Chapter One
London – November, 1816
Nobody understood the beautiful symmetry of a perfect skull the way Lady Minerva Llewellyn did. That was, perhaps, what was wrong with the world in these shallow, unimaginative times. More value was seen in lace and frippery than in the solid bone and haunting memory of a life that had been well and truly lived, and in the remnants that had been left behind. A skull was an echo of someone’s entire life story that could be held in one’s hands.
Minnie contemplated all these things and more as she stood before her bed in her room at the Oxford Society Club, holding Clarence, the skull she’d acquired twenty years ago, when she’d been in attendance at Oxford University. Clarence had been such a stalwart companion through the years, and Minnie wondered whether she should take him with her in her bid to escape the world of lace and frippery to flee into a new life.
“On the one hand, Clarence,” she addressed the skull, “you would take up a great deal of space in my valise, and I may need to run to evade pursuers at some point.”
She frowned at Clarence, already plotting how she might leap from a carriage or dart between wagons in traffic to avoid being seen as she dodged the forces of evil that pursued her. A bulky traveling bag would not help with her flight at all.
“On the other,” she continued, tilting her head, “you do not weigh much at all, and therefore, you would not add encumbrance.”
Minnie smiled and set Clarence atop the pile of her clothing and other belongings in her traveling bag, which lay open on the bed.
“And then there is the simple fact that I could not bear to part with you,” she said, leaning down and kissing Clarence’s frontal bone. “You and I have been through too much for this to be our final parting.”
She reached to the side for a pile of her underthings that she’d taken from the wardrobe and folded earlier, lovingly nestling them around Clarence’s bulbous form.
As she did, a knock sounded at her door. Minnie tensed on instinct, then let out a breath, pressing a hand to her stomach. Owen could not have found her there at the club. Even if he had discovered her exact location, which was not particularly difficult to do, even for someone of Owen’s astoundingly unimpressive intellect, men were not permitted at the Oxford Society Club.
“Come in?” Minnie called over her shoulder, anxious nonetheless. It did not matter whether Owen was forbidden entry into the club or not, if anyone who shouldn’t had discovered her plan, they might dissuade her from it.
The door opened, and the club’s butler, Regina, stepped into the room with a bright smile.
“Good morning, Lady Minerva,” she said, carrying the coat she held to Minnie. “Your traveling coat has been cleaned and repaired.
Minnie breathed out a huge sigh of relief. If she could trust anyone in the world, other than her dearest friends, Muriel, Bernadette, and Kat, then she could trust Regina Vickers.
“Thank you, Genie,” she said, taking the thick, black wool coat from Regina’s arms and slipping right into it. “This will come in quite handy, since it is bound to be cold where I am headed.”
“The Kingdom of Wales?” Regina asked, a clever sparkle to her eyes, as if she knew more than she was letting on.
“Yes, that’s it precisely,” Minnie said. “The Kingdom of Wales.”
Regina’s mouth twitched as she glanced past Minnie to the collection of items that were yet to be packed lying atop her bed. “I was unaware that the currency of choice for the Kingdom of Wales was the Swedish riksdaler.”
Minnie whipped back to the bed, biting her lip at the small pile of coins she’d accidentally left out. They were a dead giveaway to her true plans for the next few weeks.
“I do not know what you mean,” she fumbled, attempting to save face and keep her plans secret a little longer. “I’m heading home to Wales for the Christmas holidays, and to spread the word to our fellow sisters there that the Mercian Plan has been introduced to Joint Parliament for discussion, and that it is only a matter of time before Britannia is united under Mercian law. Lord Lawrence Godwin is escorting me home himself.”
Everything had been arranged the day before at the opening of Joint Parliament. Her friend Kat, Lady Katherine Balmor, soon to be Lady Katherine Godwin, as soon as she married Waldorf Godwin, had achieved a major victory in convincing the First Minister, Lord Walsingham, to bring the topic forward for debate. It was the first step in achieving the unity of Britannia under Mercian law, which was deeply favorable toward women and would prevent them from becoming subjects to their husbands in their own home.
And that was a topic of particular importance to Minnie, as the fate of becoming a subject to a husband she could not like in a home that would feel like a prison to her if she did not take matters into her own hands was closer than any of her friends thought.
Regina seemed to read her thoughts and crossed her arms, arching one eyebrow, as if she did not believe a word Minnie had just said.
“Forgive me for overstepping my place, Lady Minerva, but I know you to be too clever and too determined by far to simply return to Wales, whether to rally for the cause or not, when the center of activity is in London at present,” she said. “And besides,” she added as Minnie scrambled to think of what to say, “You’ve packed nearly everything of import in your room, as if you’ve no intention of returning to it.”
Again, Regina arched one eyebrow. The woman was incredibly sharp and alarmingly bold, which was, perhaps, why she made such an excellent butler for the club.
Minnie gave up whatever intention she’d had of keeping secrets. She blew out a breath and said, “Alright, I will confess. I have no intention of returning to the Kingdom of Wales.”
“I thought not,” Regina said, eyeing the pile of riksdaler again.
Minnie delayed a few seconds more by buttoning her coat and stepping to her dressing table to fetch her black velvet bonnet and her reticule. There was no use delaying forever, though, particularly since Regina stood between her and the door.
“If you must know,” she said, attempting to sound confident, and perhaps a bit put out, when what she actually felt was excitement and terror over her plan, “I am indeed about to leave the country, the entire island. I…I plan to debark for the Kingdom of Sweden, where I shall take up a new name and a new life, nevermore to return to these hostile shores.”
She took a step toward the door, more than ready to attend to her final errand before departing.
Regina shifted to block her way. “There’s more to it, my lady. I can tell. Is there something else you might like to tell me? Something that would enable me to assist your flight?”
Again, Minnie bit her lip and debated how much she wished to share. Not even her three dear friends knew what she was planning. If they did, they would surely attempt to convince her not to take the particular course of action she had planned.
