Minerva's Match

by Lisette Giroux

  “She said yes,” the idiot announced. “Vera, I’m so glad. We’ll have to make it a hasty wedding. I leave to go back in three days’ time.” He didn’t move to kiss his intended. He didn’t take her in his arms. Actually, other than looking relieved to have the task over, he didn’t even look that much happier. “Well, now that we’re agreed, sir, you mentioned having some good brandy to mark the occasion?”

  Brandy? It was well too early for brandy.

  “I do, I do. We’ll toast your marriage.” Minerva’s father slapped the bastard on the back and pulled him down the hall with an arm around his shoulder. Talk of the marriage was passed over in favor of talk about the idiot’s newest article to be published. The housekeeper glanced at Minerva and nodded her head, then she hustled after the other men.

  It was just the two of them left. It was a toss-up as to who was the more distraught.

  “James, I…”

  “Minerva?” They both had started speaking at the same time. He let her continue; he wanted answers.

  “James, I’m sure you don’t understand.”

  “You are correct, but then I always thought you a bright woman, unless of course you count the time I thought you were a man.”

  “You don’t have to get snippy.”

  “Snippy? Dear God woman, you don’t want me to get snippy.” He lowered his voice and swallowed hard on his anger, his frustration to be honest. And held both her hands in his. “Min, I thought, I hoped we’d shared something. Last night and when we were in Edinburgh, I thought you felt it too. Minerva, no one is more surprised than I am to say this, but I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  When she looked up at him, her eyes held something akin to terror and tears. He couldn’t think with the pain so clear on her face. He put his arms around her and waited for the crying to start when she realized she’d agreed to marry that dolt. After a minute, she pulled away from him.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I told you I could never marry you.”

  The air turned rancid in his lungs. The blow to his head had knocked him back less. He wanted to bellow like a wounded animal, get blind drunk, fly into a rage, all at the same time. He just needed the pain around his heart to cease.

  Without a response from him she continued, “You see, it’s better this way. We would have been found out, and it would have jeopardized your career. This way, I’ll be so busy helping Oliver that I won’t have time to do anything else.”

  He opened his mouth several times before actually managing words. “Do you love him?” he croaked. If she said yes, he would let her go. Who the hell was he kidding? No one let Minerva do anything. She did whatever she pleased. God, he couldn’t breathe for the pain in his heart. He was being a lovesick idiot. Love did not reside in an organ designed to pump blood. It held tight in the minds of foolish men who allowed it to take root. Damn him for a fool then.

  “No, I don’t.” He started to speak, but she cut him off. “That’s why this can work. If I don’t love him, he can’t really hurt me, can he?” Based on his current state, James would have to commend her reasoning after he pulled out the knife she’d jammed into his heart. “We would just end up hurting each other.”

  Bollocks! He wanted to shake some sense into her, but he’d never hurt her, even when she’d treated him like this.

  The housekeeper walked in and said that supper would be served soon. There was no way he’d survive the meal. “I can’t…”

  “Please stay, James. Just this one last favor.” The look in her eyes was so pleading.

  Couldn’t she see she’d broken his heart? He wanted nothing more than to go off and lick his wounds, and this foolish girl wanted him to make polite dinner conversation with the prig she was going to marry.

  “Please, James.” She grabbed for his hand and wouldn’t be shaken off.

  “Fine.” With any luck he’d be sick at the table and ruin their celebration dinner.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dear God, what had she done. James looked as if he were in actual physical pain. She should let him leave but she couldn’t, not like this. He had to understand that it was the only way. For her and ultimately for him too.

  Oliver reached over and grabbed her hand as they sat at the table. She looked up and caught James’ glare but noticed her father seemed to be encouraging Oliver. Odd. Dinner seemed interminable. She so wanted to speak with James, but she still hadn’t found the words to explain herself. She wasn’t sure such words even existed.

