They had reached another fork in the pathway, and Minerva realised that they had walked further away from the house than she had anticipated.
“So, are you trying to advise me against marrying the duke?” Not that it would ever happen, no. It was curiosity that led Minerva to ask the question, not hope.
“Not if you genuinely hold him dear,” Lady Beaufort replied. “But, if you ever want to achieve something in your life, if you strive for more than being the property of your husband, then my answer would be yes. Then I would advise you against marrying him.”
Minerva felt a strange coldness, not only because the sun had disappeared behind the clouds – just as he had predicted. “The duke does not seem a man who would disallow his wife a pastime, such as writing, purely for conventional reasons,” she tried to answer tentatively as she watched her companion’s reaction.
“Oh no,” the duchess replied, and for a moment she released Minerva’s arm to open up the little parasol that she had brought. As if she had jinxed it, the first drops of rain fell from the sky. “He does not care much about the opinions of the Beau Monde. However,” she leaned her head trustingly towards Minerva and lowered her voice, “… if you give him your hand in marriage, you will be his. Wholly, completely, body and soul, or neck and crop, as they say back home. He is,” her green eyes bore into Minerva’s, “... a rather possessive type of man, if you understand what I mean.”
So, all in all, Lady Beaufort advised her against marrying the duke, even though she had seemed so pleased less than half an hour ago. Minerva felt hysterical laughter rising in her chest. Her mother was already planning her wedding that would never take place, and Lady Beaufort was trying to warn her against a man, who had no intentions but to play with her feelings. How much more did she yet have to learn, before she would be able to walk the thin ice that accompanied choosing a suitable husband? Another thought sent shivers down her spine. Every single person seemed to have a different opinion of the duke. He had shown a different face to each individual, but which one was his true countenance?
He appeared arrogant and sometimes even dangerous; he mocked and challenged her. He was a man like no other, who had shown her his dark side at their first encounter, and now he was planning to marry Lady Annabell. At the same time, she was standing here, in his grounds, wondering if she had not been wrong about him. A man who could kiss in a way that she would never be able to forget for the rest of her life and compare every future kiss with the touch of his lips against hers – could not possibly be an entirely evil person.
She had remained silent for a long time, but now it could no longer pass as a mark of polite consideration. “But maybe I am wrong about him and he has changed,” Lady Beaufort said.
“Have you known him for a long time?” The answer to the question was obvious, but Minerva wanted to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Please forgive my directness, Lady Beaufort, but you give me the impression that I may speak to you freely.” She paused for a moment to see how the tall woman would react. Encouraged by her friendly, although slightly reserved smile, Minerva continued. “How did the duke react when he learned of your marriage to his brother? I am not asking out of curiosity alone, but because I find it difficult to read him. Anything that will help me understand his personality, would be very much appreciated,” she tried to explain.
“At first, and just like everyone else, he thought of me as too adventurous,” Lady Beaufort admitted. Her voice sounded as calm as before. “I have to thank his late wife for changing his opinion about me. She was very similar to you, you know – not on the outside, but very much in her equally free spirit and ready to give any person a chance regardless of their background. She was also writing a novel. Did he tell you about that?”
“No,” Minerva replied calmly, despite the thoughts that were racing through her head. “Maybe we should go back to the house,” she suggested. “The cold wind is harsher than I anticipated.” The hem of her dress, as well as her shoes, were soaking wet by now. Lady Beaufort did not seem to mind the cold, or the light rain. Quite the opposite, she seemed to enjoy it and held her face defiantly into the drops. For what purpose she had brought her parasol along at all, exceeded Minerva’s knowledge.
“I do believe that my brother-in-law is already searching for you. Look there... that is him, is it not?” She pointed at a man who was coming towards them from Beaufort Castle with rapid pace. “Do you see what I was trying to tell you? He does not allow you to give your attention to anyone other than him. I urge you not to give your consent to giving him your hand in marriage.”
Minerva looked from her to the man, who was closing the distance between them. With a smile, Lady Beaufort said goodbye to her, shortly before he reached them. She wanted to stroll a bit further, she said, and that the cool air and rain did not bother her. She was not worried about Minerva, since, after all, she was now in the care of a man who wanted to protect her from every little brush of air.
Since the Duke of Scuffold had stepped into her life, it had been a constant up and down. Fear was replaced by hope. Dejection was pushed aside by an exuberant joy for life.
In the presence of this man, mediocrity was not an option, there were only extremes – and if she was entirely truthful to herself, that was exactly what she liked about him. There were too many boring men in this world, such as Mr Meade, whose face she had already forgotten.
Now he stood beside her. He watched the departing figure of Lady Beaufort, before he took his jacket from his shoulders and draped it around Minerva’s. Her mother would have been delighted, and Minerva was not immune to his gesture either – at least until he spoke.
“What has my sister-in-law told you?” The words came out of his mouth harshly and in the same harrying tone that she had heard him use before.
