Citit - To Experiment with Desire, page 20
part #8 of Girls Who Dare Series Series
“I must run, darling. It was too bad of me to make Matilda bring me here. I can’t compound that by making her wait for me.” She kissed him, a quick press of lips that silenced his protest, opened the door, and froze.
There was a woman on the doorstep whom she recognised. They’d only met once, in Tunbridge Wells, the second time she’d met Inigo. He’d asked Minerva to remind him of an appointment to escape the woman’s company. Minerva now knew that Mrs Tate was notorious and had once been the Earl of St Clair’s mistress. What on earth she was doing here was one thing, but that Mrs Tate had seen her here with Inigo alone would be Minerva’s downfall.
“Mrs Tate,” Inigo’s voice pierced the drumming sound in her ears which she realised must be her heart pounding too hard, too fast. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Have you met my fiancée? Miss Butler, this is Mrs Tate.”
Minerva glanced back at Inigo in shock, but he appeared to be perfectly calm. Mrs Tate looked between them both, delighted curiosity in her eyes.
“We have met,” Mrs Tate agreed, her lips quirking with amusement. “And I was here to issue an invitation. It seems you are to be the toast of London, if the rumours are correct, Inigo, and I am here on behalf of Lord Havisham. He is determined that you should give a lecture for him and his friends, as they could not attend the last one you gave.”
Minerva bristled at the informal manner she spoke to Inigo, though she knew well enough that Mrs Tate had addressed him that way before, and that Inigo did not like the woman. The last time Inigo had refused point blank to give a talk for Lord Havisham, whom he’d clearly held in contempt, and so Minerva waited for him to refuse.
“I would happily agree,” he said, and Minerva turned once more to stare at him, seeing a fierce glint in his eye as he regarded Mrs Tate. “If I can be assured that no one will hear of Miss Butler’s visit here, at least until after we are married.”
Mrs Tate pursed her lips, considering and then laughed.
“Oh, very well. Who am I to stand in the way of a love affair? My lips are sealed.” She handed Inigo the invitation and turned to wink at Minerva. “Good afternoon, Miss Butler,” she said with a knowing smile, before climbing back into her carriage just as Matilda’s drew up behind it.
“Inigo,” she said, so astonished she hardly knew what to say. “Inigo, I’m not asking for this.”
That any choice in the matter had been taken from him made guilt bear down on her. She’d done this, she’d pursued him until this had been the inevitable conclusion, and now he was trapped.
“You don’t have to marry me.”
“Of course I do,” he said, sounding rather impatient. “Don’t speak a word of this to anyone. I’ll call on Bedwin this evening. Now hurry up and get in the carriage before anyone else sees you.”
“But Inigo….” she protested, as he practically bundled her into the carriage.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make it all right.”
Then he closed the door and told the driver to go.
Minerva stared at him out the window, only vaguely aware of Matilda shifting to sit beside her and take her hand.
“Min, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet. What did he mean, he’ll make it right?”
Minerva turned to stare at Matilda, hardly knowing what to say, and burst into tears.
***
25th January 1815. Beverwyck, London.
Inigo’s stomach roiled and he thanked providence that Minerva hadn’t brought a packed basket with lunch today. If she had, he felt certain he’d have cast up his accounts on the gleaming marble floor of Beverwyck’s imposing entrance hall by now. His palms were sweating and clammy, his damn cravat felt like a noose, and there seemed to be ice water dripping down his back. Trust him to find himself captivated by a woman whose nearest relations included a bloody duke.
Captivated.
That was a safe enough word.
It didn’t seem to encompass what he felt, but he’d decided he’d rather not dwell on that. He was feeling overwhelmed enough without studying why it was he felt like he was standing on a cliff’s edge. What would he do if Bedwin refused his permission?