“Alright,” Minnie sighed. “But you cannot tell a soul.”
“My lady, you know I am the soul of discretion,” Regina said, as stiff and powerful as any male butler. Perhaps more so.
Minnie peeked to Clarence, whose eye sockets were just visible above the edge of her valise, surrounded by frilly underthings, then glanced back to Regina.
“My parents have arranged a marriage for me,” she said, speaking as though the fact were a humiliation. To Minnie, at her age of nearly forty, it absolutely was. “I have evaded their marital plots for what I thought was long enough for me to be considered an eccentric, unmarriageable spinster, but then a friend of my father’s somehow produced a son who was widowed a few years ago, one Lord Owen Scurloch, and it was agreed by everyone but me that the two of us should wed to affirm some sort of ridiculous land pact or commercial deal, or whatever those men deem more important than a woman’s autonomy.”
“This is precisely why the Mercian Plan must succeed,” Regina sighed, looking much more sympathetic.
“Yes, well, there’s more to the story,” Minnie told her with a wary side-eye, fetching her gloves from her dressing table and putting them on. “The wedding nearly took place last month.”
“Did it?” Regina asked, surprised and clearly drawn in by the story.
“It did,” Minnie said gravely. “In fact, I may have fled the church on the morning of the wedding and bundled myself straight off to London.”
Regina looked impressed. “You escaped your unwanted fiancé at the altar?”
“Yes,” Minnie said, desperate to run her errand and moving toward the door again. This time, Regina stepped aside and accompanied her out into the hallway as Minnie continued with, “I managed to make it to London and the safety of the club, as you know, but unless I take drastic action, I will have no option but to hide forever within the walls of the Oxford Society Club. And while that is amenable to some of our dear, unfortunate sisters, it is not the life I want.”
Indeed, the Oxford Society Club was the permanent home and self-imposed prison of at least two younger women who knew that if they left the shelter of the club’s walls and were caught on the street by various family members, who stalked the streets outside as if they would lay siege, they would be abducted back to their own kingdoms and forced into marriages they did not want.
Unless Britannia was united under Mercian law.
“And so you plan to flee to Sweden to be free?” Regina asked.
Minnie sent her a sidelong look as they descended the stairs to the ground floor. “I plan to do more than that,” she whispered.
They reached the front hall, and she turned this way and that, making certain no one was near enough to overhear her. Then she leaned closer to Regina.
“I plan to feign my tragic demise,” she whispered, feeling a thrill in her gut as she spoke the words.
Regina pulled back and stared at her with wide eyes. Then she glanced up and down Minnie’s black-clad form and smiled.
“If anyone can accomplish that mad task, it will be you, my lady,” she said.
Minnie wasn’t certain she approved of the way Regina beamed as if they were about to attend a drama. “You mustn’t tell anyone,” she hissed. “Although I will tell my dearest friends. Eventually. Once I am established in Stockholm.”
“Do you propose to meet your tragic end on this journey to Wales?” Regina asked quietly.
“Yes,” Minnie whispered. “I’ve arranged passage on a fishing vessel in Bristol that will take me to Ireland. From there, I will assume a new name and identity and travel on to Stockholm.”
“Does Lord Lawrence know about this plot, my lady?” Regina asked.
Minnie pinched her face in frustration for a moment. Lord Lawrence was the vehicle to aid her in reaching Bristol, but he did not know that she had no intention of traveling to Wales at all.
“He will not know until the last possible moment,” she said, marching on toward the outside door. “If fortune favors me, he will not have to know at all.”
“It is always better to let your coconspirator in on any plots you wish to hatch,” Regina counselled, opening the door for Minnie and letting in a blast of frosty air as she did.
“I suppose I shall have to tell him something at some point,” Minnie said with a sigh. “But with any luck, I will not.”
“Very good, my lady,” Regina said with a perfectly stiff bow.
Minnie sent her a final, cautious smile, then stepped out into the cold, November morning.
Really, she knew her plan was a bit of a mad one. Chances were that she would not be able to add the additional, magnificent detail of feigning her own death in order to escape. She desperately hoped that all would unfold according to plan, though. Despite the excitement of beginning a new life in a new country, she thrilled at the idea of her family mourning her, of them holding a funeral for her. Perhaps she could even visit her own gravestone one day. Her family would certainly spring for a fine, elaborate headstone in the family plot, even if her body would never be found.
That would be the tricky bit, she thought to herself as she marched along the crowded street toward the seamstress she had entrusted with the construction of a particular gown she would need once the wheels of her plan had been set into motion. The idea was that she would find an appropriate body of water near a cliff or ledge of some sort when they had almost reached Bristol. She would tell Lord Lawrence that she wished to go for a solitary walk in the dark. It would be even better if the weather were foul and the winds fierce on that particular night. She would venture out alone and never return, and in the morning, nothing but her inky, black dress and her bonnet would be found.
Which was why she needed a dress of an entirely different sort. She had commissioned a discreet seamstress to construct a simple, blue gown for her in the Swedish style. She would conceal that gown under her regular clothing when she went out for her walk. Once she located the perfect cliff, she would remove her black gown and reveal the blue, Swedish one. As soon as the evidence was hurled off the cliff and into the ocean, she would run for the docks of Bristol, board the boat she’d arranged passage on, and—
Minnie caught her breath at the sight of a man stepping behind a corner at the end of the street ahead of her. He was gone as soon as she’d spotted him, but she knew Lord Owen Scurloch when she saw him.
At least, she thought she did. London was devilishly crowded, now that Joint Parliament had begun. The streets were so crowded that some of the lesser folk were being compelled to walk in the mucky streets rather than on the cleaner sidewalks. Owen was tall and broad, but with a quick glance, Minnie saw half a dozen other tall, broad men.
She picked up her pace, hurrying to the corner Owen had disappeared around, then cautiously glancing down that side street as she crossed it.
