“You were saying?” she said, pleased with herself.

  Inigo sighed, defeated. “Fine. I squeal like a girl.”

  “I agree. Now, what are you fretting about?”

  He stared up at her and for a moment she was lost in the astonishing depth of his eyes, the green that was almost emerald, flecked with lighter shades against the dark grey of a stormy sky.

  “I’m worried I won’t be able to work anymore,” he confessed, his dark brows knitted with concern. “I must work, Minerva. I have a beautiful wife to support,” he added, smiling at her, though she could tell he wasn’t joking.

  “Why on earth wouldn’t you be able to?” she asked, perplexed. “You love your work. It’s what you live for.”

  He shook his head. “It was what I loved, what I lived for, but now… now it’s you.” He reached up and slid a hand into her hair, making more of a mess of the simple hairstyle she’d managed. “I can’t… how can I work when you are here, when… when I want…?” He didn’t finish the sentence but pulled her down to him, kissing her hard and rolling her onto her back. His hand slid up her thigh, tugging her skirts up until he found the soft curls and the little pearl of flesh hidden within.

  It was some considerable time later before Minerva could remember what it was they’d been talking about.

  “Come along,” she said, once she’d rearranged her clothes and done her hair again. She took Inigo’s hand and led him down to his laboratory.

  “Can you show me that experiment you did, please, the one where you discovered something new?”

  “You want to see it?” Inigo said, looking a little doubtful.

  “Of course I want to see it!” Minerva exclaimed, rolling her eyes at him. “You’ve discovered something no one else in the world knows about. I want to see it.”

  “All right, then,” he said, looking pleased at her interest.

  Minerva watched as Inigo set about making his preparations, and then held the sample of the chemical over heat.

  “This is zinc carbonate,” he said. “Zinc carbonate is a powdery solid, almost white, as you can see. When it is heated to a high temperature, it turns yellow and starts to decompose and carbon dioxide gas is evolved, which forms a white precipitate in limewater. The yellow solid left behind is hot zinc oxide. As the hot zinc oxide cools, it turns white again.”

  “Fascinating,” Minerva said, nodding at him.

  “Now, look,” he said, and Minerva watched as the sample turned a bright yellow, almost orange. “This time the colour is intense and will remain even when it cools. That ought to suggest the presence of iron or lead, but there is none. There is, however, a peculiar metallic oxide, and that is something new.”

  Minerva smiled and watched as Inigo sat down and started making notes. He reached for a tattered book and thumbed through it, paging past a mystifying series of calculations and odd symbols and then began writing again. Smiling, Minerva tiptoed out of the room and fetched a book, then settled herself down in a corner of the laboratory to read.

  She got up an hour later to fetch a cup of tea, and put one down beside Inigo with a plate of biscuits. Two hours after that she went back to talk to the new housekeeper, who was a marvellous woman in her late forties. Minerva was certain her waistline would suffer, as the woman had already plied her with more shortbread biscuits than one young lady ought to consume in a single sitting.

  She returned to Inigo with another cup of tea and a slice of pie, removing the empty plate the biscuits had been on. He was still working, oblivious to the fact his lunch had arrived, though she suspected he’d find it when he looked up. This done, she had a look about the house with the housekeeper, discussing the changes she wanted to make, and which room ought to be tackled first, which passed an enjoyable couple of hours.

  Now however, dinner was ready.

  She had instructed the housekeeper to set it out in the dining room, a room she doubted Inigo had ever set foot in once he’d stuck a table and two mismatched chairs in there. Still, she’d made it look as nice as possible with the china Bedwin and Prue had given them as part of their wedding present. With pretty napkins and the cheery fire in the grate, and two elegant candelabras casting a lovely golden light, it looked warm and inviting. When everything was done, she returned to Inigo, sliding her arms about his waist and hugging him from behind. He looked up, appearing rather like someone waking from a dream. His smile was immediate and warm, and he turned on the high stool, opening his legs for her to come closer.