He didn’t have any longer to consider the prospect as the butler reappeared and told him Bedwin would see him now. It was probably just as well, the way his stomach twisted at the prospect of the man’s refusal indicated how devastating that news would be. He assumed, going on the fact Bedwin hadn’t met him at the door, pistols in hand, that Minerva had said nothing, as he’d requested. At least he’d not been kept waiting long and it appeared that Minerva had not heard him arrive, for he’d not seen her. Hardly unexpected in a place the size of Beverwyck. A meteorite could land at the front of the house and Inigo wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if they’d not notice at the back.
He followed the butler through the house, past every trapping of wealth and privilege and the history of Bedwin’s illustrious family. He ignored the paintings of snotty aristocrats who stared down their superior noses at him. It was a reminder of his position that he needed no illustration of. The butler lead him into an impressive library where Bedwin was waiting for him.
“De Beauvoir,” the duke said, welcoming him with more warmth than Inigo could have expected.
The room was floor to ceiling with books, all dark wood and comfortable chairs. In normal circumstances Inigo would have found it warm and inviting.
“This is unexpected. Drink?” Bedwin asked, proffering a decanter of what looked like brandy.
Inigo nodded. He needed something to fortify his nerves that was for certain.
Bedwin turned away to pour the drinks. “If you’re here to check I meant what I said about sponsoring you, you needn’t worry. I’m a man of my word.”
“No, it’s… it’s nothing of that kind. I never doubted your word,” Inigo said, accepting the drink from Bedwin’s hand and taking a large swallow. “Though, when I’ve said my piece, I fear you may wish to retract your offer. I should not hold it against you.”
Bedwin frowned at him. “I hope this has nothing to do with the disagreement you had with Dr Murphy. I assure you the duchess was beside herself with joy at seeing the old goat put in his place. She’s long held him in dislike, but I must confess I’d not seen quite how odious he was until last night.”
Inigo grimaced. “No, Murphy is a dim-witted old fraud who has no business practising medicine, in my opinion, but that’s neither here nor there.”
The duke’s eyebrows raised just a little, but he said nothing about this rather forthright observation. He gestured for them both to sit, but Inigo shook his head.
“No, thank you,” he said, feeling that he might need to move fast if Bedwin decided to murder him.
Not that Inigo couldn’t hold his own. The times when he would allow others to bully him had long since gone. He’d learnt to fight dirty and hard before he’d left the foundling hospital, but that didn’t mean he liked to, and he certainly didn’t feel he could defend himself if Bedwin wanted his blood. He deserved everything coming to him for taking advantage of Minerva, and he damn well knew it.
“I’ll come to the point,” he said, seeing the curiosity in the duke’s eyes deepen to concern. “I am here to ask your permission to marry Miss Butler.”
Bedwin stared at him.
“Minerva?” he said after a moment. “You wish to marry Minerva?”
Inigo nodded. “I do.”
Bedwin continued to stare at him. “I was unaware that you were on such intimate terms.”
There was an unmistakable edge to his words now which was hardly surprising.
Inigo cleared his throat. “We met last summer. Miss Butler expressed an interest in my work and… and we have been corresponding ever since.”
“I see.”
From the increasing tension in the room, Inigo suspected that he did see, all too clearly.
“So, this desire to marry Miss Butler stems purely from a formal correspondence. How romantic.”
“I… We….” Inigo hesitated but knew there was little point in beating around the bush. “We have been meeting also, when… when possible. I must tell you that I hold Miss Butler in the highest esteem and will do everything in my power to make her happy.”
A muscle was ticking in Bedwin’s jaw, which Inigo did not take as a positive sign.
“How strange,” he mused. “You see, St Clair is a good friend of mine, and from what he said about your previous engagement to his wife, I was given reason to believe that your ideas on love and marriage were not at all what one would choose when considering a match for a romantic young woman like Miss Butler. Lust with a ring on its finger was the most positive statement you had to give, was it not?”
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Inigo swallowed. “My opinions on marriage have been brought into question since meeting Miss Butler.”
