running them through her fingers once more.
Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel Page 6
