Never Fall for Your Fiancee, page 17
“Oh, she will!” The older woman patted her arm. “All her awkwardness will pass soon enough, then she will blossom like you and Diana. Even the most beautiful butterflies start as caterpillars first. It is character building. I daresay you were a caterpillar not so long ago yourself, Minerva. What were you like at the tender age of seventeen?”
“Very awkward and not the least bit even-tempered. I believe I did my fair share of chafing against my parents, too.” At seventeen, she and her useless father had had some blazing rows. And eighteen and nineteen, for that matter—until he abandoned her. “Girls, in particular, are more belligerent at that age, I think.”
“Oh, my son was belligerent at that age, too! Belligerent and stubborn. He is still as stubborn as an ox, only nowadays he does it with a rakish smile rather than a sulky snarl. He was also a sorry-looking specimen. His features were too large for his face. He was a painfully gangly thing with rounded shoulders, big feet, and even bigger hands. For the longest time I feared he would never fill out enough for those excessive appendages to be in proportion.”
Minerva cast a glance at the man in question a few yards ahead of her. There was nothing rounded about his broad shoulders now, and while there was no denying his hands were big as they had easily held her entire bottom, he was perfectly in proportion. If anything, he was too perfectly proportioned.
“He is a handsome devil, isn’t he?” His mother had caught her looking and was smiling knowingly. “Too handsome by far.”
“He is.” Although, to his credit, he really didn’t display any of the narcissistic tendencies that plagued other perfect specimens. “It is hardly a surprise he has been so popular with the ladies.” But it was his relationship with his father that intrigued her more. And perhaps Mrs. Peters? Although much as Minerva wanted to ask about the woman who had left Hugh monosyllabic, shaken, and angry, she wasn’t sure a past sweetheart was something she should ask his mother about.
“But he has clearly met his match.” Olivia scrutinized her again. “Between the pair of you, I should have the best-looking grandchildren in the entire county.” Minerva managed a smile despite suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the abrupt change in topic. “And doubtless all will tower over me, too.… Do you plan to start a family straight after the wedding?”
“Er … um…” Allowing herself to consider the statement, even superficially for the benefit of formulating a reply, instantly reminded her that to make any children with Hugh would require a greater level of intimacy than she had engaged in already. A level of intimacy her needy body had been scandalously only too willing to accept then, and still hankered after now.
“Why do I suddenly feel my ears burning?” Hugh couldn’t have heard his mother’s question, but he had turned around at precisely the same moment as Minerva’s cheeks exploded crimson—he must have somehow sensed it.
“I was asking your fiancée if you planned to start a family immediately after the wedding? If the pair of you get cracking straightaway, I could have a grandchild by Michaelmas.”
“Olivia!” Next to Hugh, Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “That is none of your business, woman!”
“Whyever not? Hugh is my only child, and therefore my only chance at grandchildren. I am not getting any younger and should like to enjoy them before my dotage. Minerva will soon be his wife, so it stands to reason she will have a say in the matter, too.” She looked toward her son expectantly, not the least bit contrite. “Minerva only has so many childbearing years left and it’s long past time Hugh did his duty.”
“Have you not seen my ravishing fiancée?” His gaze suddenly locked with Minerva’s, as the flirty Hugh decided to make an unexpected reappearance. Those twinkling blue eyes raked the length of her slowly. Possessively even. She could feel the heat of his gaze through all the thick layers of winter clothing to her sensitive, wanton bare skin, which still craved his touch. “For I would hardly call it a duty, Mother.”
“There is no need to be crude, Hugh. You’re embarrassing Minerva.”
“You brought the subject up.”
“In a proper manner. You decided to make it improper.”
“That’s because I am improper and always have been.”
“You are both embarrassing Minerva!” Jeremiah came to her rescue, offering his arm and pinning them both with his glare. “Walk with me, my dear, and save yourself. Then I can list all the reasons why only a fool would want to marry into this family.” Then he set off at a brisk pace, putting some welcome distance between the pair of them.
