Minerva stretched contentedly before burrowing back under the covers to block out the early morning light. She had practically floated to bed after spending more than an hour dancing with Hugh in the portrait gallery. Then she had slept like a baby, dreaming sweet dreams of handsome knights in shining armor, candlelit ballrooms, and waltzing like the most graceful of princesses. And this morning, she would dance with him again before breakfast, something that already had her bubbling with excitement.
She couldn’t believe that she, the tone-deaf and clumsy Merriwell, could dance so well and so effortlessly. But it was true. She had seen her reflection on the windows as he spun her past the enormous gilt mirror at the farthest end of the room. It had been a magical ending that wiped away all the stresses of the day and had left her feeling buoyed and hopeful rather than fearful and out of her depth.
Hugh had done that.
The only disappointing thing had been the lack of kiss at the end, when he had insisted on escorting her all the way to the door of her bedchamber and lingered over saying goodbye.
Which was probably just as well. Just the dancing had seduced her thoroughly enough. A kiss would have sent her over the edge. Especially one of Hugh’s kisses. Because his made her whole body feel wanton. Wickedly ripe for the picking …
The tap on the door had her jumping guiltily and checking her shameless nipples to see if they were poking scandalously through her nightgown. Just in case they damned her, she pulled the covers to her chin. “Come in, Martha. I am awake.” Her assigned maid knew she was an early bird.
“It’s me, miss—Payne.” The butler’s voice was barely a whisper. “Could I have a word?” That didn’t bode well.
“Of course. Give me a second.” Hastily, she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her robe and gathered it closed before opening the door. Instead of looking pained as she expected, Payne was grinning.
“I have a message from His Lordship regarding this morning, Miss Minerva. A slight change of plan. He asks that you meet him at the stable in half an hour.”
“The stable?” Despondency quickly followed her curiosity. Giles must have returned! There would be no more dancing this morning. No more flirting or twirling or laughing together. “Whatever for?”
“I have no idea, miss. All I know is I have been tasked with rousing you and informing you to dress up warm.” The long carriage ride back to Clerkenwell … Instantly, she felt sick at the prospect. “And to tell you to hide if you happened to collide with anyone. That is most important. Your presence is apparently imperative and cannot be delayed.”
As painful as that was to hear, it made sense. After all the potentially damning mistakes these past few days, prudence dictated she needed to elope as soon as was feasibly possible before their flimsy house of cards really did collapse. If nobody saw her before breakfast, once she was gone, it would be easy to claim she had stolen away in the middle of the night.
Tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye—but then again, would she ever be? Despite all her resolute intentions, Hugh had sneaked past her defenses and stolen part of her jaded and unhopeful heart regardless. Perhaps more than just a part of it, if the pain was this intense?
“Tell him I will be there as soon as I am dressed, Payne.” Her throat had constricted, the sadness in her voice too obvious to properly disguise.
“Very good, Miss Minerva. Martha is on her way with some fortifying tea.”
This was it.
The end.
Probably just as well.
If it hurt this much now, how much would it hurt next week or the week after?
With leaden feet, she went to the wardrobe and began to rifle through her new clothes to find something suitable to elope in. Dress warm, he had said. Although Payne hadn’t told her to pack. Should she?
Her eyes fell to the tatty old bag she had brought with her, pathetically empty on the shelf. She would need her things once she got home. She grabbed the handles, then dropped them as if they were hot. She had no idea what to take because most of it had been provided by Hugh. Were all these beautiful clothes now his or hers? Miserably, she closed the wardrobe. It made no difference. She would never wear them again. Every stitch would simply remind her of him, and Payne would arrange to have whatever was deemed fit sent later alongside her sisters.
“Your tea, miss, and a bit of toast.” Martha hurried in and deposited both on the bedside table. “You make a start on those while I sort out the rest.” The kind-faced older woman nudged her out of the way and studied the array of gowns, quickly settling on the smart new emerald wool pelisse with its jaunty military-style braiding and matching dress, while Minerva attempted to choke down the food.
She lay the garments on the mattress, and hurried back to fetch stockings in the finest gauge of lambswool, soft leather half boots, and gloves. Next, atop those, came a beautiful green bonnet with silk ribbons and intricate velvet flowers. The same flowers encircled her reticule, in which the maid placed two delicate embroidered handkerchiefs. A pretty chemise, edged in tiny rosebuds, stays, silk garters. All the trappings Minerva had never dared hope to experience but had quickly become used to.
