Obediently, the maid picked up the brush and released Minerva’s hair from its pins. It was always a feeling of relief when her hair fell in open waves across her back. She could not understand how some women could add flowers or birds or other decorations to their already heavy and complicated hairstyles, in an attempt to look even more attractive. Her gaze found Sally’s in the mirror. “After this, you should take this night as well, to get as much rest as possible.”
“Would you like me to stay ‘ere with you, Miss? I can sleep on the sofa. It’s big enough for me.”
“Actually, that might not be such a bad idea. I am certain that he will lock us in again, but maybe he will appreciate that I will not be alone in my room.”
“You are talking about the duke, aren’t you, Miss?” Her eyes began to gleam. “I do think it’s marvellous, ‘ow much ‘e obviously cares for you. I mean, ‘e is of course responsible for you after all.”
“Do you think it is fine for him to lock us in?”
Sally shrugged. “After all, you lock away your jewellery as well, don’t ya?”
“Well yes, but my jewellery is not really able to defend itself, if some thief wants to come and steal it,” she objected.
“And you can, Miss?”
Minerva pulled her mouth. This conversation had taken a turn she did not like.
“I will tell you something, Miss, if I may speak freely. You should be ‘appy that this man is looking after you the way ‘e is, and that ‘e is protecting you. If I ‘ad such a man, I would never ever let ‘im go ever again, and I would do anything that ‘e told me to do.”
“Why do I have trouble imagining that?” Minerva mumbled. “That may well be,” she said a little louder. “However, I am not an object, but a grown woman. I can very well look after myself.”
Was that a snort she heard coming from Sally’s mouth?
“A woman needs a man like a ‘uman needs air to breathe.” This sounded like some irrefutable truth that Sally had picked up somewhere. Minerva closed her eyes. It made no sense to start an argument with her maid, right now. She was, after all, the way God had made her, and in her own way, Sally was good and right. She deserved respect. She had been working from a very young age, and she had been forced to look after herself – was it so surprising that she longed for a strong and decisive man?
And this very thought counted just as much for her, she determined, as she snuggled herself under her thick covers. Her whole life, she had been – well – spoiled. Her parents had fulfilled pretty much every one of her wishes and given her everything she ever wanted. Apart from the one thing they were unable to give her: independence or even freedom. Although she had already slept for quite some time, her eyes fell shut just as she heard the door open quietly.
In the darkness, she thought that she could make out the duke’s unmistakeable stature, and her suspicion was confirmed when she heard the door close again and the sound of a key being turned in the lock.
Chapter 19
Now there was no more hope. Even her only ally, the servant with the disfigured face, had swayed, since he too had to face the raging anger of his master.
When Minerva woke the next morning, Sally was already awake. Neither she, nor Minerva mentioned the conversation they had had the evening before. Sally helped her to dress, and Minerva sent her to the kitchen to have breakfast. The maid knocked once at the door, and shortly afterwards, the key was turned from the outside. Minerva did not appreciate Sally being in this sort of cahoots with the duke, however, it was no longer surprising, given the short conversation they had had. It was a shame that her new-found leniency did not include the duke, she thought, whilst she knocked at the door. It seemed that the duke had ordered someone to stand guard in front of her room and to ensure, no doubt, that it would always be locked.
“Yes, Miss?” It was Johnson, whose wide face did not show any sort of emotion.
“Good morning Johnson,” Minerva replied, as she pushed herself past him. She speculated that he would not dare to lay a hand on her – and she was right. She listened to his steps, which quickly followed her as she descended the stairs towards the breakfast room. But she had underestimated him. Just before she reached the room, he ran past her and put himself in her way. His eyebrows were tightly drawn together, and he silently shook his head. “My apologies, Miss Honeyfield, but the duke has explicitly forbidden that you leave your room without his consent.”
She would not begin an argument with a servant and even less with a man who was as devoted to his master as Johnson. Minerva turned on her heels. Passing a window, she saw the figures of Lord and Lady Beaufort, who were walking in the park. A plan began to form inside her head – a plan that seemed too dangerous and yet…
On the stairs, she slowed down her pace, until Johnson was close behind her. “Please inform the duke that I will not, under any circumstances, stay in my or my mother’s room all day. It is not for him to decide what I may or may not do, or to restrict my movements in this way. Please go, immediately.”
“I am not allowed to leave you alone, Miss,” Johnson retorted stoically. “In that case… please excuse me for getting you into trouble like this, but unfortunately, I have no other choice.” She turned around again, lifted her skirts and ran, with a fluttering heart but determined steps, down the stairs. Towards her left, a door led towards the parlour, from where she would be able to get to the terrace. From there it was only a few steps into the gardens below. She was surprised at how easily she had managed to escape the heavily breathing Johnson, who struggled to keep up with her, but he finally had to give up his pursuit when she reached the double-winged terrace doors. She pushed them open and found herself face-to-face with Lord and Lady Beaufort. Behind her, Johnson slowed down his pace – she had feared that he would almost run into her – and then he came to a halt when he saw the noble couple in front of him.