Panic rose in his chest. He knew that this man had the power to destroy his future in every way, if he so chose. The faster the tension between them climbed, the more the anxiety inside him built, destroying any chance he had to make a coherent argument. Putting what he felt for Minerva into words was something he would never achieve. It had been hard enough to admit it to himself, but here, now, with Bedwin staring daggers at him… impossible. He put his empty glass down and took a deep breath.
“She must marry me,” he said, desperation forcing him to rely on the one argument he hoped might prevail, even if it earned him a beating. He could hardly protest in the circumstances.
“You bloody bastard!”
The duke lunged forward, grasping Inigo by the cravat and propelling him against the wall with such force that the air was knocked from his lungs.
Inigo stood, staring back at him, praying that the man would let him make things right, no matter how he punished him for his actions.
“I will ask you two questions, before I demand that you name your seconds,” Bedwin growled, tightening his hold on the cravat until Inigo could hardly breathe. “Is she in love with you?”
Inigo let out a breath of laughter, that at least he could answer honestly. “God knows why, for I don’t have the slightest idea, but yes… yes, she loves me.”
Bedwin tightened his grip on the fabric about Inigo’s neck, and he gasped.
“And you?” the duke demanded. “Do you love her?”
The question made Inigo’s heart crash about in his chest with far more force than any concerns that he might face a beating or a duel, and Inigo tried not to panic. He thought about his life before Minerva had exploded into it, bringing all the chaos and colour and happiness that came in her wake. It had been like living in muted tones before she’d arrived, as though he’d viewed the world through a dirty window. Minerva had stripped all the grime from the skewed picture he’d had of what life could be, and having that vibrancy taken from him was a greater terror than saying the words which made his chest tight with anxiety.
“Yes,” he said, holding Bedwin’s gaze. “And it’s intolerable,” he added, with perhaps more candour than he ought. “I knew how it would be from the start, and I did everything I could to put her off, I swear it. I knew I’d be lost if I let her in, and I am. I can’t be without her. I just… I can’t. I know I’m not worthy of her.” He took a breath, feeling the grip on his neckcloth loosen a fraction. “I know she ought to marry someone better than me. I know she could have won a duke or some grand title for herself, as her mother wants her to, but that’s not what she wants. She’s contrary and foolish, and quite possibly a little bit mad, but she loves me, and I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to make certain she never regrets choosing me.”
Bedwin let out an unsteady breath and released his grip on Inigo.
“Right answer,” he growled. “And if it weren’t for the fact I know just how you feel, I’d still make you pay for what you’ve done.”
Inigo stared back at the duke, hardly daring to hope he’d understood correctly. “Then… then you’ll let us marry?”
“Let you?” Bedwin repeated and then gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I’ve little choice if there’s a chance you’ve impregnated her, you stupid bastard. However, if Minerva echoes everything you’ve told me, no. No, I won’t contest the match, though I may find other ways of making you pay,” he added darkly.
Inigo nodded, knowing this was inevitable. It was not a surprise, and he’d prepared himself for that. He’d just have to work a deal harder and take jobs that held little interest for him but that paid well.
“I assumed you’d no longer want to sponsor my work.”
Bedwin snorted and rolled his eyes, looking dreadfully un-ducal. “And how do you propose to keep a lady like Minerva in the style to which she’s become accustomed if I don’t?”
Inigo felt the colour rise at the back of his neck, and stood a little taller as indignation burned in him. He knew he’d never be able to afford everything Minerva deserved, but he had warned her, and she’d said….
“Oh, don’t look so stricken,” the duke said, a little gentler now. “You’re a brilliant man, Mr de Beauvoir and I should be happy to sponsor you. I find it a fascinating prospect, if you must know, and you must put up with me demanding you explain and show your findings at regular intervals. That, along with attending whatever charitable events I see fit to send you to, and an openness to work in certain projects I have an interest in, will be your penance. I know a man of your talents will find there are many ways of increasing his income. Minerva’s dowry is not inconsiderable, either,” he added.