There was no one resembling Owen’s description at all within sight down that street. The traffic was thick with people dressed in the slight variation of costume of all the kingdoms of the New Heptarchy, but not a one of them looked remotely Welsh, let alone like Owen.
“I’m imagining things,” Minnie sighed and walked on, shaking her head.
She could not blame herself, really. She had legitimate cause to worry, as her parents had sent a letter addressed to her at the Oxford Society Club, where they knew she stayed in London, saying that if she was in London, she needed to return home immediately to face the altar or she would be fetched. She had not replied, so her parents could have no certainty that she was even in London. But if they had sent Owen to check….
Minnie put those thoughts out of her mind and hurried on to the seamstress. She was fortunate in that her commissioned gown was completed and already wrapped in brown paper and ready to go. She paid handsomely for not only the gown, but for the silence of everyone in the shop, then clutched her parcel tightly and headed out to return to the club.
Before she was halfway there, the creeping sensation that she was being observed, and perhaps followed, grabbed hold of her. It made her tense and clumsy, and she nearly crashed into one of the errand boys rushing about with deliveries more times than she could count. The way she kept continually glancing down side streets and looking over her shoulder caused more trouble than it brought relief.
It all seemed worthwhile when she spotted what she knew in her heart was Owen’s tall, broad form stepping into a pub across the street from her. Her rational mind tried to tell her that if Owen was in London and if he was following her, he would not be ahead of her on the street, and he most certainly would not step into a pub rather than confront her. Her active and expansive imagination was very much running away from her.
That did not stop her from ducking into the entrance of a haberdasher across the street from the pub and leaning against the window so she could observe the pub for several long moments to see if Owen emerged and went after her. It also didn’t stop her from taking a circuitous route back to the Oxford Society Club once she grew tired of watching the pub’s door. If Owen had come to London and if he’d found her, she would do everything in her power to avoid him and thwart whatever plans he had to capture her and force her into what amounted to indentured servitude.
By the time she finally made it back to the street where the Oxford Society Club stood, she was anxious and restless. The skies had clouded over, and raindrops were beginning to fall. She clung close to the sides of buildings as she walked, constantly glancing over her shoulder and trying to hide.
That was why, when Lord Lawrence stepped down from one of the carriages parked along the street in front of the club and greeted her with, “Good day, Lady Minerva. Aren’t you looking fetching this fine morning,” Minnie nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Hurry! Hurry!” she said, grabbing the sleeve of Lord Lawrence’s coat with her free hand and tugging him toward the entrance to the club. “We mustn’t be seen at all.”
Lord Lawrence smiled and moved quickly with her, as if he found the whole attempt at secrecy to be a game of some sort. Indeed, as they ducked into the club’s door when one of the footmen held it open for them, he asked, “Are we escaping from the law today or evading some criminal gang?”
As soon as the door was shut safely behind them, Minnie straightened from her hunched posture and sent him a scathing look. If Lord Lawrence was going to be spritely and clever through the entire journey west, and if he thought he could tease her and she would laugh and titter like the rest of the vapid young ladies of the ton who merely wanted an older, distinguished husband with silver hair at his temples, then he had another think coming.
Chapter Two
…and so, you see, kind sir, this is why I cannot accept your invitation to drive in Hyde Park with you this Saturday, as flattered as I am by the offer.
Lawrence sighed and refolded the letter he’d received from Lady Harriet Longstead several days before, tucking it into his traveling bag, along with the mountain of other communication he’d received since arriving in London.
“You can have this taken down to the carriage now, Danforth,” he said as Godwin House’s butler stepped into the room, two of the footmen behind him. He closed the case, but left it to Danforth and the others to secure as he headed out of the room. “I’m ready to leave all this behind me and return to the wilds from whence I came.”
He spoke with a smile and clapped Danforth on the arm before stepping away, but his heart was heavier than he wanted it to be. Lady Harriet’s letter was one of at least a dozen similarly gentle rejections he’d received in the last month. It was bad enough that it had taken him more than a quarter of an hour to puzzle out each letter when they were received, and it was not as if he cared overly much for any of the young ladies who had turned down his potential offers of courtship, but the rejection stung all the same.
His father had ordered that Lawrence and all his brothers and cousins marry, and he had proclaimed that the last of them to do so would inherit the cursed Godwin Castle. That had been in the spring, and now the year was waning. Cedric, Alden, and Waldorf had all found themselves the loveliest of brides. They were all exceedingly lucky in their choices as well. It was more than just being free of the burden of Godwin Castle, they were all blissfully happy.
The only two of them left unmarried were Lawrence and his cousin, Dunstan. And while some might argue that Dunstan was a lost cause, after being so cruelly eviscerated by his deceased wife in the few, short years of their marriage, Lawrence had his own theories about how Dunstan might surprise everyone by making it to the altar, sooner rather than later.
That left Lawrence as the presumptive heir to the family curse, and truly, there were days when he felt as though it had already fallen upon him.
He was trying to find himself a bride, trying desperately. It was not as though he did not want to marry and have a family, although at his age, approaching fifty, he was not certain he had the constitution for raising a gaggle of children. He yearned for marriage, longed to find a woman with whom he could spend what he liked to think was the second half of his life.
But Lawrence had never been lucky in love. He had a string of failed affairs behind him with nothing more to show for it than a gallery of erotic sculptures inspired by mistresses of the past and sketches of past fancies who had never taken him seriously. Possibly because of said gallery of erotic sculptures.
The fact of the matter was that as Lawrence’s reputation as a sculptor grew, his seriousness as a marriage prospect for the young ladies of the ton diminished. He had become the sort of man everyone wished to invite to supper, but whom few wanted any deeper sort of connection to.
Regardless, he would not give up. London had been a failure for him, but perhaps he could visit the continent or the American colonies and find a willing bride there, one who was not overly concerned about being married to the man who created those sculptures.
