“Miss?” Sally’s hesitant voice interrupted Minerva’s thoughts. “Is everything all right? Would you like me to send for the doctor for you? You do look a little pale, if I may say so.” When had Sally stopped swallowing half of her words?
Well, that was not important right now.
“Yes,” Minerva said, “... everything is all right.” Nothing was all right. “I shall go and speak with the duke and ask him what the doctor told him. We will depart as soon as my mother feels well enough to travel. In the meantime, ...” she gazed at her mother, who did not show any signs of life, apart from the regular rising and falling of her chest. Seeing her waxen face confirmed Minerva’s decision to behave like a grown woman from now on. “In the meantime, you will look after Mrs Honeyfield. The doctor informed me that he was sending a nurse, but you will stay with my mother until I return – regardless of what the nurse might tell you.”
She closed the door behind her quietly, after she had watched Sally take her place by the side of the bed and remove the damp cloth from her mother’s forehead.
The search for the duke did not turn out to be difficult. He was in the library, writing. When Minerva entered the room, he rose from his chair. She did notice that he turned the paper over, despite the fact that the ink had possibly not dried yet, which would render the document unreadable.
A few heartbeats went by, while they both silently looked at each other until he pointed towards the sofa. Minerva sat down with a stiff back. Her mother’s mysterious illness had changed everything – even the way she perceived the Duke of Scuffold. For the first time, she noticed the shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes. His mouth, usually ready to pull into a mocking smile, was now a narrow line. The masculine features of his face, the high cheekbones, and the striking chin, had taken precedence over any emotion. He was still the same man, and yet he was a different one. An aura of recklessness, which she had only assumed before, now came to light. To Minerva, he seemed like a man who would do anything to reach his goal and would relentlessly hunt down anyone in his path. What had caused this change in him?
Was it the sudden illness of her mother that had brought this other side of him to the surface? A cold hand seemed to reach for her heart. There had to be a reason. Feverishly, she tried to sort out her thoughts. The connection between what happened to her mother and his immediate character change was too obvious to ignore. His coldness and mercilessness indicated that he believed himself in danger – a danger that was posed by her mother. No, Minerva corrected herself, not by her mother herself, but from what had happened to her.
She held her breath and closed her eyes. This was another mistake in her thinking. It was not a case of something happening to her mother – someone had done something to her. Minerva felt ice-cold and started to shiver. Poison. Someone had tried to poison her Mama.
“I see you have divined the truth,” the duke said with a flat and strangely toneless voice.
Minerva stood up. Her movements were purposefully slow. As if from far away, she thought she had to ask the duke for the use of his carriage if she wanted to leave this place. She could not, and would not, stay here under his roof, one second longer. She needed to tell Sally to pack her and her mother’s belongings. If the duke were to refuse her his carriage for flimsy reasons – maybe just to keep her in his house – she would have Sally smuggle a letter to her uncle, and he would almost certainly… the world began to spin.
Two strong arms caught her and laid her gently onto the sofa. At first, she wanted to protest as he touched her legs to put them up, but the words became stuck in her throat. He carefully lifted her head and pushed a pillow underneath it, before he pulled a chair closer and sat down beside her. The situation was much too similar to that in her mother’s room, where she had watched over her mother’s fragile state, so she sat up slowly and waited for the dizziness to pass.
“What has the doctor told you that he was not allowed to tell me?”
He remained silent and looked at her, as if he wanted to figure out if he could trust her.
“She is my mother. I have the right to know everything.”
“Mrs Honeyfield has most likely been poisoned with arsenic. Doctor Springfield said that the dose was just big enough to bring her to the brink of death, but that she will not die.”
The last part of the sentence echoed inside her head. The tension was released from her shoulders, and she lowered her head, which suddenly felt incredibly heavy. “Have you informed the magistrate?” She scolded herself a fool for not thinking of it earlier and asking the doctor herself.
“No,” he replied after a little hesitation, which was barely noticeable. “I have asked Doctor Springfield to keep some of the… liquid and to examine it. If this sample turns out to contain arsenic, I assure you, I will notify the authorities immediately.”
Had he reacted the same way back then, when his wife had died? He did not seem to find anything out of the ordinary in his methodical behaviour, whereas Minerva, if she was truthful with herself, didn’t even have a clue what to do in this situation. Still, it seemed absurd to suspect the duke. There was no reason for him to want to poison her mother.
“Your mother needs a lot of rest over the next few days,” he continued and gazed at her with an odd look. “But I have already arranged for the coach to be readied and that your things are packed.” He wanted to get rid of her and her mother, at all costs.
Minerva’s thoughts only led to one possible conclusion: he knew who had tried to kill her mother, and he wanted to protect him or her. Despite her first inclination, she couldn’t leave Beaufort Castle. She needed to stay here until she was absolutely certain who had tried to murder her mother. She wanted the culprit brought to justice, even if his lordship tried to prevent it.
“You let a servant pack my things?” He sighed, and she understood what he meant to say with that.