She would miss all this, too.
And this wonderful house. Her marshmallow eiderdown and goose-feather mattress. Those crisp, white sheets that crackled each night as she slipped between them. Tea in bed. The well-meant sparring between Olivia and Jeremiah. Payne, the servants, mad Lucretia and her heaving bosom. Hugh’s twinkling blue eyes over the dinner table.
Hugh.
She mourned each and every aspect of her unexpected temporary life, alongside the man who had given it, while Martha chatted and fixed her hair, then she stared dispassionately at herself in the mirror next to her fancy dressing table. Somewhere over the last ten days, she had turned into a lady.
“You look beautiful, miss.”
“Thank you, Martha … for everything.”
“’Tis my pleasure, miss. Shall I have the striped silk pressed for tonight or the pink taffeta?”
“Whichever you think best, Martha.” It wasn’t as if she would be wearing it.
As if the entire house also understood her time was up, Minerva collided with nobody on her way out. Not a maid, not a footman, not even Payne, so she was denied the opportunity to say goodbye. To avoid the busy kitchen, she slipped out of the French doors in the morning room and crunched across the frost-covered lawn to the stables.
“There you are!” Hugh bounded toward her across the yard, beaming from ear to ear, obviously relieved his convoluted and meticulous plan had finally succeeded. “We need to be quick! The grooms tell me my mother has taken to riding early every morning with Jeremiah. We don’t want to encounter her! That would spoil everything.”
“I don’t think she is up. The house was very quiet when I left.”
“Maybe—but she is small and moves with surprising stealth. It would be just like her to suddenly appear.” He took her elbow and practically propelled her toward a waiting curricle. Now the warm clothes made sense. There was no carriage, because this smart gig was much faster. They would fly along the road to London at top speed. He helped her up and then solicitously wrapped a thick blanket around her knees, reminding her he was the most considerate man she had ever met. “Step lively, Payne! The clock is ticking.”
In her quest to drink in every last second with Hugh, she hadn’t noticed the butler reappear carrying a huge basket. “Your mother is up, my lord, but fortunately I was able to intercept her. You will be pleased to know she is currently sipping chocolate in the breakfast room with Mr. Peabody.”
“Excellent, Payne. You can break the bad news to her in approximately twenty minutes.”
“Where is Lord Bellingham?” Minerva craned her neck, but there was no sign of him in the stable yard.
“Still absent without leave.” Hugh wiggled his hands into gloves. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I thought we were supposed to be eloping.”
“Not today, you’re not. Today you are running away with me.” To her complete surprise, he hauled himself up onto the seat beside her and grinned. “We deserve a day off.”
“Your mother will be furious.” Payne looked unimpressed as he passed his master a second thick blanket. “She had plans for today.”
“Which she will just have to follow without Minerva. Her sisters and Lucretia can accompany my mother to the Standish Ladies’ Society—they have too much free time. Do inform my dear mama we shall be back in time for dinner. Probably.” With that, he snapped the ribbons and the two spritely grays set off.
For several minutes Minerva was lost for words.
Aside from not entirely understanding what was going on, the palpable relief of not leaving had her feeling decidedly off-kilter—because the depth of her sorrow at saying goodbye to Hugh had felt like a death, one she had already begun to mourn. But the elation that followed, the way her heart seemed to swell inside her chest with the sheer joy of it, forced her to consider something she hadn’t considered before.
She had feelings for Hugh.
Deep, romantic feelings for Hugh.
He turned to her, smiling, his mischievous blue eyes alight with excitement, golden hair mussed by the wind as they turned out of the long driveway of his estate and onto the winding country lane. “I thought we should have an adventure. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?” Everything with him was an adventure.
“You might have been looking forward to the Standish Ladies’ Society and be annoyed at me for ruining your plans.”
“They were hardly my plans.”
“Which is exactly why I am stealing you away. It occurred to me last night, you have been doing everything for everyone, and absolutely nothing for yourself. Today shall hopefully rectify that. For the duration, you are relieved of the chore of pretending to be my Minerva, my mother’s future daughter-in-law, mother to your sisters, and chief diplomat in any crises. Today, you just get to be you.” She could feel her silly heart swelling some more, so much she feared it might burst. “Hence I have kidnapped you because you simply cannot be you back there.”