“Oh, my lord.” Danforth stepped out into the hall, arresting Lawrence before he’d made it to the top of the stairs.
“Yes?” Lawrence asked, turning back to the man with a smile. He usually wore a smile, even though his brothers and cousins teased him for it. One could always smile, even when the world was sinking into a bog around him.
“Before you go, there is another letter for you waiting downstairs,” Danforth said. “It was just delivered by special courier, not more than ten minutes ago.”
“Thank you, Danforth,” Lawrence said, his smile going tight.
He turned and headed down the stairs, wondering which of the young ladies he’d spoken to at the opening of Joint Parliament the day before had turned down his request to call now.
But when he reached the table in the foyer where the silver salver that held correspondence rested, it was not another rejection from a lady that awaited him. Instead, the address on the envelope was written in the blocky, slightly splotched handwriting that most definitely belonged to a man.
Curious, he snatched up the envelope, broke the seal, then slowly, painstakingly, read its contents, his smile returning.
Godwin, I’ve had an inquiry from a gallery owner in Hamburg who would like to curate an exhibition of your sculptures based on the theme of the four seasons. He is deeply familiar with your work and will pay well. But he has one unique requirement. Please call upon me for more.
It was sighed G. Loesser, the name of a friend and art broker Lawrence knew well.
“Excellent,” Lawrence said out loud, directing his comment to the two footmen who brought his traveling bags down while he’d been wrestling with the missive. “Hurry, hurry, lads. It appears as though I have a final errand to run before I’m through with London entirely.”
The footmen, kind, clever lads as they were, smiled at him as they carried his things out to the waiting carriage.
“Is this all of it, my lord?” Silas, his personal driver and sometimes valet, asked as he met the footmen at the door.
“It is,” Lawrence said, pausing to breathe in the cold, damp air as if it were the middle of summer. “As soon as it’s secured, we can go fetch Lady Minerva. Although I need to stop at Loesser’s offices along the way.”
Silas hummed and frowned, then said, “Begging your pardon, my lord, but the Oxford Society Club is on the way to Loesser’s gallery. If we go to the gallery then back again, it might take twice as long. I know you’re eager to be done with London.”
Lawrence sent Silas a kind smile. “You bring up a good point. Perhaps Lady Minerva would not mind attending this errand with me. We shall fetch her along the way, and then on to Loesser’s.”
“Very good, my lord.” Silas nodded and touched the brim of his hat, then held the door for Lawrence to hop into the carriage.
While Cedric detested it when his servants made suggestions and directed their master, Lawrence did not mind it at all. He trusted his servants. They’d been hired to do a job, and in almost every instance, they knew their job far better than he did. Because of that light hand with those many other gentlemen chose to command, most people, his family included, considered Lawrence to be weak of mind and even weaker of will.
Perhaps he was. He accepted what others thought of him without attempting to change it, and that made him seem a little too affable at times. But what point was there in attempting to change the ways of the world? The world was what it was, and as an artist, his job was to observe and render it in whatever medium he chose. It was not for him to change what God had made so perfectly.
The drive to the Oxford Society Club was uneventful. He was told that Lady Minerva had gone out on last-minute errands when he arrived, and since men were not permitted inside the club, except in the foyer, and only then when they were accompanied by a member of the club, and as the sky had begun to spit rain, he waited in his carriage until Lady Minerva made her appearance.
Lawrence nearly burst into laughter when she did finally appear. Lady Minerva was an enigma. No lady of her beauty and cleverness within the ton chose to dress as if she were a recent widow, the way Lady Minerva always did. Lawrence had always found that proclivity, and the sharp intelligence of the lady’s conversation, to be intriguing. When the opportunity had arisen for him to accompany Lady Minerva back to her home kingdom of Wales the day before, Lawrence had jumped at it. He needed to leave London anyhow, and Lady Minerva had provided him with the ideal excuse to flee.
And so he was in particularly good spirits when he stepped down from his carriage just as the lady passed and said, “Good day, Lady Minerva. Aren’t you looking fetching this fine morning.”
His words seemed to startle Lady Minerva far more than a greeting warranted. She grabbed his coat and dragged him towards the door of the club, hissing, “Hurry! Hurry! We mustn’t be seen at all.”
Lawrence nearly laughed at the excitement of it all. Lady Minerva already seemed to be caught up in some sort of fantasy, though Lawrence could not see why she would be so anxious to get off the street. No one around them was paying either of them the slightest bit of attention.
“Are we escaping from the law today or evading some criminal gang?” he asked as they stepped into the foyer of the Oxford Society Club.
Perhaps as expected, Lady Minerva narrowed her eyes at him in a disapproving scowl.
“Do you find something amusing in my wish to be discreet, Lord Lawrence?” she asked in clipped tones.
“Not at all,” Lawrence said, still trying to remain affable, as was his nature. “I love a bit of excitement in the morning. It makes the afternoon so much more restful when one has packed in their adventure before luncheon.”
A flat silence filled the space between Lawrence and Lady Minerva for a moment as she continued to stare at him.
Then she sucked in a breath, stood straighter, and tilted her chin up slightly.
“I am almost ready to depart, my lord,” she said, hugging her parcel closer. “If you will but give me ten minutes to complete the process and to have my things brought down, I shall be ready to venture out with you.”
“Of course, my lady,” Lawrence said, bowing gravely, though he couldn’t hide the delight he felt. The journey to Wales could take weeks, depending on the weather, and he would have the privilege of spending all that time with her.
Lady Minerva left him, and Lawrence was politely asked to step outside once more. The rain had picked up a slight bit, but he did not hide away in his carriage as he could have.
Instead, as soon as Lady Minerva emerged with a rather large valise, he rushed to assist her.
“Allow me, my lady,” he said, smiling despite the rain.
“I can manage quite well on my own,” Lady Minerva snapped in return.