  Every time she tried to talk about James’ work, well, her work too, her father and Oliver jumped in and silenced her. After the fifth time, she stopped trying. Her father looked happier than she ever remembered seeing him. He must have missed Oliver as much as she had. Oliver had always been cheerful and happy. That was part of what had drawn her to him. It would have been reasonable for her younger self to look for some kind of balance to her father’s dark moods and lack of attention.

  She couldn’t believe how little she felt for the man now. She wanted to laugh at how much she had pined over Oliver and for so long. But now, nothing. Sure she was shocked to see him after all this time. And he looked absurd with his obviously secondhand clothes and walking stick. He was just as much a sop as he’d been then too, but now she had seen some of the world, both good and bad, thanks to him. He’d asked her to marry him and hadn’t so much as kissed her when she’d said yes. Worse, she hadn’t wanted him to. He had no power over her anymore. She was truly free. She could marry him without fear of ever getting her heart involved.

  Her attention snagged on James and her breatht seized. She could see his pain writ clearly across his face, not that her father or Oliver would notice. They hadn’t ever noticed her, and she had seen them every day for a time.

  A thought occurred to her suddenly. She was going to have to plan a wedding in three days’ time. “Father, perhaps we could talk about where we will have the wedding?” Both her father and Oliver looked chagrined to be interrupted.

  “We could do something here, I suppose. It would just be us. Obviously, you wouldn’t be required, Mr. Lathrop.” Her father dismissed James out of hand, and the look on James’ face made her eyes go wide. What was he thinking?

  “I would consider it a great honor to attend the wedding of someone I hold in as high esteem as I do Minerva.” James gave his first smile of the dinner. He was planning something.

  “No, no,” Oliver said. “I don’t see how we’ll be able to manage it. I’m sorry, Mr. Lathrop, Professor, but I think the only way will be for the captain to marry us on board the ship.”

  Oliver had saved her unknowingly. Except she finished the thought to its natural conclusion. If there would be no wedding James could attend, then there would be no wedding the Heiresses could attend either.

  “But what of my friends?”

  “Minerva,” her father answered before Oliver could. “You can’t expect to hold Oliver up with silly trivialities. He needs to get back to America and has important work to conduct. I’m sure you’ll see your friends in a few years when Oliver comes back for another conference.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to afford to bring her with me! I’m staying in bachelor’s quarters here.” Surely her father would say something to make Oliver bring her back at some point. He couldn’t mean for them to never see each other again?

  “Oh true. Couldn’t exactly sneak a woman in, could you?” A look passed between Oliver and her father that told her not only could it be done, but that he had done so on occasion. She pitied the poor woman. “Well, no need to borrow problems. In a few years, perhaps I could take a trip to America. Yes, I have some minor colleagues I’ve corresponded with there. So that is settled. You’ll marry on the ship in three days. Oliver, you better make an honest woman of my daughter before that first night!” Her father laughed, and Oliver joined him. The dog acted as if he hadn’t already ruined her years ago.

  Pulling her glare from Oliver, she caught James’ glance and the s
orrow in it. She hoped that all that sorrow wasn’t for their lost relationship. In time, he’d see that she was right, and this was better for all.

  “So, sir, how do you know my daughter?”

  She gulped. If James told them the truth, Oliver wouldn’t want her. Part of her cheered at the thought, but then she’d be stuck with her father. She shivered.

  “I met your daughter through…” James looked over at her, and she implored him with her eyes not to say what he was going to. He looked away from her and back to her father. “Through her association with my cousin’s wife, the Duchess of Northford. We both attended a house party this summer past. I was quite taken with your daughter’s knowledge.”

  “Oh, it is just a party trick really.” Oliver didn’t even bother looking at her when he said it. Just finished his soup.

  “What do you mean?” James looked as though he would burst, his face was so red.

  “She’s one of those people who can remember things. Just has to see something once, and it’s stuck fast in her head. Awfully handy trick though. She used to learn my lessons faster than I could, so she would teach me what I needed to know.” James now looked at her as if to ask if that was the truth.