Inigo scowled and waved that away. “That’s Minerva’s, to do with as she sees fit.”
Bedwin nodded and smiled at him, which was so beyond anything he’d hoped for that he finally allowed himself to breathe easy. It appeared the worst was over.
“Well, then. I suppose we had better send for Minerva and allow her a say in the matter, before we tie this up to our own satisfaction.”
Inigo watched as he rang the bell, the panic rising in his chest once more. He’d not considered that. He’d assumed that once he had arranged things with the duke, that would be that, but no.
“You would allow her to refuse me?” Inigo said, his voice a little unsteady sending a longing glance at the empty glass he’d set down.
Bedwin returned a pitying look and took his empty glass away for a refill. “I would not recommend it, but I would allow it, if she did not feel you could make her happy.”
Inigo considered that in mute horror until the duke handed him his drink. Inigo took a large swallow.
Apparently, the worst was far from over.
The butler who’d shown him in appeared again.
“Jenkins, please ask Miss Butler to join us,” Bedwin told the man, who bowed and left them.
Inigo’s hand searched out and found the little blue box in his pocket and he clutched it in his palm like a talisman. She’d say yes, wouldn’t she? She said she loved him. She wanted to be with him, surely that was enough. He cursed himself as he realised it was far from enough. What if she’d seen sense and come to realise what it would mean to marry him? What if she’d realised it was just a lot of romantic nonsense, just as he’d realised it was nothing of the sort? Oh, God. He felt sick and hot and uncomfortable and he wanted to see her, longed to see her, astonishingly even more than he wanted to turn and flee in the other direction.
The butler reappeared alone and Bedwin gave him a quizzical glance.
“Well?” he asked.
“It appears Miss Butler is not in her room, your grace, and has not been seen since earlier this afternoon.”
Inigo’s heart lurched.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, suddenly anxious. “Where is she?”
Jenkins, or whatever his name is didn’t so much as blink. “We are doing our best to ascertain that information,” he replied, with perfect calm.
It appeared he would say more when there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Bedwin called.
A young woman hurried in and dipped a curtsey. “Begging your pardon, your grace, but we just found this in Miss Butler’s room. It’s addressed to you.”
The girl handed it to the duke, who dismissed her, but Inigo didn’t miss the grim expression on his face as he broke the seal and tore it open.
Inigo waited, beside himself with trepidation, for as long as he could bear it.
“Well?” he demanded, wondering how long a heart could go on beating at the current rate his own was managing before it gave out.
Bedwin cursed, running a hand through his hair before thrusting the letter towards Inigo.
“You’d best read it.”
The duke’s sour tone did not make him feel any better. Inigo was vaguely aware of the duke speaking to the butler and asking the staff to discover when and where Minerva might have gone, but as soon as he saw the familiar curly handwriting his gut clenched with fear and regret, and he could hear nothing but Minerva’s voice as he read.
Dear Robert,
Please forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you. I must point out, however, that it is I alone who have caused the trouble. Prue knew nothing of my plans outside of the fact I was infatuated with Mr de Beauvoir, and poor Inigo—Mr de Beauvoir—did his very best to make me behave myself, but it was no good.
I think perhaps I fell in love with him the very first time we met last summer, at least a little bit, and it’s been growing worse with every week that passes. I love him quite dreadfully, you see, but I’m afraid I behaved very badly and pursued him despite his best efforts to dissuade me. That being the case, I cannot allow you to hold him responsible for what has happened.
A woman called Mrs Tate saw me leaving his house this afternoon and to protect my reputation Inigo introduced me as his fiancée. I know he plans to call on you intending to offer for me, but I shan’t accept. He doesn’t love me, or at least if he does it is unwilling. His work is the most important thing to him, which I quite understand, as he is a brilliant man and it would be cruel and unjust to punish him for something which was not his doing. I won’t trap him into a marriage we would both come to regret, and I won’t see him suffer for my mistakes.