She had long ago crossed the borders of propriety, and an attempted murder blew the remaining conventions wide open – much more than his kiss had done. “Under no circumstances will I leave without my mother,” she declared determinedly and braced herself for his wrath.
“Oh yes you will – even if I have to carry you to the carriage myself.”
“No,” Minerva rejected. “Do you not understand? Someone has tried to murder my mother. Not for one minute will I leave her out of my sight, until she has recovered.” And until I find out who is behind all of this, she added in her mind.
“No? Then what are you doing here, right now?”
That hurt. Purposefully, he had put his finger exactly on the one point where she had contradicted herself. “My maid is with her. I…” she tried to get up, “… shall return to her room right now.”
He thwarted her attempt and pushed her back onto the sofa. “Not before you realise what risk you are taking. Do you really want to sit by her bedside day and night? Do you want to test every bite, before she eats it?”
“Doctor Springfield has already arranged for a nurse to help me. Sally is also there. Between the three of us, we shall manage. She will be better soon – that is what the doctor said… and…” she swallowed. “… I am scared,” she finished the sentence and watched his eyes darken even more than she would have thought possible. Her admission had left her lips without her wanting it to.
“So, it is decided. I will allow you to spend this evening and the night with your mother. Should she feel well enough tomorrow to manage the short trip without endangering her health, then all the better. If not, I will send you back to your uncle’s care.”
He got up. His decision was final, Minerva could tell by the resolution tightening the corners of his mouth. He held his hand out towards her. “I will accompany you back to your mother, and I shall instruct my servants to look in on you regularly. Should you need anything or should your mother’s health decline, you will immediately let me know, regardless of whether it is in the middle of the night or early in the morning. Are we clear on this, Miss Hone
yfield?” He reminded her of a raptor, ready to pounce and attack. At the same time, he radiated something that bordered on desperation. No, that was the wrong word.
The duke was unsettled, and that in turn unsettled Minerva more than she wanted to admit. Was it possible that he was actually worried about her? She pushed the thought aside. Nothing in his behaviour, so far, had indicated that he saw anything other than a means to an end in her.
If it had not been for the kiss, she would have trusted her thoughts, but now a small doubt about the truth remained inside her heart. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she could trust him.
Without paying any attention to his outstretched hand, she walked past him and straight up to the room where her mother was resting. It was better to have him believe that she was angry and intimidated, when in fact she was not planning on giving in again.
She was absolutely determined to only leave Beaufort Castle when she knew for certain who had done this to her mother. If that meant that she would have to endure her doubts about the integrity of his kiss for a little while longer, then so be it.
Chapter 15
Only death would be able to release her from her torments.
The nurse arrived in the early evening, and she immediately took her place by Minerva’s mother’s bedside. Minerva’s initial mistrust of the catholic nun subsided when she watched the older woman’s calm, determined manner as she tended to her mother. Nevertheless, Minerva remained by her mother’s side until it was time for dinner.
With difficulty, she forced herself to eat a few bites of the food that a servant had brought up for her and Sister Mary Magdalene. Later, when she saw that her mother had dozed off, she asked Sally to take her place.
“I will try to sleep for a few hours,” she said. “When I return, you may go back to your room.”
“Very well, Miss,” Sally replied and even curtsied. Minerva sighed and pulled the young woman towards the door, with her.
“I know that what happened to my mother was not your fault,” she said. “However, I will no longer tolerate any escapades. I am willing to take you to London as my maid, but only if you do not let yourself be distracted by any entanglements. Do you understand?”
Sally’s reaction let her know that she had been right in her assumptions. The young woman had dallied with one of the blokes, of whom there were plenty here at Beaufort Castle. She blushed deeply and tears welled up in her eyes, before she lowered her head. But at the same time, she could not suppress her excitement about Minerva’s suggestion. Sally’s eyes gleamed with quiet joy, and it filled Minerva’s chest with a warm feeling. She had done the right thing.
“I will only ask you once, and it is important that you tell me the truth,” Minerva took advantage of the favourable moment between them. “Who was the man that you met with? Was it the duke’s chamberlain?” Her heart beat loudly and irregularly. It was not very likely that the duke was behind the arsenic attack on her mother, but she needed to know for sure.
“Yes,” Sally replied with a whisper. They both gazed at Sister Mary Magdalene, who sat by her mother’s bedside reading a book. “It was the chamberlain of his lordship. His name is Giovanni. We met in the hallway accidently, when I was on my way to the kitchen. He offered to show me the park and…”
“I understand.” Minerva raised her hand. So, Lord Beaufort’s servant was Italian. It was well known that some of the most notorious chemists came from that country. One only had to remember the Borgias, who had preferred to get rid of their enemies by poisoning them. This was documented in many books, so maybe there was a kernel of truth in the stories. Still, she should not forget that the assumption could turn out to be untrue. “That is enough, Sally. Thank you,” she added, and her maid thanked her with a smile. Was the only reason for Sally’s change her realisation of how her own promiscuity had contributed to the unfortunate chain of events? Or was it also a result of how Minerva treated her now? Possibly a combination of the two, she told herself, when she reached her room.