“I’m very sorry.… She means well.… She just cannot stop herself from interfering. And Hugh is reliably Hugh and loves to vex her when she does.” He patted her hand. “You will get used to it.”
“It is lovely she cares.” Minerva doubted her father gave two figs about her life. “I know Hugh loves his mother, too. It’s funny—we were just discussing parental relationships with children and how fractious they can be.”
“Then they gave you a proper display of it to prove the point. They’re always the same. Always butting heads and trying to outdo one another in who can be the more outrageous. I am trying to run interference—but Olivia is not easily swayed. Inexcusable grandchild questions aside, I hope she hasn’t been too ferocious on her quest to discover all there is to know about you. She’s been desperate to meet you for nearly two years.”
“If Hugh had done a better job of informing his mother about my family and me, and not thwarting your previous attempts at visiting, then she wouldn’t have so many questions.”
“There is that.” Jeremiah tossed a glance over his shoulder to where Hugh and his mother were now bickering several yards away. “Can I entrust you with a secret, Minerva?”
“Of course.”
“Between you and me, my wife has been convinced for several months he’d been making you up entirely.” He said it with a chuckle, but it confirmed her suspicions. Olivia had her son’s measure, and Minerva would have to be careful. “Because it is such a convoluted tale…”
“They do say the truth is always stranger than fiction.” She hoped her own smile appeared natural and not as tight as it felt. “And let’s not forget, Hugh can embellish a story better than Aesop, with scant regard to the truth.”
“That he can. He has a way with words.”
“And uses them selfishly to distract everyone from whatever he wants to distract them from.”
“Indeed, he does.” Jeremiah looked back at his stepson affectionately, who was now pointing to something while his mother smiled. “But not always selfishly. He’s always had a talent for using the right words to pour oil on troubled waters. A second ago they were arguing—but now his mother is laughing. Another potentially awkward moment already ironed over. He always hated confrontation, even as a boy, and went to ridiculous lengths to avoid being the cause of it.”
“Did you know Hugh as a child?”
“Since about the age of ten. His father and I were friends. Good friends. He befriended me at a time when Englishmen hated Americans and vice versa, and we remained friends forever after.”
“How?”
“Diplomacy, my dear. After the War of Independence and before the War of 1812, relations between our countries were hostile. For my sins, I was sent here as part of the United States Legation to London when tensions still ran high. It was a difficult time. Hugh was one of the peers assigned to the Foreign Office and he held out an olive branch.”
“Hugh? Worked for the Foreign Office? When?”
“Not your Hugh. His father. Didn’t you know he’s named after his daddy?”
“I didn’t.”
“Now he’s older, sometimes I swear it’s like looking at the old Hugh in a mirror. Peas in a pod, the pair of them.” He smiled, remembering. “Both had a way with words. Both thoroughly charming. Both born diplomats. Both worried too much about others.”
“He never told me…” More pieces of the difficult puzzle that was Hugh slotted into place. She had sensed those qualities, knew they drew her, but had no proof. “Not any of it.”
Jeremiah nodded, then sighed. “I’m not surprised. He doesn’t like to talk about his father any more than he likes to talk about himself. I think it’s still too raw.” That certainly explained his reluctance to talk about him when she had asked.
“It’s hard to lose a parent.”
“Yes … of course.” Jeremiah’s expression was suddenly filled with sympathy. “You recently lost your own father. My sincerest commiserations. I should have said that before.”
“We were not close in the way Hugh was with his father.” Something about Jeremiah made her spill the truth without thinking. “The sad truth is, he was a selfish man who always put himself first and never really cared about the feelings of others.”