There was a woman on the doorstep whom she recognised. They’d only met once, in Tunbridge Wells, the second time she’d met Inigo. He’d asked Minerva to remind him of an appointment to escape the woman’s company. Minerva now knew that Mrs Tate was notorious and had once been the Earl of St Clair’s mistress. What on earth she was doing here was one thing, but that Mrs Tate had seen her here with Inigo alone would be Minerva’s downfall.
“Mrs Tate,” Inigo’s voice pierced the drumming sound in her ears which she realised must be her heart pounding too hard, too fast. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Have you met my fiancée? Miss Butler, this is Mrs Tate.”
Minerva glanced back at Inigo in shock, but he appeared to be perfectly calm. Mrs Tate looked between them both, delighted curiosity in her eyes.
“We have met,” Mrs Tate agreed, her lips quirking with amusement. “And I was here to issue an invitation. It seems you are to be the toast of London, if the rumours are correct, Inigo, and I am here on behalf of Lord Havisham. He is determined that you should give a lecture for him and his friends, as they could not attend the last one you gave.”
Minerva bristled at the informal manner she spoke to Inigo, though she knew well enough that Mrs Tate had addressed him that way before, and that Inigo did not like the woman. The last time Inigo had refused point blank to give a talk for Lord Havisham, whom he’d clearly held in contempt, and so Minerva waited for him to refuse.
“I would happily agree,” he said, and Minerva turned once more to stare at him, seeing a fierce glint in his eye as he regarded Mrs Tate. “If I can be assured that no one will hear of Miss Butler’s visit here, at least until after we are married.”
Mrs Tate pursed her lips, considering and then laughed.
“Oh, very well. Who am I to stand in the way of a love affair? My lips are sealed.” She handed Inigo the invitation and turned to wink at Minerva. “Good afternoon, Miss Butler,” she said with a knowing smile, before climbing back into her carriage just as Matilda’s drew up behind it.
“Inigo,” she said, so astonished she hardly knew what to say. “Inigo, I’m not asking for this.”
That any choice in the matter had been taken from him made guilt bear down on her. She’d done this, she’d pursued him until this had been the inevitable conclusion, and now he was trapped.
“You don’t have to marry me.”
“Of course I do,” he said, sounding rather impatient. “Don’t speak a word of this to anyone. I’ll call on Bedwin this evening. Now hurry up and get in the carriage before anyone else sees you.”
“But Inigo….” she protested, as he practically bundled her into the carriage.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make it all right.”
Then he closed the door and told the driver to go.
Minerva stared at him out the window, only vaguely aware of Matilda shifting to sit beside her and take her hand.
“Min, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet. What did he mean, he’ll make it right?”
Minerva turned to stare at Matilda, hardly knowing what to say, and burst into tears.
***
25th January 1815. Beverwyck, London.
Inigo’s stomach roiled and he thanked providence that Minerva hadn’t brought a packed basket with lunch today. If she had, he felt certain he’d have cast up his accounts on the gleaming marble floor of Beverwyck’s imposing entrance hall by now. His palms were sweating and clammy, his damn cravat felt like a noose, and there seemed to be ice water dripping down his back. Trust him to find himself captivated by a woman whose nearest relations included a bloody duke.
Captivated.
That was a safe enough word.
It didn’t seem to encompass what he felt, but he’d decided he’d rather not dwell on that. He was feeling overwhelmed enough without studying why it was he felt like he was standing on a cliff’s edge. What would he do if Bedwin refused his permission?