  She moved into the space he made, laying her head upon his shoulder.

  “I missed you,” he murmured into her hair.

  “Liar,” she said, laughing. “You had no idea I was there.”

  His expression grew serious at once. “I did. I promise you I did. Every time I looked up you were there, or there was a cup of tea, a plate of biscuits, something that showed you’d thought of me. It….” He stared at her, shaking his head and letting out a breath of laughter. “It’s so wonderful to have you here, I can’t tell you. It’s marvellous. You’re marvellous.”

  Minerva beamed at him, hugging him tightly.

  “Perhaps you’d like to help me sometimes, with the experiments?”

  She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Could I?” she exclaimed, astonished he should offer such a thing to her.

  “Well, only if you want to, but you seemed to be interested and you wanted me to explain that paper by Humphry Davy, but really, it would be much easier to show you.”

  “Oh!” Minerva exclaimed, pulling his head down for a kiss. “Oh, you are the most marvellous man.”

  He chuckled, obviously pleased by her enthusiasm. “We could ask Harriet to come too sometimes, if you wanted. Perhaps you could help her with the book she wants to write? I’m sure there are lots of things you would find interesting once you’ve learned some of the basic skills.”

  Minerva stared at him, blinking hard, rather overcome.

  “What?” he demanded. “Surely you didn’t think I’d marry such a marvellous woman and relegate her to keeping house and having babies? I mean, not that it’s a problem, if that’s what you’d like to do, but—”

  He didn’t get to say anything further because Minerva kissed him again, and then again, and then some more. She was quite certain she would enjoy decorating the house, and the idea of babies made something warm and wonderful bloom inside her, but there was plenty of time for everything. For the moment, she wanted to enjoy her husband, and their new life and all the things they would teach each other, and that was more than she had ever dreamed of.

  Dinner was dreadfully late.

  Girls who dare– Inside every wallflower is the beating heart of a lioness, a passionate individual willing to risk all for their dream, if only they can find the courage to begin. When these overlooked girls make a pact to change their lives, anything can happen.

  Eleven girls – Eleven dares in a hat. Twelve passionate stories. Who will dare to risk it all?

  Next in the series

  To Bed the Baron

  Girls Who Dare, Book 9

  One desperate young woman...

  Jemima Fernside is the epitome of a well-behaved lady, bred to marry a gentleman and play the part of the perfect wife. Until she finds herself alone in the world without a penny to her name. With few options available to her, Jemima has little choice but to accept a scandalous proposal to become the paid companion to a man she’s never even met.

  One desperately lonely man…

  Solomon ‘Solo’ Weston, the Baron Rothborn, is sick of society, and people in general who leave him irritable and impatient. As Lieutenant Colonel of the 15th King’s Dragoons, he was invalided out of the army after a bullet left him lame. Haunted by guilt, by dead comrades and a lost love, he is becoming ever more reclusive, finding escape through his beloved books.

  And a passion neither of them expected to find…

  When driven to seek comfort from his bleak existence, Solo believes he has little to offer but financial security in return for a lady’s virtue.

  But Jemima is not the kind of woman who will leave sleeping ghosts lie, and soon the past and the future don’t look at all like Solo expected them to.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek!

  Chapter 1

  Dearest Bonnie,

  I am in such a lather I cannot tell you. Minerva came home today in such a flurry and I am worried out of my wits. She was seen at Mr de Beauvoir’s house by Mrs Tate. Of all women! She swears that de Beauvoir has silenced her for now, and praise be he has told her he will see my brother tonight to ask for her hand in marriage. The problem is she does not seem pleased about it. She won’t talk to me and there is nothing I can do. I cannot beg Robert to accept the proposal until after it happens, for she has sworn me to secrecy, and I must go to a stupid musicale this evening and you know how I detest keeping still for any length of time. I shall spend the entire evening sat upon thorns in a misery of anxiety. I only pray there will be a happy resolution by the time I get home.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Helena Adolphus to Mrs Bonnie Cadogan.