She caught him studying her with interest and realized she was in grave danger of deviating from the original plan, because she was discussing her real father. “His solitary walk in the Cairngorms is a perfect example of his selfishness. His Scottish relations begged him not to go out, but he thought he knew best and lived to rue the day.” A thoroughly stupid thing to say. “Or didn’t … as it turned out.” In case the flagrant lie was apparent in her eyes, she looked down at her feet. “It really is a convoluted story, isn’t it? Consumption and the Cairngorms. No wonder Olivia had her doubts about it?”
His deep chuckle rumbled, and she looked up to see him nodding in agreement. “She came here determined to catch Hugh out—and caught your entire family instead. Her face was a picture, I can tell you.”
“I’ll wager it was. Perhaps almost as stunned as Hugh’s was to find her in the drawing room a good two weeks before she had told him she would arrive. I suppose she took that earlier ship on purpose.”
“Already you know my wife so well. I believe the pair of you will get on famously. Once she’s ascertained you are worthy, of course.” He winked, and Minerva was suddenly uncomfortable. Because she wasn’t worthy. She was lying to two lovely people for money.
They rounded a copse of trees, and she saw a cluster of thatched roofs in the distance, their matching chimney pots puffing out cheerful smoke. In case her crushing guilt leaked and made Jeremiah suspicious, too, Minerva decided to change the subject. “Another village? I didn’t realize.”
“Not a village at all. It’s much too small. That’s Hugh’s Hamlet. Or at least that’s what the locals have taken to calling it.”
“Hugh’s Hamlet?”
“Your fiancé’s revolutionary solution to the aging or widowed tenants on the estate?” At her genuinely baffled expression, he shook his head. “Most landlords kick those who can no longer work off their land. The good ones pay them a small pension to ensure they can afford to live somewhere else. Hugh decided to build them their own little cottages so they can stay here till the end of their days rent-free alongside their pensions.”
“What a lovely thing to do.” Something odd happened beneath Minerva’s ribs. A little thud, like a bolt sliding into place, then her heart seemed to grow and swell. Hugh really was a nice man. Perhaps one of the nicest.
“I’m guessing by that stunned look, he never mentioned it?”
“Of course he didn’t. And I sincerely doubt he’d have taken any credit for it if I had asked him, so thank you for enlightening me.” The more she learned about her fake fiancé, the more she liked him—when already there was so much she liked. A dangerous state of affairs when they had no future.
“He wanted to reward them for their years of loyalty. Like his father, Hugh is also an unfashionably liberal man. And just like his daddy, he doesn’t brag about it either. If anything, he’s cagier about his philanthropic work than his day-to-day work and that’s saying something when the whole of London thinks all he does is enjoy himself.”
“I knew he is diligent with estate matters … but I had no idea he was philanthropic.”
“Then, my dear, it would be my pleasure to enlighten you. Just don’t tell Hugh I let slip his dirty little secret. He’d never forgive me for telling you the shocking truth.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Do any of you play the pianoforte?” His mother directed the question to all three sisters, pointing to the instrument in the corner of the drawing room, and Hugh kicked himself for not knowing the answer. Music was one of the accomplishments considered acceptable for all gently bred young ladies. Now that their second dinner was done, and they were moving past the getting-to-know-you stage and moving to the what-shall-we-do-to-while-away-the-next-hour stage, it was inevitable his mother would want to hear someone play.
“Sadly no.” It was Diana who responded. “None of us have ever shown any talent with an instrument. But Minerva is an exceptionally gifted artist and Vee excels at sewing and embroidery. I dabble in writing short stories, my lady. I did try poetry for a while, but my efforts were a little too dark for the medium and they gave Vee nightmares. We all enjoy reading, although our tastes are vastly different.”
“What sort of books do you prefer, Miss Diana?”
“Being a terminal cynic, with a curious penchant for the macabre, I tend to favor a good gothic novel. The more horrible, the better. I recently read a very disturbing book called Frankenstein. It is about a mad doctor who makes a monster out of bits and pieces of the many bodies he has robbed from graves, then brings it to life. Have you read it?”