Her attempt at independence, and Lawrence was certain that’s what it was, which he could easily forgive her for, was marred slightly by the alert way she glanced up and down the street before handing her valise off to Silas in order for him to add it to the trunk at the back of the wagon. She continued to search the area as Lawrence offered her a hand to step into the carriage. Once she was seated, she tucked herself into the far corner of the rear-facing seat and hugged her black coat around her.
“I say,” Lawrence joked, looking up and down the street himself, then pretending to peer blindly into the carriage without seeing much. “Silas, have you seen Lady Minerva Llewellyn? I swear, she was here a moment ago, but she seems to have disappeared entirely.”
“Must you?” Lady Minerva sighed over his antics.
“Oh! There you are,” Lawrence said, stepping into the carriage and sitting on the forward-facing seat. “You veritably blend into the shadows in that coat.”
“Yes, well, sometimes it is best to blend into the shadows,” she said frostily.
Lawrence laughed softly and settled himself in as Silas finished with the trunk, then took his seat atop the carriage and nudged the horses onward.
“Oh, I should beg your pardon, my lady,” Lawrence said once they were moving safely along the road. “I have a final errand I must attend to before we take to the western road.”
“An errand?” Lady Minerva asked with far too much alarm. “Where? In the city?”
“In Marylebone, actually,” Lawrence said. “Not much farther on than here. A friend of mine who is an art broker sent me a letter just before I left the house an hour ago, informing me of a gallery in Hamburg that wishes to stage an exhibition of my work.”
Lady Minerva’s entire countenance changed as she blinked and sat straighter. “I’d forgotten you were an artist, my lord. My friends who have married into your family told me, of course, but I am sorry to say that I cannot recall ever seeing any of your paintings displayed.”
“Sculptures,” Lawrence said, blushing a bit. “I am predominately a sculptor. Though I do sketch quite a bit while doing studies for my pieces.”
“Sculptor, then,” Lady Minerva said with a nod. “Are you in the National Gallery?”
Lawrence cleared his throat. “Er, no. My sculptures are more for … private audiences.”
For the first time since fetching her, Lawrence caught a sparkle in Lady Minerva’s eyes. “I am intrigued, my lord.”
“As all good minxes are,” Lawrence answered her cheekily.
That caused Lady Minerva to tense up and hug herself tighter again.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Lawrence said, wincing. “I should not have presumed to jest with you so early in our acquaintance. I think you will find that I frequently make the wrong comment at the wrong moment. It is just that I find society to be so unbearably stuffy and restrained sometimes. Life is enjoyable. I cannot fathom why people hide from that so much.”
Lady Minerva waited far too long, staring at him, before saying, “Indeed.”
The conversation faltered from there. A few things were said about the weather and about the length of the journey as they traveled on to Loesser’s office, but not much.
Lawrence gave Lady Minerva the option of waiting in the carriage while he stepped inside to see what the details of the deal Loesser wanted to work out for him were, but she declined. That came as a bit of a surprise, but perhaps not as much as it could have when Lady Minerva rushed straight from the carriage and into the office building, pulling her bonnet down over her face, lest anyone passing recognize her.
“You are beginning to make me think you are some sort of spy, my lady,” Lawrence whispered as they approached the desk at the front of the office.
“No, you have me confused with my friend, Lady Kat,” Lady Minerva said, sending Lawrence a sideways look.
Lawrence’s heart lifted. It appeared Lady Minerva did have a sense of humor after all.
“Ah, Lord Lawrence, welcome,” Loesser said, stepping out of the back room and up to the other side of the desk. “That was quick.”
“I am about to depart London,” Lawrence said, reaching across to shake Loesser’s hand. “You might not be able to reach me for a few weeks, until I arrive at Godwin Castle after returning Lady Minerva Llewellyn her to her home kingdom.”
“My lady,” Loesser greeted Lady Minerva with a nod and a smile.
Lady Minerva smiled briefly at him, then returned to looking around the front room of the office, which was filled with various artwork.
“About this Hamburg offer,” Lawrence said.
“Yes, I knew you’d be interested,” Loesser said with a wink. “It’s for one of the more progressive galleries in the city. They wish to do an entire exhibition of your work.”
“That’s splendid,” Lawrence said, beaming. “I suppose if one cannot be appreciated in his own country, the next best thing is to gain a following somewhere else.”
“It certainly is,” Loesser said. “And they’re willing to pay a pretty penny for the privilege of displaying your art, and perhaps selling a few pieces, if the opportunity arises.”
“I would be amenable to that,” Lawrence said. “Whatever of mine that you do not already have in your storerooms, I could have fetched for you from my studio in Winchester.”
“Perfect,” Loesser said. He then pinched his face and added, “There’s only one complication.”
“Oh?”
Lawrence glanced to the side at Lady Minerva’s sudden intake of breath. He was more than a little alarmed to find one of his own, particularly erotic sculptures sitting out on a table near the window. Whatever hope Lawrence had that Lady Minerva had spotted whatever she’d been looking for outside the window and that that was what had caused her gasp was thwarted when he saw her clap a hand to her mouth as she looked at the carved man and woman in a particularly amorous embrace in marble form.
“The gentleman in Hamburg remembers a particular sculpture of yours,” Loesser went on, either not seeing Lady Minerva’s reaction or being so accustomed to the shock of ladies over art that he paid it no mind. “Primavera in Splendor.”
Lawrence snapped his attention away from Lady Minerva and stared with wide eyes, face heating, at Loesser.
“Primavera in Splendor?” he asked, his voice hoarse and cracking.
“Yes,” Loesser said with a knowing smirk. “It’s one of your finest works.”
“I, er, thank you?”
“The Hamburg gentleman is interested in purchasing it from you after the gallery show. For a thousand guineas.”
“My God!” Lady Minerva gasped, twisting to face him.
“A thousand guineas?” Lawrence repeated. “For that old thing?”