  25th January 1815. Briar Cottage, Mitcham Village, Sussex.

  The cottage was everything Jemima had dreamed of and far more spacious than she had been expecting. When first she’d seen it the roof had been in shocking disrepair, the whitewashed walls flaking and the woodwork in a sorry state. Early this morning she had left Matilda’s comfortable town house full of apprehension, but now her heart swelled at the sight of her pretty new home. It had been years since she’d lived in anything but sparsely furnished rented rooms. Of late, those rooms had been damp and dingy and so cold in the winter, it was a wonder her poor aunt hadn’t succumbed sooner than she had. In comparison, this was a dream come true. The thick new thatch settled heavily like a cosy hat upon half-timbered walls of brick and freshly painted lime mortar. The tangle of weeds and briar that had been the garden had been brought back into meticulous order and the neatly pruned limbs of rose bushes were clearly visible, stark and vulnerable on such a freezing afternoon. Box hedges bordered the front, meeting at the garden gate and cut with military precision, the handkerchief of lawn on each side of the path perfectly trimmed.

  “He’s made a fine job of it,” Mrs Attwood remarked with approval.

  Jemima turned to regard her companion. She still didn’t know quite what to make of Mrs Attwood. Originally from Yorkshire, she was a woman in her early fifties with a good figure. She was elegantly dressed in a dark pink velvet carriage dress with ebony buttons and matching bonnet with stylish black and pink ribbons. It was a remarkably frivolous outfit for a woman Jemima thought rather intimidating. Her hair, which must have once been a rich mahogany was shot through with white, but was still thick and lustrous. A handsome woman rather than beautiful, her dark eyes missed nothing and a she had a brisk no nonsense manner which was dauting to one who’d been brought up by her timid maiden aunt. Though Jemima could not complain that Mrs Attwood had been anything but respectful to her, she was plain spoken and had put Jemima to the blush several times already. This was the first time she’d ever directly referred to the fact that Lord Rothborn was paying Jemima for her company, however, that he was responsible for her new home, all the work that had been done to it and the entirety of the contents; not to mention every stitch Jemima was wearing. Though all work had been overseen by Jemima’s man of business—Mr Briggs, apparently using the legacy she’d been left by her aunt—Mrs Attwood knew the truth. Jemima’s aunt had died without a penny to her name, and Jemima had been desperate enough to accept the baron’s scandalous proposal.

  Mrs Attwood had been employed by Baron Rothborn as Jemima’s companion, there to lend her respectability, when both he and this lady knew she was anything but respectable. Not anymore.

  “Yes,” Jemima agreed, a little of the pleasure she felt dimming as she remembered how she would pay for the privilege of living in this lovely home. “A very fine job.”

  “Well, let us get inside and out of this wind, I’m fair nithered and in dire need of a cup of tea. Bessie, leave that,” she said, waving a hand at their maid of all works who was struggling to hoist an overstuffed carpet bag. “The men will bring the bags in. Go and get the kettle unpacked and make us a brew.”

  The girl, originally employed by the baron at the Priory, cast wide, anxious eyes at Mrs Attwood and scurried away to the back of the house to where the men were carrying the luggage. Jemima gave herself a shake, reminding herself she was the lady of the house, and that she ought to stir herself into getting things done.

  “Come along then,” she said, striving to sound calm and in control as she took Mrs Attwood’s arm and walked up the neat paved path to the front door. Happily the cottage had no near neighbours, being a good five minute walk from the village proper. However she didn’t doubt that curtains had been twitching as her carriage had come through and it was only a matter of time before the first of the villagers descended upon her. She needed to be ready for them.

  Not only for them.

  That made her heart skip about which was most unsettling, and Jemima concentrated on retrieving the heavy door key from her reticule. They stepped through the shiny black painted front door into a narrow tiled hallway which led directly to the garden at the back of the house. On either side of the hallway was a good sized room. A formal receiving room on the right and a comfortable parlour on the left. Beyond them was to be found the dining room and staircase, and then the kitchen and scullery. There were four bedrooms and two small garret rooms. Jemima went first to the sitting room, finding it impossible to hide her eagerness.