He didn’t have any longer to consider the prospect as the butler reappeared and told him Bedwin would see him now. It was probably just as well, the way his stomach twisted at the prospect of the man’s refusal indicated how devastating that news would be. He assumed, going on the fact Bedwin hadn’t met him at the door, pistols in hand, that Minerva had said nothing, as he’d requested. At least he’d not been kept waiting long and it appeared that Minerva had not heard him arrive, for he’d not seen her. Hardly unexpected in a place the size of Beverwyck. A meteorite could land at the front of the house and Inigo wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if they’d not notice at the back.
He followed the butler through the house, past every trapping of wealth and privilege and the history of Bedwin’s illustrious family. He ignored the paintings of snotty aristocrats who stared down their superior noses at him. It was a reminder of his position that he needed no illustration of. The butler lead him into an impressive library where Bedwin was waiting for him.
“De Beauvoir,” the duke said, welcoming him with more warmth than Inigo could have expected.
The room was floor to ceiling with books, all dark wood and comfortable chairs. In normal circumstances Inigo would have found it warm and inviting.
“This is unexpected. Drink?” Bedwin asked, proffering a decanter of what looked like brandy.
Inigo nodded. He needed something to fortify his nerves that was for certain.
Bedwin turned away to pour the drinks. “If you’re here to check I meant what I said about sponsoring you, you needn’t worry. I’m a man of my word.”
“No, it’s… it’s nothing of that kind. I never doubted your word,” Inigo said, accepting the drink from Bedwin’s hand and taking a large swallow. “Though, when I’ve said my piece, I fear you may wish to retract your offer. I should not hold it against you.”
Bedwin frowned at him. “I hope this has nothing to do with the disagreement you had with Dr Murphy. I assure you the duchess was beside herself with joy at seeing the old goat put in his place. She’s long held him in dislike, but I must confess I’d not seen quite how odious he was until last night.”
Inigo grimaced. “No, Murphy is a dim-witted old fraud who has no business practising medicine, in my opinion, but that’s neither here nor there.”
The duke’s eyebrows raised just a little, but he said nothing about this rather forthright observation. He gestured for them both to sit, but Inigo shook his head.
“No, thank you,” he said, feeling that he might need to move fast if Bedwin decided to murder him.
Not that Inigo couldn’t hold his own. The times when he would allow others to bully him had long since gone. He’d learnt to fight dirty and hard before he’d left the foundling hospital, but that didn’t mean he liked to, and he certainly didn’t feel he could defend himself if Bedwin wanted his blood. He deserved everything coming to him for taking advantage of Minerva, and he damn well knew it.
“I’ll come to the point,” he said, seeing the curiosity in the duke’s eyes deepen to concern. “I am here to ask your permission to marry Miss Butler.”
Bedwin stared at him.
“Minerva?” he said after a moment. “You wish to marry Minerva?”
Inigo nodded. “I do.”
Bedwin continued to stare at him. “I was unaware that you were on such intimate terms.”
There was an unmistakable edge to his words now which was hardly surprising.
Inigo cleared his throat. “We met last summer. Miss Butler expressed an interest in my work and… and we have been corresponding ever since.”
“I see.”
From the increasing tension in the room, Inigo suspected that he did see, all too clearly.
“So, this desire to marry Miss Butler stems purely from a formal correspondence. How romantic.”
“I… We….” Inigo hesitated but knew there was little point in beating around the bush. “We have been meeting also, when… when possible. I must tell you that I hold Miss Butler in the highest esteem and will do everything in my power to make her happy.”
A muscle was ticking in Bedwin’s jaw, which Inigo did not take as a positive sign.
“How strange,” he mused. “You see, St Clair is a good friend of mine, and from what he said about your previous engagement to his wife, I was given reason to believe that your ideas on love and marriage were not at all what one would choose when considering a match for a romantic young woman like Miss Butler. Lust with a ring on its finger was the most positive statement you had to give, was it not?”
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Inigo swallowed. “My opinions on marriage have been brought into question since meeting Miss Butler.”