Her tiredness was indescribable, and yet she did not sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, her mother’s face appeared before her, contorted with pain. If it was not this agonizing image, then it was the Duke’s features dancing before her eyes – they were angry, then mocking and lastly, challenging. Even as she began to count backwards from one hundred, the unwelcome thoughts kept pushing into her mind.
* * *
It did not help – she couldn’t sleep. Minerva got up, and this time she did not forget her slippers complementing her nightclothes along with her shawl. The fire in her fireplace had long since died out, and as soon as she crawled out of the warmth of her bed, she was surrounded by cold air. She padded towards her small desk and pulled her notebook out from its secret hiding place, which was not really a hiding place at all. Since Lady Helen Fitzpatrick’s scandalous correspondence with her lover had come to light, everybody knew about the so-called “secret hiding places” in desks. Minerva opened the last page of her shamefully neglected novel. Too bad, she did not have quills or ink at her disposal. A search in the little drawers and compartments of the desk were unsuccessful. However, she knew exactly where she had last seen ink and quills. She had once before found her way to the library in the dark, she should be able to succeed a second time.
She peeked carefully out into the corridor. A movement near the end of the hallway startled her, but when she gathered all her courage and peeked around the corner of her door a second time, everything remained silent. She was not afraid of the stranger who had poisoned her mother. A man (or even a woman – anything was possible) who used poison, would most likely try to avoid a direct confrontation. She kept telling herself this over and over, as she descended the stairs with nothing but a candle in her hand. In the flickering light, the two suits of armour on the stairs almost looked alive, especially since the duke had not just arranged them in a lifeless guard position. No, he had preferred to present the overly large metal limbs in the middle of an attack position, with their swords raised.
For a man, whose family motto was ‘Attempto!’ which meant ‘I shall dare’, this was hardly surprising.
Minerva let out the breath she had held when she finally reached the library. All her thoughts about the coward and his poisonous concoctions did not distract her from being afraid of her own shadow in the dark, cold building. Quietly, she opened the door. The scent of old paper never failed to calm her jittery nerves. She walked quickly through the room, stopped by the desk and began to search for the two items she needed. In fact, she found both ink and a selection of different sized quills and was about to reach for them when another thought occurred to her. She set her candle down on the desk, pushed aside the swanky oak chair and stared at the papers laid out before her with a racing pulse. Earlier, the duke had tried to hide a letter from her. What were the chances that the letter contained information that would reveal the name of the person who had poisoned her mother? It was not unlikely that the duke had already dispatched said letter by now. Worse, it may contain information of a deeply personal nature. Should she and could she resort to such an immoral measure?
She would never find out, if she continued to stare at the table, wrestling with herself and her conscience. Determined, she searched through the small stack of papers that lay openly on the top of the desk. No, this would have been too easy. She sank into the sumptuous chair (which was surprisingly comfortable) and hesitantly stretched out one of her hands. There it was – the slight indentation underneath the desk’s table top that she had been looking for.
With a sound that sounded deafeningly loud in the silence of the library, the secret compartment opened.
What she found was not a half-written letter, but an old book, bound in dark leather and adorned with a golden vignette. On its binding, she found the Scuffold family crest, as well as their motto. The initials, ‘RS’, were stamped into the leather.
Minerva’s first impulse was to return the book to its original hi
ding spot, to lock the compartment, and to hurry back to the safety of her room.
Her second thought, however, made her hesitate.
What, if not his diary, would show her a true picture of the man who was constantly escaping her? Decided, she pressed it against her wildly pounding heart and sat down on the sofa, the candle right on the small table next to her. With her fingertips she opened the first page.
Tomorrow, I shall be the happiest man in the world.
Startled, she almost closed the book again. Reading the sentence and knowing that he had written it, made her think that these were the words of a man she did not know. A much younger, more cheerful Duke of Scuffold spoke to her from this very first line.
She brushed aside a string of her hair from her damp forehead and realised that her hands were shaking so much that the letters before her eyes danced.
Then Minerva thought about her mother and about the person who was responsible for her misery. She continued reading.
Tomorrow, Julianna Grey will become my lawfully wedded wife, and I cannot wait to call her mine. The exquisite joy she gives me, I shall reciprocate with a devotion that is unequalled on this earth. Her spirit shall guide me to joy and kindness; her body shall become my temple of pure devotion.
Minerva giggled nervously, and she felt heat creeping up her cheeks and spreading across her chest. What had she expected, on reading the duke’s personal journal? Bravely, she scanned across the following pages, where the duke had poured out his heart in detail, regarding his future marital bliss. Apparently, the duke took his marital responsibilities exceedingly seriously, and it seemed that his attentions had been received with ample gratitude. Minerva skipped a few pages and was just wondering whether the duke had also filled the remaining pages with praise and extolments of Julianna’s physical assets as well as her passion, when she landed on the latest entry. Confused, she looked back. No, she had not been wrong. The last entry before this one had been over a month ago. She lowered her head and began to read, more attentively.
Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel Page 14