“She has advised me to give good thought to whether a potential proposal should be accepted or denied,” she replied. She saw all kinds of different emotions rapidly flash across his face, only to give way to an expression of complete emptiness.
“Your visit to Beaufort Castle ends, here and now,” he said, without replying to her words. “It was a mistake to invite you and your mother to come here.”
The sudden feeling of rejection burned like fire, deep inside her chest. At first, she just wanted to do nothing but walk back in silence, but then she could not stand it anymore and stopped abruptly in her tracks. She was wet through from the rain and felt so cold that her teeth chattered, but she ignored her physical feelings. His scent, which rose from his jacket, engulfed her entirely, and Minerva felt almost compelled to close her eyes and dream herself into another world, where there were no dark secrets.
“You have no heart,” she said and found the strength to hand him back his jacket, but he shook his head and draped it across her shoulders for a second time.
“We should go back to the house. I do not want to be responsible for your ending up catching a fever and having to stay in bed. Just for your information – I do have a heart, as you should know by now.”
Was he referring to the kiss? “If that is true, then why are you playing with me?”
“Who says that this is a game?” he remarked and pushed her forward relentlessly as he quickened his own step. “Something quite the opposite is happening here. If this had any entertainment value whatsoever for me, comparable to a game of chess, then you would be in danger of being knocked off the board.”
Minerva did not appreciate the comparison, and even less the direction his thoughts took, since they were much too similar to her own from the beginning of their acquaintance. “In this regard, you seem to have a lot of practise,” she said. “You have manipulated me from the beginning – you have lied to me and, as if it were not enough, you have used my family to achieve a goal of whatever kind. Was it really absolutely necessary to employ my uncle in the task and to request my aunt’s help, just so they would be favourably inclined towards you?”
“Would you have
preferred, instead, if I had forced you to come and meet me in secrecy behind your family’s back, as I did before?”
Minerva exhaled slowly, to calm her nerves. “No, but there would have been a thousand other opportunities,” she said, and she noticed that he slowed his pace the closer they got to the house.
“Of course, your family would have welcomed me with open arms, as the Duke of Scuffold – the man who murdered his wife out of jealousy, and who now lives his sinful life for everybody to see,” he retorted mockingly.
“Do you honestly believe that I was not aware of that?” He was right, but none of that explained his reasoning and why he had started this disturbing charade in the first place. When was the best time to ask him about this, if not now? “You have purposefully awoken hopes of marriage in my mother that you will not fulfill. You know exactly, how much some people care about a noble title.”
“Some people, or your mother?”
“Of course my mother is not free of faults, but she is exactly that: a mother, and as such, she and my father want what is best for their only child. I assume that you can understand that.”
He fell silent and frowned, but this was the only reaction Minerva received from him after her passionate words.
“Very well. I shall inform my mother, at once, that we are no longer welcome at Beaufort Castle,” Minerva returned to the beginning of their conversation. The relief in his eyes was so intense that she felt the emotion as if it were her own. Suddenly, Minerva realised what she had been doing: She had spoken privately with a man, who was ominous at best and probably unscrupulous in all interpretations. Did she even want to know the true reasons for his invitation or to be told his perfidious plans? She closed her eyes. Her thoughts went around in circles, without giving her the slightest clue or logical reason for his skittishness.
However, it was too late to take it back now.
The Duke of Scuffold had also remarked that their time together was nearing the end.
“Will you promise me that you will leave promptly?” He studied her carefully, and it seemed as if he was fighting some inner struggle. “Very well,” he murmured more to himself than towards Minerva. Golden eyes found her blue ones and held them captive. “I would like to get to know you better, Miss Honeyfield. Would you allow me to court you, when all of this is over?”
The shock flooded her body like a surprising wave. At first, Minerva felt cold, then warm. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, and he turned his body, leaning slightly towards her and shielding her from the rain. She tried to say “Yes”, but she only managed a curt nod. He raised his eyebrows and did not wait for her answer, but instead he held her hand to his lips. Whilst Minerva savoured the warmth of his touch, she also realised that she actually believed him; however, his question had not answered any of hers. In fact, it had only raised even more questions than before.
They both turned around as they heard footsteps. A man – was it Johnson? – was running towards them. Visibly agitated, he stopped at a short distance from the duke. His gaze was mostly calm, but his voice vibrated with urgency. “Sir, your presence is required.” Johnson’s eyes flicked nervously towards Minerva. “Mrs Honeyfield isn’t feeling well. We have already sent for Doctor Springfield. She… it is best to see for yourself. Sir, Miss.”
Minerva started to move the second he had finished his sentence. The duke followed closely behind her. She felt his presence like a shield at her back, and she was grateful that he was there. Everything that had begun to blossom between them would now have to wait. Without looking to her left or right, she ran up the stairs towards her mother’s room, but the duke caught up with her and grabbed her by her wrist. She was pulled around, and she tried to extract herself from his grip, but he held her tightly.
“I will come with you.”