Without saying a word, he bowed curtly to the two and abruptly turned around. His outrage was obvious, even in his usually controlled movements, since Minerva had now gained a few valuable minutes with her smart little move, to test the waters.
With a breathless smile, Minerva stepped towards the couple, hoping her appearance did not reveal too much of her adventurous escape from Johnson.
At that very moment, she almost hated her imagination, because it was then, of all moments, that she had an idea of how Marianne de Lacey could escape her duke’s clutches: simply with the support of the servant who had started to feel pity for her.
“Are you feeling better, Miss Honeyfield?” Lord Beaufort’s voice successfully dispelled all thoughts of her starving heroine.
“Better? Me?” She needed a short moment to catch her breath. “Oh yes, of course. Thank you, my Lord. It is very kind of you to enquire about my well-being.” He exchanged an ironic look with his wife, which could have meant that he had reasonable doubts about Minerva’s mental state.
Although the arrogance, familiar to her by his brother, angered her, it was beneficial to her at that moment. Let him think I am a dumb goose, she thought.
“And how is your Mama?” It was Lady Beaufort, who inquired. Compared to her husband, her smile was genuinely warm, and she released her husband’s arm to link hers with Minerva’s. “Come with me. We shall continue our nice little walk, which was so rudely interrupted last time. You will not mind if Thomas accompanies us, will you? If your… fiancé shows up, my husband’s presence should calm him sufficiently. He is so very worried about you. Rightly so, I might add. You are such a precious child.”
Minerva struggled to follow the barrage of endless words. What irritated her most was the short, but suggestive pause before the word ‘fiancé’ – however, the slight hesitation could just as well have stemmed from Lady Beaufort’s search for the correct word.
“Yes, my fiancé,” Minerva purposefully used the original French word and then regretted it, since it did not match the role she was playing, “... is extremely worried. It may not be official j
ust yet, as you may have noticed,” – only a complete philistine would not have noticed the still missing announcement – “... but he is acting as if we are already married.” She giggled girlishly and hid her mouth behind her hand. Of course, she was not wearing any gloves, since Johnson had chased her around the house this morning without them, and on top of that, she had left her scarf and her coat upstairs in her room. “My Lord, would you be so kind as to ask one of the servants to bring me my coat? Or they should just send Sally, since she knows where to find it. The coat, I mean of course.” Oh, it was not easy to play the silly goose, and the lord’s sceptical look told her that her attempts were not all that believable. “Only if you don’t mind, of course,” she added and shivered theatrically. Marianne de Lacey would have been proud of her.
“But of course,” Lord Beaufort demurred. “If you would excuse me, please. I shall return very quickly, ma chére.” He kissed his wife passionately on her gloved fingers and disappeared towards the house.
“What would you like to talk to me about, Miss Honeyfield? Or may I call you Minerva?”
“How do you know… how gracious of you, my Lady. Of course, you may – it would be an honour.” Hopefully she did not seem too exaggerated. Fortunately for Minerva, the beautiful and collected face of the French woman did not show any signs of her having noticed anything untoward. Minerva wrung her hands, which was not easy, as they left the terrace with linked arms.
Minerva glanced back towards the house.
Neither the duke, nor Lord Beaufort could be seen. Now she had to say what she had meant to say, quickly, and in a way that Lady Beaufort would understand. “As you know, the Duke of Scuffold has honoured me by asking for my hand in marriage.” Lady Beaufort nodded and waited, patiently. “He… well… we met each other under rather unconventional circumstances. I… he…” She blushed, which was not to her detriment, because Lady Beaufort stopped in her tracks and looked at her inquisitively.
“Are you telling me that you are in trouble, my child? Has my brother-in-law overstepped his boundaries in a way that is only appropriate for a husband?”
“I knew that you would understand me,” Minerva sighed, relieved that she did not have to say the words. Once more, she glanced back at the house.
They were still alone, but time was of the essence. “I do not know what to do,” she wailed quietly and despondently. “Obviously, the duke has acted like a true gentleman,” she added quickly, when she realised that Lady Beaufort could potentially misinterpret her words. That was not her plan.
“It is my father who is unwilling, you know. Aunt Catherine has told him about the rumours that surround the duke here in the shire. You know, the ones regarding his first wife’s suspicious death. Now he, I mean my father, wants me to marry the next man who crosses my path.”
“And what can I do for you, my dear? I don’t know your father.” This was the moment where Minerva had to be very careful. Under no circumstances could she hint at Lady Beaufort’s past in a derogatory manner or let her know that she possibly thought of her as a promiscuous woman, who would be familiar with means and measures not deemed appropriate for a lady.
“I have no idea,” Minerva sobbed believably. Behind them she heard steps approaching rather quickly.
The gravel beneath their feet almost rose like dust, as the Duke of Scuffold marched towards them, closely followed by Lord Beaufort and Johnson, whose face was bright red.
Minerva almost felt sorry for him.
“Quickly now,” Lady Beaufort said. “Just tell me this – are you in love with my brother-in-law, and do you want to keep the child? Or are you seeking my help in finding another solution?” Minerva was shocked at the brutality with which Lady Beaufort had steered her awkward mumbling into a different direction.