Panic rose in his chest. He knew that this man had the power to destroy his future in every way, if he so chose. The faster the tension between them climbed, the more the anxiety inside him built, destroying any chance he had to make a coherent argument. Putting what he felt for Minerva into words was something he would never achieve. It had been hard enough to admit it to himself, but here, now, with Bedwin staring daggers at him… impossible. He put his empty glass down and took a deep breath.
“She must marry me,” he said, desperation forcing him to rely on the one argument he hoped might prevail, even if it earned him a beating. He could hardly protest in the circumstances.
“You bloody bastard!”
The duke lunged forward, grasping Inigo by the cravat and propelling him against the wall with such force that the air was knocked from his lungs.
Inigo stood, staring back at him, praying that the man would let him make things right, no matter how he punished him for his actions.
“I will ask you two questions, before I demand that you name your seconds,” Bedwin growled, tightening his hold on the cravat until Inigo could hardly breathe. “Is she in love with you?”
Inigo let out a breath of laughter, that at least he could answer honestly. “God knows why, for I don’t have the slightest idea, but yes… yes, she loves me.”
Bedwin tightened his grip on the fabric about Inigo’s neck, and he gasped.
“And you?” the duke demanded. “Do you love her?”
The question made Inigo’s heart crash about in his chest with far more force than any concerns that he might face a beating or a duel, and Inigo tried not to panic. He thought about his life before Minerva had exploded into it, bringing all the chaos and colour and happiness that came in her wake. It had been like living in muted tones before she’d arrived, as though he’d viewed the world through a dirty window. Minerva had stripped all the grime from the skewed picture he’d had of what life could be, and having that vibrancy taken from him was a greater terror than saying the words which made his chest tight with anxiety.
“Yes,” he said, holding Bedwin’s gaze. “And it’s intolerable,” he added, with perhaps more candour than he ought. “I knew how it would be from the start, and I did everything I could to put her off, I swear it. I knew I’d be lost if I let her in, and I am. I can’t be without her. I just… I can’t. I know I’m not worthy of her.” He took a breath, feeling the grip on his neckcloth loosen a fraction. “I know she ought to marry someone better than me. I know she could have won a duke or some grand title for herself, as her mother wants her to, but that’s not what she wants. She’s contrary and foolish, and quite possibly a little bit mad, but she loves me, and I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to make certain she never regrets choosing me.”
Bedwin let out an unsteady breath and released his grip on Inigo.
“Right answer,” he growled. “And if it weren’t for the fact I know just how you feel, I’d still make you pay for what you’ve done.”
Inigo stared back at the duke, hardly daring to hope he’d understood correctly. “Then… then you’ll let us marry?”
“Let you?” Bedwin repeated and then gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I’ve little choice if there’s a chance you’ve impregnated her, you stupid bastard. However, if Minerva echoes everything you’ve told me, no. No, I won’t contest the match, though I may find other ways of making you pay,” he added darkly.
Inigo nodded, knowing this was inevitable. It was not a surprise, and he’d prepared himself for that. He’d just have to work a deal harder and take jobs that held little interest for him but that paid well.
“I assumed you’d no longer want to sponsor my work.”
Bedwin snorted and rolled his eyes, looking dreadfully un-ducal. “And how do you propose to keep a lady like Minerva in the style to which she’s become accustomed if I don’t?”
Inigo felt the colour rise at the back of his neck, and stood a little taller as indignation burned in him. He knew he’d never be able to afford everything Minerva deserved, but he had warned her, and she’d said….
“Oh, don’t look so stricken,” the duke said, a little gentler now. “You’re a brilliant man, Mr de Beauvoir and I should be happy to sponsor you. I find it a fascinating prospect, if you must know, and you must put up with me demanding you explain and show your findings at regular intervals. That, along with attending whatever charitable events I see fit to send you to, and an openness to work in certain projects I have an interest in, will be your penance. I know a man of your talents will find there are many ways of increasing his income. Minerva’s dowry is not inconsiderable, either,” he added.