“It seems he has never forgotten it, even though he first laid eyes on it ten years ago,” Loesser said. “Do you think you can procure it for him?”
Lawrence was silent for a long time, thinking about it. He would have loved nothing more than to rid the island of Britannia of that particular statue, and the memories behind it, forever. If he’d had it in his possession, he would have sent for it at once. He might have even given it the Hamburg gentleman for no price at all, just so that he would never see it again. Or more importantly, that its current owner would never see it again.
“The work in question is not in my possession at the moment,” he said carefully.
“I know,” Loesser said, grinning. “Lady Wimpole still has it, doesn’t she.”
Lawrence swallowed tightly. “She does, though she has remarried and is no longer Lady Wimpole.”
Loesser shrugged. “So get it back from her, whatever she’s called these days,” he said. “Something tells me she wouldn’t put up that much of a fuss, if she even still has it. Especially if she’s remarried. If her new husband even knows the statue exists, I bet he’d be grateful to be rid of it as well.”
“Indeed,” Lawrence said.
“Where does this former Lady Wimpole live?” Lady Minerva asked, coming forward, even though part of Lawrence wished she hadn’t.
“Er, Wiltshire,” Lawrence said.
“How convenient,” Lady Minerva said. “Wiltshire is on the way to Wales. We could stop at no-longer-Lady Wimpole’s house and ask for the statue back.”
“Yes, we could,” Lawrence said, slowly and reluctantly.
“A thousand guineas,” Loesser reminded Lawrence. “I could use the commission for a sale like that.”
Lawrence let out a sigh, lowering his shoulders. Loesser had a point. A thousand guineas would not make or break him one way or another, but for a man who lived on such close margins as Loesser, it could mean a great deal.
“Alright,” Lawrence said with a shrug. “I do not suppose it could hurt to visit Wiltshire and inquire whether Lady Wimpole still possesses the statue.”
“Good man,” Loesser said, reaching across the counter to thump Lawrence’s arm. “I knew you’d be willing to help a friend out.”
“Yes,” Lawrence said with a smile.
Deep down, however, he wondered if his willingness to go out of his way for the benefit of others was one of the reasons so many people considered him to be so simple. One way or another, time would tell.
Chapter Three
Few things truly shocked Minnie. She’d seen more than her fair share of despicable behavior, bad manners, and cruelty in her lifetime. And that was just from her family. She herself lived a life that was considered outlandish by most of the ton.
Seeing the wicked sculpture in the art broker’s office, and then learning that it had been created by Lord Lawrence Godwin himself shocked her in a way few things had. Never in all her days would she have expected such a mild-mannered, kind, and distinguished gentleman like Lord Lawrence to be capable of creating something that was not only erotic, it was magnificently accomplished and really quite beautiful.
“You have talent,” she complimented Lord Lawrence once they were in the carriage, finally making their way out of London along the western road.
“Hmm?” Lord Lawrence hummed, dragging himself out of his contemplation of the scenery they passed as he stared out the window. Or, more likely, pulling himself from all-encompassing thoughts.
“I merely observed that you have exquisite talent in sculpting,” Minnie said, hugging herself tighter, as the carriage hadn’t completely warmed up yet.
“Oh,” Lord Lawrence said with a small smile. “Thank you. While all of my brothers and cousins were intent on attending university to broaden their education in the classics and in land management, or, in Alden’s case, in herpetology, all I wanted to do was draw and play with clay.”
Something about the way he said that, the hunch of his shoulders and the sheepish look that accompanied the self-effacing gesture had Minnie certain there was much more to the story than met the eye. Just as she was certain there was more to the story of why the former Lady Wimpole in Wiltshire was in possession of an erotic sculpture he had fashioned.
“I studied mathematics at Oxford,” Minnie said when Lawrence didn’t seem keen to keep the conversation going. “Mostly as they applied to financial matters.”
Lawrence’s brow shot up, and he sat a little straighter. “I would have thought you would study poetry and exotic works of literature from far-distant lands,” he said.
“I studied a bit of that,” Minerva said with a nod. “But as delightful as sad ballads and tales of woe from the orient are, they do not assist one in making wise investments and providing independent financial security.”
Lawrence’s expression registered surprise again, which made him look like a man of half his years. Minnie knew from her association with the Godwin family through her friends that Lawrence was the middle of Lord Gerald’s three sons, and that he was about fifty years of age, but even the streaks of silver in his dark hair couldn’t disguise his youthful spirit.
“Are you financially independent?” he asked, his curiosity clearly genuine and not at all disapproving.
“I am,” Minnie nodded. “I have been quite successful in investing in shares of ships trading with the American colonies, though now that they are rumbling for independence, I intend to redirect my investments elsewhere.”
“How extraordinary,” Lord Lawrence said. Minnie could see that he actually meant it, unlike most men she discussed her financial adventures with.
“I have no intention of being dependent on anyone for my position in life,” she said with a shrug. “Least of all a husband.”
Just thinking the word “husband” cast her mind back to her escape from a wedding she had not wanted, and to the possibility that Owen had pursued her to London. She gave a little shiver, then pulled her coat tighter around her arms, using the excuse of the cold to dismiss the gesture.
“Perhaps you would care to ride in the seat beside me?” Lord Lawrence asked carefully. “I see you are chilled, and sitting closer would keep us both warmer.”
“No, thank you, Lord Lawrence,” Minnie said, instinctively suspicious about his reasons for asking. “I am enjoying the view from here.”
It took her a moment or two to realize her words could be taken to mean she wanted to gaze upon Lord Lawrence’s handsome figure as they drove on. She had to admit that he was finely formed, particularly for a man his age. He was tall and broad of shoulders, with a trim waist and very little paunch, unlike most men his age of her acquaintance. His face was pleasingly formed, with strong lines and cheery eyes.
“I mean the view of the countryside out the window,” she corrected herself all the same as she grew warmer at the way Lord Lawrence smiled. “I do so love the way rain bathes the countryside in soft greys.”