  “You are a lucky man, my boy,” her father said. “Her mother was never that kind of help. I’m sure you’ll keep her busy between that and her handwriting. She’ll be the perfect tool. She can do all the boring bits, and you’ll rise in your department in no time.” Her father laughed heartily, Oliver with him.

  James looked like he’d be ill. When he glanced over at her this time, there was rage in his eyes. Yes, she’d made the right decision. James was much too volatile, much too passionate. Surely any relationship they had would burn out as quickly as it had started. Then she would be left even more broken than when Oliver had left her. With Oliver, her life might be dull and uninteresting, but at least she knew what to expect. Nothing. The man had made sure of that. He would only notice her when he needed her and she wasn’t there at his beck and call. She would live life in the shadows, but no one would hurt her anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  James rested his brandy on the mantel of the front parlor fireplace. He wouldn’t be able to breathe until this farce of a dinner was over, but propriety demanded he play his role as guest. He might as well have taken his leave, as the bastard spent all his time fawning over Minerva’s father and the father soaking up the flattery.

  He should have been grateful for the lack of talk about the upcoming nuptials, but what little they did discuss the wedding still rankled. Dammit, why was she doing this to herself? She had too much to offer the world to be cowed by this simpleton. James found it impossible to believe she could respect him, let alone love the self-important blowhard.

  When Minerva finally joined them in the parlor, she didn’t bother making conversation with either of the other men. One look at him, and she moved to sit at a small upright piano he’d barely noted before. He could have this whole nightmare over with a few simple words, but it would lose him the only woman he’d ever cherished. He was to lose her either way, but if she wanted this idiot, then at least he could give her that annulment and know she was happy.

  When she began to play, the notes lodged in his chest, such longing and pain in them. They mixed with the melancholy there so that he had to turn away and stare at the mantel clock or embarrass himself with the tears burning behind his eyes. He vaguely heard Minerva’s father leave to retrieve some book he and Oliver had been discussing. He gathered himself when he heard Oliver’s approach, as if he could ignore the damn tapping of that stick. He wanted to pull it from his hands and beat the man with it. James swallowed so his voice wouldn’t betray his mood.

  “Congratulations again.” The words came out like gravel.

  “Oh, yes, that. Her father fairly begged me to…” He shrugged, as if that explained everything. It only served to infuriate James more.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “Well, I mean, look at her. She’s such a mouse of a thing. Bright though, so at least she’ll take a fair bit of work off my shoulders.”

  “So you don’t love her?” James’ voice had dropped to a whisper, in part to avoid embarrassing Minerva, but also because his chest was tight with anger.

  Oliver barked a laugh in response. “Gads, no. I’ll keep a bird on the side to actually get any enjoyment out of—”

  James reacted without thought to propriety or consequences. The slap across Oliver’s face resounded above the piano and brought Minerva’s father back in a flash. James was vaguely aware of Min’s gasp, but blind rage that this idiot would treat the woman James loved so ill still burned.

  “Name your second and choose a weapon, sir! You can contact my cousin the duke. I’ll see you at Primrose Hill in two days!” If he stayed there one more moment, he was going to beat the man bloody. When he turned on his heel, Minerva stood so fast she knocked over the piano bench.

  “James!”

  “Minerva, have a care. I am not to be managed right now. If you cannot see your way clear to avoid this idiot, I will have to provide a more permanent means.” His blood sung in his ears, and his heart could surely be heard across the room.

  Minerva’s father stepped forward to stop him. “See here, man.”

  “The proper address would be ‘Lord Lansford’. I should have explained. I am the Earl of Lansford. You, sir, are a poor excuse for a father, who would saddle a woman with as much intelligence as your daughter with a dolt of the first degree as this man.”

  Never in all James’ years had he been so happy to have the title of his forebears. He drew himself up to his full height and stomped toward the door to retrieve his hat and coat.

  Minerva’s father stood there, sputtering and ineffectual, but from everything James had seen and Minerva had told him that was the man’s natural state.