Inigo scowled and waved that away. “That’s Minerva’s, to do with as she sees fit.”
Bedwin nodded and smiled at him, which was so beyond anything he’d hoped for that he finally allowed himself to breathe easy. It appeared the worst was over.
“Well, then. I suppose we had better send for Minerva and allow her a say in the matter, before we tie this up to our own satisfaction.”
Inigo watched as he rang the bell, the panic rising in his chest once more. He’d not considered that. He’d assumed that once he had arranged things with the duke, that would be that, but no.
“You would allow her to refuse me?” Inigo said, his voice a little unsteady sending a longing glance at the empty glass he’d set down.
Bedwin returned a pitying look and took his empty glass away for a refill. “I would not recommend it, but I would allow it, if she did not feel you could make her happy.”
Inigo considered that in mute horror until the duke handed him his drink. Inigo took a large swallow.
Apparently, the worst was far from over.
The butler who’d shown him in appeared again.
“Jenkins, please ask Miss Butler to join us,” Bedwin told the man, who bowed and left them.
Inigo’s hand searched out and found the little blue box in his pocket and he clutched it in his palm like a talisman. She’d say yes, wouldn’t she? She said she loved him. She wanted to be with him, surely that was enough. He cursed himself as he realised it was far from enough. What if she’d seen sense and come to realise what it would mean to marry him? What if she’d realised it was just a lot of romantic nonsense, just as he’d realised it was nothing of the sort? Oh, God. He felt sick and hot and uncomfortable and he wanted to see her, longed to see her, astonishingly even more than he wanted to turn and flee in the other direction.
The butler reappeared alone and Bedwin gave him a quizzical glance.
“Well?” he asked.
“It appears Miss Butler is not in her room, your grace, and has not been seen since earlier this afternoon.”
Inigo’s heart lurched.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, suddenly anxious. “Where is she?”
Jenkins, or whatever his name is didn’t so much as blink. “We are doing our best to ascertain that information,” he replied, with perfect calm.
It appeared he would say more when there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Bedwin called.
A young woman hurried in and dipped a curtsey. “Begging your pardon, your grace, but we just found this in Miss Butler’s room. It’s addressed to you.”
The girl handed it to the duke, who dismissed her, but Inigo didn’t miss the grim expression on his face as he broke the seal and tore it open.
Inigo waited, beside himself with trepidation, for as long as he could bear it.
“Well?” he demanded, wondering how long a heart could go on beating at the current rate his own was managing before it gave out.
Bedwin cursed, running a hand through his hair before thrusting the letter towards Inigo.
“You’d best read it.”
The duke’s sour tone did not make him feel any better. Inigo was vaguely aware of the duke speaking to the butler and asking the staff to discover when and where Minerva might have gone, but as soon as he saw the familiar curly handwriting his gut clenched with fear and regret, and he could hear nothing but Minerva’s voice as he read.
Dear Robert,
Please forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you. I must point out, however, that it is I alone who have caused the trouble. Prue knew nothing of my plans outside of the fact I was infatuated with Mr de Beauvoir, and poor Inigo—Mr de Beauvoir—did his very best to make me behave myself, but it was no good.
I think perhaps I fell in love with him the very first time we met last summer, at least a little bit, and it’s been growing worse with every week that passes. I love him quite dreadfully, you see, but I’m afraid I behaved very badly and pursued him despite his best efforts to dissuade me. That being the case, I cannot allow you to hold him responsible for what has happened.
A woman called Mrs Tate saw me leaving his house this afternoon and to protect my reputation Inigo introduced me as his fiancée. I know he plans to call on you intending to offer for me, but I shan’t accept. He doesn’t love me, or at least if he does it is unwilling. His work is the most important thing to him, which I quite understand, as he is a brilliant man and it would be cruel and unjust to punish him for something which was not his doing. I won’t trap him into a marriage we would both come to regret, and I won’t see him suffer for my mistakes.
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