  “Oh!” Despite the circumstances she could not hold back her delight when she saw the transformation inside. Though she had chosen all the furniture herself and had dreamed of how it all might look, to see it before her gave her a little thrill of pleasure.

  A fire blazed merrily in the large fireplace and the room was blessedly warm after the chill wind outside. The walls were freshly painted white, the oak floorboards scrubbed and the dreadfully extravagant rug she’d bought was thick and luxurious beneath her kid half-boots. One thing she had to say for the baron, he was no nipcheese. He had encouraged her to furnish her new home with every comfort, insisting that she buy quality and never balking at the bills. As she looked around, she noticed items that she had not bought however, small items of décor that she had thought too frivolous to spend the man’s money on. These included a pair of elegant china candleholders on the mantelpiece and two porcelain figurines. A lump rose to her throat as she also noticed several lovely framed watercolours and that the recessed arches on either side of the fireplace had been fitted with shelves and filled with books. Jemima moved closer, finding the titles blur as she discovered a wonderful selection of novels and romantic poetry. Good heavens. How thoughtful he was. A rush of warmth surged through her and she scolded herself for it. That way lay danger.

  Jemima knew her own weaknesses, knew she had a heart only too susceptible to romance, too easily led into tender feelings. As a girl she had often lost herself in romantic poetry or tales of heroes who rescued their lady loves from wicked villains. Too long she had dreamed of her own knight in shining armour, of the one, who would fall instantly in love with her and carry her away from all her troubles. Reality had crushed her dreams and brought her back to earth with such a painful jolt that she could not allow herself to indulge in such fancies again. The baron had made his position very clear. He could not offer her that. He wanted an intelligent companion to alleviate his solitude, and a woman to… to … A blush swept over her and Jemima stood closer to the fire, hoping Mrs Attwood would attribute her heightened colour to her proximity to the flames.

  “Well, this is splendid,” the woman said, with obvious approval. Jemima turned to find her companion stripping off her gloves and untying the ribbons on her bonnet. She put the gloves in the bonnet and set them down on an elegant chair upholstered in cream damask silk. “You have excellent taste Miss Fernside, though I could tell that the first time I looked upon you. I think we shall be very comfortable here. Such a perfect location too. Private enough not to be overlooked by the gossips and yet so convenient for the village.”

  Jemima’s scalding cheeks burned hotter and the lady tsked, shaking her head. She moved forward, taking Jemima’s hands in her own. It was such an intimate, friendly gesture from a woman she barely knew that Jemima was too startled to react.

  “Why don’t we call a spade a spade, my dear. You’ll be more comfortable with me if you do. You are to be the baron’s mistress. There’s no getting away from it.”

  Jemima gasped and moved to tug her hands free, shocked by this forthright manner of speech. Mrs Attwood held on tight.

  “No,” she said, her dark eyes intent. “You’ll hear me. There’s no shame in surviving, Miss Fernside. We all do what we must and those who would condemn us can go to the devil if you ask me. Better a good man’s mistress than to serve an army on your back. You chose right and you’ll find no condemnation from me, nor that little maid neither. She talks of yon baron like he’s God almighty and he’s told her to keep mum. You’re safe here, with us, and I’ll not have you come home by way of the weeping cross once you’ve done what you must and there’s no turning back. You’ve made your bed, so you may as well enjoy the comforts of the mattress. At least he’s a handsome devil so it ought be no hardship.”

  Jemima stared at her, robbed of speech for a long moment. Then she drew in an unsteady breath and let it out again in something resembling a breath of laughter. She gave a slight nod, the most she could manage, and the hands that held hers tightened for a moment and Mrs Attwood gave her a warm, approving smile.

  “That’s the way lass. Now, let’s have a look at the rest of the place, shall we?”

  ***

 

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