She was much too nervous to pay attention to any conventions. The duke reached the door before her, and he did not waste any time to knock, but he blocked her view of her mother, as she entered the room. What she heard was bad enough – the sound of fevered movement – but seeing it was even worse. Her mother lay in bed, her face was as white as a sheet of paper and shimmering from perspiration. Worse, her body was jerking in excruciating convulsions. Beside her bed stood a small bowl and its sour smell made Minerva’s stomach turn. She rushed to her mother and wanted to push aside the servant, who was holding Mrs Honeyfield up, just when she had to vomit another time.
“Come,” the duke said and took her arm, in an attempt to lead her from the room. “There is nothing you can do for your mother. The doctor is on his way.”
“No,” Minerva objected harshly and pulled a chair to the side of the bed. She did not speak another word after this last syllable, but it was enough to make the duke realise that she would not leave her mother’s side.
The following two hours could not have been worse, even if Minerva had descended into hell itself. The doctor came and vigorously shooed her out of the room, only allowing her back in after he was finished examining his patient. When Minerva re-entered the room after what seemed like hours, she realised why the doctor had kept her away at all costs. The room smelled so much of bodily fluids that Minerva had to fight a rising nausea. Pillows, blankets, and sheets were soiled, and Minerva was grateful when Johnson came and began to exchange the bed linens, with the help of another man and under the doctor’s supervision. They took the greatest care to transfer the sick woman onto new sheets. Before Johnson left, he discreetly opened the window a crack.
Minerva held her mother’s hand, even though she was not sure if her mother even knew she was there. She grabbed a cloth to dab her mother’s forehead, when she noticed a small piece of paper that had fallen to the floor. Instinctively, Minerva bent down and picked it up. The paper was sticky from confectionary sugar and chocolate. This was typical of her Mama, she thought, and almost smiled. She had always said, “I cannot go to bed without my bedtime sweets.” Even here at Beaufort Castle, she had not let go of this habit of indulging herself at night. Minerva put the piece of paper aside and turned her attention towards the doctor, who was making arrangements to leave.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Minerva said with tears in her eyes.
Her mother was far from being in any kind of state that could be considered healed, but her breathing sounded slightly less laborious, and the horrifying convulsions seemed to have ceased. She lay in bed with her eyes closed, in a slightly elevated position, because this would make it easier for her to breathe, the doctor explained. He also said that he would send a nurse, who would keep watch over the patient, before he said his goodbyes.
“Just a moment please,” Minerva whispered, not wanting to wake her mother from her much-needed rest. “Can you say what has caused this strange attack on my mother’s health?”
The man tried to avoid her gaze. “Unfortunately, I am unable to tell you, Miss Honeyfield,” he said and walked towards the door. “I would advise you to speak to the duke, but without his permission I am not allowed to tell you anything.” He disappeared, before she could say a word. Her first thought was to run after him, but she did not dare leave her mother alone. Although Mrs Honeyfield seemed as calm as was possible, under the circumstances, who knew what would happen if her exhausted body suffered another convulsion?
The long wait began.
Chapter 14
Betrayal was his daily bread.
At some point, Sally slipped into the room, with deeply reddened cheeks and wide-open eyes. “Where have you been?” Minerva spoke quietly, so as not to awaken her mother. She turned away from the woman, for fear of losing the last remnants of her self-control.
“I… I am so very sorry, I was…”
“Enough,” Minerva cut her off, sensing that Sally had busied herself with something that would prove disagreeable. “We will talk later.” She wrung out a cloth and dabbed her mother’s forehead.
“Can I count on it that you will stay by her side, regardless of what happens?” She ros
e from her chair and looked at Sally. “I will not be gone for long.”
“I am sorry, Miss,” Sally tried quietly once more. There was hardly anything left in the face of the usually vibrant young woman, who took everything lightly, who was prone to impudence, and who ran after every possible and naughty liaison. But she was the only one Minerva could trust in this house. Sally might be somewhat reckless, but she was not malicious, Minerva thought. She also had to admit that it was partially her fault that Sally took so many liberties. She had neither kept a healthy distance as her parents kept their servants at arm’s length, nor had she made the young woman a real confidant. Instead, Minerva had juggled too many balls all at once, enjoying secrets and philandering with a man, whom she had not been properly introduced to… And what had it gotten her?
A heart that had realised too late, what it wanted.
And a mother, deathly ill and bed-bound, for reasons Minerva could not yet fathom, but which, she suspected, were somehow linked to the duke’s apparent courting of her.
She had overestimated herself so completely, that the mere thought of her presumption made her blush to the roots of her hair. Everything she had done and thought circled around her like the earth turned around the sun. She had wanted to become an author, and she had wanted to teach the Duke of Scuffold a lesson – at no time had she thought about her parents and what it might mean to them, to have to deal with a rebellious daughter.
That was over with now.
She would speak to the duke and then take her mother away from here as quickly as possible. As soon as her mother was able to travel, they would leave Beaufort Castle. She would marry the first candidate her parents put forward, and she would try to be a good daughter and a good wife.
Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel Page 13