“I do love him,” Minerva said hesitantly. It was a strange moment, which lasted but a mere heartbeat, and yet it seemed to stretch out endlessly. She repeated the words once more in her thoughts: I do love him.
It was the truth. God help her, she was in love with the man who now came running towards them – rage written in his eyes. He had her coat in one hand and the other one was balled up into a fist. His short hair, which she still was not really used to, glowed in the sunlight like a freshly polished coin. His movements were strong and yet graceful, much like a dancer, just… different. More dangerous, Minerva thought, and she was barely able to take her eyes off him.
Why had the earth-shattering realisation, which turned her entire world inside out, occurred at that particular moment?
“Let me do the talking,” Lady Beaufort whispered to her and pressed her hand. “I will discover if he loves you. I believe that you may have hope. If not – there is always a solution – all you have to do is be brave and follow the path all the way until the end.”
“Oh, there you are,” she greeted the men so cheerfully as if Minerva had not entrusted her with a terrible secret. Minerva had to remind herself that her secret was not actually real, but one that had sprung from her imagination. Lady Beaufort pressed Minerva’s hand once more, before she handed the young woman over to her obviously resentful ‘fiancé’. All of this was handled with a certain pomp, as if she wanted to pre-empt the ceremony that her father so cruelly wanted to deny her.
He had no other choice but to play along and keep his game face on. He assisted Minerva, as she slipped into her coat, and he bowed down to her. “Come with me, Miss Honeyfield, I shall bring you back into the house. It is cold, and your mother has requested to see you.”
She gave Lady Beaufort one last smile, before the duke was able to steer her back towards the house. “Follow me straight into the library,” he growled, and he immediately let go of her arm as soon as his brother and sister-in-law were no longer able to hear or see them. He must have been truly angry, because he did not say a word to her, not even to reprimand her. When Minerva objected, saying that her mother demanded to see her, it was Johnson who answered her.
“Your mother is doing fine, Miss. This was but a ruse to get you back into the safety of the house.”
“Bring tea,” the duke said harshly to poor Johnson.
Up until now, the duke had remained firmly silent, but as soon as the door had closed behind them, the long-restrained raging storm erupted in a barrage of angry words. “What on earth were you thinking, Miss Honeyfield?” She flinched. Never before had anyone spoken her name in this manner, so cold and at the same time full of contempt. “I know exactly what game you are playing, and I am telling you right now that I will not allow it.” He paused for a moment. Minerva saw that he was balling his hands into fists. “You have nothing better to do than to present yourself to my wife’s murderer as a dumb rabbit to a hunter.” His voice was now a whisper and sounded more threatening than his raised voice ever could have been.
“I had a good reason–,” Minerva defended herself with tears in her eyes.
“I do not want to hear your so-called reason,” he cut her off immediately.
“It is not necessary that you worry about me,” she dared to reply defiantly and raised her head. She did not care if he saw her tears. It did not bother her in the least.
“Pah!” The duke said icily and poured a rather generous portion of whiskey into a glass. “Do you honestly think that all of this is about you?” He drank and put the glass down so hard that it broke as it hit his desk. In the semi-lit room, the shards shimmered as seductively and coldly as his eyes. “Allow me to enlighten you.”
He took another glass, and Minerva saw that he had cut himself. A thin red line ran down the back of his hand, but he paid no attention to the injury.
“My brother is a gambler. He is up to his neck in debt, and he has no scruples about getting hold of money in any way necessary – which you would know, if you had paid close attention to what I told you, and had taken my warning seriously. On top of that, he is also a regular consumer of laudanum and opium, whichever he can get his hands on when he requires it.”
> Shocked, Minerva held her hand in front of her mouth, unable to express her horror and pity.
He suspected his very own brother of murder?
She felt how her body slowly began to shiver, and how it started to spread through every inch of her.
“I…” Her voice sounded much too quiet. “I cannot believe that your brother is a murderer.”
He laughed quietly. “Who else could it have been? He has always been a creature with no backbone, and he has always envied all I have – my status as the oldest son, then my title, and finally, the woman I once loved more than anything.”
Minerva rigorously pushed aside the pain that she felt at the mention of his first wife. This was not about her or her feelings. “Why did you not hand him over to the authorities? Or at least confront him with your knowledge about his deeds and have him undergo treatment?”
“Blood is thicker than water,” the duke replied curtly and brutally, before he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He exhaled for just as long. “He is my brother,” he said in a tone of voice, in which she clearly heard desperation and inner turmoil. “I can still see him as a little boy – how he tried to impress our father, over and over again. Without success. In my father’s eyes, Thomas was always just the one who was born after me. Unimportant, because he would never inherit and carry on the title of the Scuffolds.” He shook his head. “God forgive me, but I simply could not bring myself to hand him over. Not even when I saw her lying there at the bottom of the stairs. I swear to God, I will do everything I can to not give him the chance of robbing me of my love a second time.”
Minerva’s heart jumped inside her chest, when she heard him say that. He was talking about her!
Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel Page 17