“By all means,” Lord Lawrence said with a small nod. “I would not want to impinge on your enjoyment of the countryside.”
Minerva tensed at the comment and peeked at Lord Lawrence out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to be absorbed in the passing landscape. Any other man of her acquaintance would have pressed the matter, perhaps to the point of forcing her to take a seat by his side. Lord Lawrence had bowed to her wishes so swiftly that she wondered what game he was playing.
As the hours and miles passed, however, Minnie began to wonder if Lord Lawrence had any games up his sleeves at all. He seemed more than content to sit in silence with her, watching the world pass them by as they rolled sedately over muddy roads and past sodden fields and hamlets.
They stopped at a coaching inn that night, and the entire evening passed without incident. Lord Lawrence made certain Minnie had her own, small room, that they were fed, and that Silas, his driver, was given warm, dry lodgings as well. His kindness was apparent to Minnie in the friendly deference Silas showed him.
The next day passed in much the same way. Minnie brought a book out of her valise to read and pass the time, and in a test of how amenable to her eccentricities Lord Lawrence would be, she brought Clarence out and sat him on the seat beside her as they drove on.
“What a magnificent specimen,” Lord Lawrence observed once the carriage lurched forward along still-muddy roads, smiling at Clarence. “Where did you obtain such a thing?”
Minnie had only just picked up her book, so it could not be said that Lord Lawrence had interrupted her reading. Yet.
“I purloined my friend here from one of the medical laboratories at the physician’s college within Oxford University,” she said, daring Lord Lawrence with her eyes to object to her long-ago mischief.
“May I?” Lord Lawrence asked, reaching out for Clarence.
Curious to see what he would do next, Minnie nodded. “You may.”
Lord Lawrence picked up the skull and turned it over in his hands. The way he caressed it reminded Minnie that he was a sculptor. He had a way of following the ridges of Clarence’s facial bones as if he could see what they would have looked like covered with flesh, and stroking Clarence’s skull bones as if he would run his fingers through his hair.
The fleeting thought occurred to Minnie that she would not have minded if he wanted to run his fingers through her hair or caress her cheekbones in such a way.
She put that thought immediately aside as Lord Lawrence sighed his approval of Clarence and returned him to the seat beside Minnie, saying, “You are lucky to have such a beautiful ornament.”
Minnie blinked at him. He was not teasing her, nor was he merely lowering her defenses so that he could attack her for her oddities. It was…it was annoying, in a way. She shifted restlessly in her seat, reaching for Clarence to rearrange the way he sat. How dare Lord Lawrence unsettle her so by being so … so … nice?
Her itching, uncomfortable annoyance with the man continued throughout the day when he let her read her book in peace without once interrupting to ask what she was reading or to tell her what he thought on the subject. Lord Lawrence seemed content to watch the world out the window, since he had not brought a book himself. After their stop at another inn for luncheon, he fell asleep as the carriage rattled on, making slow progress over the muddy roads. He snored a bit as he napped, but even that was frustratingly charming.
By the third day of their quiet, companionable journey together, Minnie had reached her limit of patience for traveling.
“I cannot sit for a moment longer,” she told Lord Lawrence when they reached yet another coaching inn along the road. “I simply must go for a walk to work some blood back into my legs.”
“I agree,” Lord Lawrence sighed. “As marvelous as the modern conveyance of a double spring carriage is, one simply must exercise the physical body now and then before it calcifies completely.”
Minnie paused in the courtyard in front of the inn and stared at Lord Lawrence with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t going to advise her on the dangers of walking in an unfamiliar country? He wouldn’t forbid her from going for a walk because it was raining lightly and her health might be at risk? He wasn’t going to order her to sit prettily by the fire in the inn while he arranged everything around her exactly to his specifications?
The nerve of the man!
“Let me just inquire at the inn to be certain they have rooms for us,” he said, holding up a finger to Minnie as he stepped toward the inn’s front door. “And perhaps they have a pair of umbrellas we could borrow for our walk.”
“Yes, please,” Minnie found herself saying, even though her natural instinct was to be annoyed over any infringement on her independence.
Lord Lawrence was quick about his errand. Minnie waited for him under the awning outside of the inn’s door as Silas drove the carriage around so he could tend to it and the horses. A few of the inn’s patrons and fellow travelers stared at her, but as Minnie had learned long ago, the black she wore immediately made those around her assume she was mourning someone, which meant she had peace and sympathetic looks instead of being accosted or, even worse, flirted with.
“Here we are,” Lord Lawrence said a few, short moments later, exiting the inn with two, sturdy, black umbrellas. “They do not mind if we borrow these. I paid well for the privilege, and for the rooms.”
“Thank you, Lord Lawrence,” Minnie said, desperately tempted to smile as Lord Lawrence opened an umbrella for her, then handed it over.
It irritated her to no end that she wanted to smile at the man. What had come over her that she was so quickly inclined to like a male of the species? Men had caused nothing but trouble for her in her thirty-seven years, constantly badgering her and attempting to woo her into giving up everything she was and cared about. How dare Lord Lawrence defy those trends?
The two of them started along a small path leading away from the inn, which Lord Lawrence said the innkeeper had recommended to him because of its expansive view of the hills around them. Indeed, the vista was breathtakingly beautiful in all its rainy, gloomy splendor. Not only that, Minnie spotted a small church with a graveyard a short distance down one of the hills.
“I intend to explore the graveyard,” she told Lord Lawrence, eyeing him sideways.
She waited for him to protest that a lady should not enjoy such things, but instead, he said, “Oh! What an interesting activity.”
Minnie clenched her jaw, waiting for the barb that would follow that apparent approval, but none came.
It was a relief to walk in the rain after so long tucked away in a carriage, and by the time they approached the small churchyard, Minnie’s expectations of being thwarted by Lord Lawrence had vanished, leaving her with a strangely light sort of contentment.