  “Primrose Hill at dawn, two days,” he said to Oliver. “I relish the chance to shut your mouth for good.” He stormed out, nearly running into the housekeeper, who was trying to open the door for him. She was too late. He nearly tore it from its hinges. He was halfway down the block before his heart stopped pounding in his ears. By the time he had calmed enough to not be a menace to the general public, he realized he was on his way to Simeon’s.

  “Bloody hell, save me from a woman,” he mumbled under his breath and hailed a hack to take him the rest of the way, suddenly too tired to think.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You did what!” Simeon Rothwell, Duke of Northford, shouted at James.

  “Simeon, stop yelling, and do you have any brandy? I’d kill for a glass or ten.”

  His cousin sank into a chair and shook his head, then reached over, grabbed the decanter, and just handed James the whole thing. He didn’t see the need for all of it. He didn’t have the same abject fear of duels as Simeon.

  When faced with a duel himself, his cousin had gotten dead drunk in the hopes of avoiding the inevitable pain of being shot and had ended up with a wife instead, but then he was supposed to have been dueling his best friend—now brother-in-law—not the man who would take his place in his wife’s bed.

  Dear God, maybe he did need the whole decanter. James pulled the stopper, tilted the bottle, and gulped greedily. Another Lansford trait coming to the fore. He’d lost count of how many of his own strictures he’d broken since meeting his little tormentor.

  “Simeon, what are you yelling about? I dare say you startled Watkins.” Simeon made a rude noise that in a different situation might have brought laughter. “Oh, hello, James. How was your… your conference was in Scotland, yes?”

  He grunted in answer and downed more of the brandy.

  “And it was on farming or soil or something, was it not?”

  More grunting and more brandy.

  “And you don’t usually drink.” Ah, she was getting to the crux of the problem.

  “Yes,” he gasped out between gulps of brandy. His cousin-in-l
aw was clever, and he’d admired her wit and cunning even before he realized she was one of Minerva’s Heiresses. Now he waited for her to piece all the bits together.

  “Oh my God! You’re him. You’re Minerva’s collaborator!”

  “It would have been convenient if you had realized that sooner, say the weekend of the house party. But I suppose I can forgive the oversight as you were in the process of trapping my cousin here.” He gave her cheek a kiss to show there were no hard feelings.

  “So you met her? She was so sure they, er you, were going to win the prize.”

  “I did. We didn’t. It is a long story.”

  “Oh, please do tell my dear wife how you somehow went from not realizing your collaborator was a woman to now fighting a duel over her honor in two days’ time.” Simeon massaged his temples while Eleanor stood openmouthed, gaping at him.

  “It’s quite simple really. I fell in love with her.”

  Eleanor loosed a squeal and threw her arms around him. He wished he could share her joy.

  “But why are you fighting a duel? And where is Minerva? Oh, she must be so thrilled. I knew there was far too much passion between you both for it to not mean something. Didn’t I tell you, Simeon? I did. Oh! She’ll be my cousin!”

  “She won’t, I’m afraid. She is marrying Oliver.”

  “What?” The duchess flung herself into the chair opposite her husband and started massaging her temples. They were now a matched pair.

  He tipped the decanter back and guzzled more brandy. Damned drink wasn’t delivering on the oblivion everyone said it gave.

  Eleanor came out of her stupor first. “James, Minerva never gave more than hints about Oliver. When we were at school, I gathered she had a girlish crush on him, but marrying?”

  “Yes, day after the duel, if he survives. On the bloody ship to America. I plan to make sure he won’t be on that boat.”

  “Have you thought about what this would mean for you if you were to kill him?” Simeon had the most annoying habit of wanting to get straight down to the problem. “If he kills you, the problem falls to your heir, but if you kill him, you’ll be run off to the continent. Not to mention, he isn’t a peer, is he?” James shook his head no. Still sober if he could answer questions. “I see. There is no good option here but to throw yourself on his mercy and beg off.”