“I cannot say that I have.” His mother pulled a face. “And I must say, Diana, you are not really convincing me to read it either.” She shuddered. “Monsters and stolen body parts do not appeal to me.”
“Me either.” It had taken a week, but now apparently even Vee had finally found her voice. “I prefer the classics. Milton, Shakespeare, Homer, Chaucer … I adore The Canterbury Tales and the Iliad. I am currently reading Paradise Lost. It is fascinating to think a man from so long ago could be so insightful.”
Diana rolled her eyes at those choices. “Vee is the bluestocking of the family. She likes her literature old and crusty. The older and crustier, the better.”
Vee surprised Hugh by taking this criticism well. “Diana is simply jealous I understand the intricacies of those texts and she doesn’t. It must be galling to have a younger sibling with superior intelligence.”
“What do you like to read, Minerva?” Jeremiah was pouring glasses of sherry on the sideboard.
“Minerva loves romance.” Diana clasped her hands to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes disparagingly. “Sickly Byron poems, damsels in distress. Knights in shining armor.”
Hugh’s gaze flicked to Minerva’s just as hers flicked to his, before she turned away to sip from her sherry glass, pretending she wasn’t blushing a little. It was obvious they were both thinking the same thing. She had referred to him as her knight more than once, and the main reason she was here was because she had been a damsel in distress. “Although she is less of a hopeless romantic nowadays, ever since her despicable first love cruelly broke her heart.”
Beneath his fingers, Hugh felt the fragile stem of his port glass snap. “First love?” It was obvious from all three sisters’ faces, Diana had inadvertently let something slip she shouldn’t have.
“More sweetheart than love, truth be told. For a little while they made eyes at one another across the pews at church.” She waved it away with impressive nonchalance. “But we do like to tease her about it. As sisters do.”
His mother was having none of it. “How did the scoundrel break your heart, dear?”
“He didn’t break it.” Minerva, too, was doing a good job of brushing it away. “It was my first foray into flirting. We exchanged a few meaningful looks over the course of several months—but he left Chipping Norton before they could develop into anything more. Which is just as well.” Her gaze sought his once again, and he could tell she desperately wanted him to change the subject. “Else I never would have fallen for Hugh.”
“A knight in shining armor always trumps a few stolen glances.” His mother squeezed his fake fiancée’s hand. “Especially when you have a lifetime of stolen glances ahead of you.”
He should change the subject.
“What was his name?” Jealousy had apparently taken over his vocal cords.
“I don’t recall.…” Minerva was lying. “It was a long time ago. I was what? Eighteen? Nineteen? It really was nothing. In fact, I barely remember the fellow’s face.” More lies. She both recalled it and regretted the loss of it. The faceless fellow had meant something, had hurt her, and Hugh hated him regardless.
“Good grief…” His mother had a look of awe and wonder on her face as she pointed to him. “Look at his expression! Hugh’s jealous!”
“Merely curious, I assure you.”
“Does curiosity pinch the features quite so much, Hugh? Or make you grind your teeth and glare? I think not.” She nudged Minerva. “I’ve never seen my son jealous of anything before. It is quite the sight to behold.”
He was going to strangle his mother, just as soon as he could stop his teeth from grinding.
“It’s very romantic, isn’t it? And also very funny.” She pinned him with an innocent stare he knew from experience was merely a precursor to a good skewering. “Hugh, darling—seeing as Minerva has come to terms with your shocking reputation, you can hardly be jealous of a few stolen glances on her part. Even the most sensible ladies are not immune to having their heads turned and she is a very beautiful woman.” Something he was only too painfully aware of. “Therefore, it stands to reason many, many men would have previously tried to stand in your privileged shoes.”
What was he supposed to say to that? “Their loss is my gain.”
“Indeed it is, my darling. And that is what you should focus on. Try not to allow Minerva’s past loves to consume you. And whilst a little jealousy flatters a lady’s ego, too much is unbecoming.”