“I’ve always enjoyed graveyards,” she said as Lord Lawrence skipped ahead to open the small gate dividing the graves from the rest of the churchyard. “They contain such a rich history of humanity.”
“I suppose they do,” Lord Lawrence said, his expression as bright as a spring day, despite the increase in the rain’s intensity.
Still off-balance by his cheeriness, Minnie began to walk among the headstones, reading them and absorbing the names they contained. Her mind buzzed with a dozen stories to match the simple epitaphs she read.
“Here lies Constance Whitcomb, beloved wife and mother,” she read aloud.
“Poor thing,” Lawrence said.
Minnie glanced to him with a small frown. “Why poor thing?” she asked.
Lawrence nodded to the smaller stone beside Constance’s. “Her date of death is the same as the infant beside her.”
Minnie sucked in a small breath and glanced at the two stones, seeing the connection.
“Ah, yes,” she said. “I’d wager that she waited for all of her —” she paused as she calculated Constance’s age at her death, “— thirty-one years to have a child, and when she finally did, the babe died before the night was done. Poor Constance died of a broken heart in the morning.”
Lawrence hummed, then said, “Perhaps not. Gauging by several of the other stones nearby, Constance and H-Harold,” he squinted as he read the stone, “had quite a few children.” He pointed to three other stones, stating the dates of those buried there aloud. “I’d wager that they had a lovely, happy family. Constance was the apple of her dear Harold’s eye and beloved by her children, most of whom lived to a ripe, old age. They may have lost their mother in childbirth, but Constance was well-loved and her memory was cherished by all.”
Minnie stared flatly at Lord Lawrence. “Dying of a broken heart is a far more romantic death than an ordinary, comforting one,” she said. “And her husband’s name was Harland, not Harold.”
“Oh? I beg your pardon,” Lord Lawrence said, blushing, and bowed to the headstone.
Minnie moved on, finding another name that struck her fancy.
“Paul Abercrombie,” she said, pointing to the stone of a man who had lived well into his eighties. “He was a terrible miser who made the lives of those around him miserable. He had two wives whom he poisoned, but they were so glad to be rid of him that they drank the poison willingly.”
Lord Lawrence squinted at the headstone and tilted his head. “Oh, no, that’s not it at all. Paul Abercrombie was a jolly, beloved soul. He hosted picnics for the entire hamlet at his country house every midsummer, even though he hardly had any money of his own. He was a wise and beloved grandfather to all who knew him. He loved his first wife dearly and never truly got over her early death, but when his wife’s fetching cousin came to care for him and the children in the hour of his grief, he fell in love with her, a different sort of love, and married her when the appropriate mourning period was over. They lived happily for the rest of their lives and never forgot the beloved first wife.”
Minnie wanted to huff and stomp away through the wet grass in protest. Lord Lawrence clearly did not know how the game was played.
She moved on, attempting to find a stone with a story behind it that he couldn’t possibly turn into a cheery, romantic tale.
“William Everley,” she said, pointing at a newer stone. The man had only been eighteen, and he’d died two years before. “Struck down by a speeding carriage while on his way to his wedding. The physician thought he could save him at first and amputated his mangled leg in an effort to save his life. But the wound turned gangrenous, and he died in agony after days.”
Lord Lawrence started, then turned to look at Minnie with a strange look of bewilderment.
“He was a soldier,” he said, as if it were obvious. “He died a hero on the battlefields of France, defending an entire village against Napoleon. He helped a distraught, widowed noblewoman to escape to England. She wished for him to escape with her, and she promised to marry him and make him a rich man. But Billy had a higher calling and returned to fight for what he believed was right. He took a bullet in the heart defending the captain of his regiment and was awarded a cross of honor posthumously.”
Minnie huffed and shook her head. “How do you know all that?”
“How do you know that he was struck by a carriage?” Lord Lawrence asked in turn.
“I have imagined it,” she said, tilting her chin up.
Lord Lawrence pointed to the headstone. “I have observed the carving of the Medal of Honor that was given to those who died in the war against Bonaparte on the headstone,” he said.
He kept a straight face, but his eyes glittered with mischief.
Minnie felt her face, and the rest of her body, heat over the observation. She had not noticed the carving. All the same, she thought her story was much more lurid and enticing.
“I believe it is time to return to the inn,” she said, picking up her skirts and stepping away from the gravestones. “As much as I do not mind the rain, it is increasing, and I am hungry.”
“I believe I smelled rabbit pie at the inn,” Lord Lawrence said as he jumped ahead of her once more to hold the graveyard’s gate open for her. Minnie noted that he did not poke fun at her for her observational failures. “The other patrons of the inn looked jolly and content, so I assume the inn’s cook is accomplished in their craft,” he went on.
Minnie walked past him with a nod of thanks for holding the gate, then waited so that the two of them could walk side-by-side up along the path back to the inn.
“Unless, of course, they were all just being poisoned into smiling and enjoying each other’s conversation,” Lord Lawrence added with a wink.
Minnie quivered on the inside, but as much as she wanted to believe she was shaking with rage, she had a terrible feeling that it was laughter, not anger, trying to escape from her.
“We shall have to be careful about what we eat, then, Lord Lawrence,” she said in as somber a tone as she could muster. “I would hate to be poisoned into laughing and enjoying anyone’s company.”
“Of course, of course,” Lord Lawrence said. “We couldn’t have that. I shall endeavor to keep all mirth well away from you.”
“Good,” Minnie said with a nod.
She had to turn her head away to hide the smile that would not be denied.
It angered her in frustrating ways, though. She was not supposed to enjoy Lord Lawrence’s, or any man’s, company. She was supposed to avail herself of Lord Lawrence’s assistance in getting her as far as Bristol, and then she would execute her plan and flee to Sweden.
She still intended to do just that, but now she wondered if Owen were the only man she needed to be wary of ruining her vision for her future life.