“But Hugh—what if something happens while we’re absent?” As lovely an idea as this was, there could be serious complications for him.
“Sometimes you have to embrace the fickle finger of fate and accept the what-ifs to let the cards fall where they may. We cannot predict the future, and more often than not, we cannot direct it either. In which case, why fight it?”
“A very lofty philosophy all of a sudden, but hardly practical.” But wonderful nevertheless.
“If it all goes wrong in our absence, then I shall face the music like a man and do what needs to be done.” He shot her a typically mischievous look. “Which means we shall both run as fast as our legs can carry us to the waiting carriage Payne will have had the good sense to organize, hightail it to Portsmouth, stow away on a ship to the Continent, and live out the rest of our days as exiled fugitives on a sunny beach somewhere in Italy. You could paint portraits to earn enough to keep us in wine and I shall work the land myself to grow our food.” He nudged her, looking smug. “I really did read all those newfangled books on farming you saw in the library, so everything will work out perfectly well if we do have to make a dash for it.”
It sounded perfect. “Well … if we have a contingency plan already in place, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to escape for a few hours.”
“That’s the spirit. Set all that other nonsense out of your mind for now and enjoy your day. When was the last time you had an entire day to yourself?”
“I don’t remember.” Years and years. Since before her mother died.
“A travesty which needs to be addressed. What would you like to do?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never had an entire day off.”
“Are you prepared to entrust me with the itinerary?”
“As I have been kidnapped, what other choice do I have?”
“A very good point.” He steered the curricle around a tight bend, and a long, straight road stretched tantalizingly before them in the winter sunshine. “Hold on to your bonnet, Miss Merriwell. Tightly. As I intend to drive you very, very fast. Adventures should always take your breath away.”
He was true to his word. They flew as the scenery whipped past, the well-sprung curricle skipping over the bumps in the road and the frigid winter air buffeting their cheeks as they swiftly ate up the miles between them and Standish House. The speed and wind made conversation impossible, so she relaxed as much as she could into the seat and simply enjoyed the ride, snuggled under the thick blanket he had had the good sense to bring.
Eventually, after what had to be almost an hour, he slowed. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” In her premature grief, Minerva had barely nibbled the toast her maid had brought her. “But we appear to be in the middle of nowhere.” She scanned the horizon for any signs of habitation. “Is that a village over there?” She pointed to the faint wisps of smoke that could be seen emanating from its chimneys. “Perhaps there is an inn?”
“What a lack of imagination you have! Breakfasts at inns are too pedestrian. Our breakfast is packed in that basket and I know just the place to eat it.” Although, it was clear he had no intention of sharing the destination with her. Instead, he turned onto another narrow winding lane that inclined slightly uphill as it wended its way through dense trees.
Eventually, the trees parted and the jutting ruins of an ancient building came into view, its vast arched windows festooned with ivy. “That’s Netley Abbey.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Too beautiful, I am afraid, as it has been newly discovered by those prone to tour or needing inspiration to write poetry.” Hugh made a face of distaste. “But at this unfashionable hour we are guaranteed to have the place to ourselves.”
He pulled up alongside a tree, nimbly jumped down, and secured the ribbons to a low-slung branch before helping her down. “I hope you are wearing walking boots. It takes a bit of effort to get there.”
Minerva picked her way over the uneven ground, following Hugh, who strode ahead carrying the enormous basket. When they finally reached the abbey, he left her to marvel at the lacy remnants of the roof, which seemed to be suspended above them with nothing but ivy. He then laid a cloth over the base of what must have once been grand columns that supported the huge structure.
“As this is the sort of place which demands a history lesson, I shall tell you it is medieval. Or at least most of it is. After the delightful despot Henry the Eighth dissolved the monasteries, it enjoyed a brief stint as a nobleman’s grand house before it lapsed into rack and ruin.”
“I can see why it inspires poets.” She ran her palm over the cold, rough stone of a window frame, the stained glass long gone. “If I had my inks and brushes with me, it is exactly the sort of thing I should like to draw.”
“I should have told you to bring them…” Hugh was immediately annoyed at himself. “It never occurred to me you would have wanted to, when it should have. I keep forgetting you are an artist.”
“It never occurred to me to bring them from London.” She didn’t want him to feel bad. “And I can only dream of aspiring to be an artist one day or draw whatever I wish simply for pleasure. I make woodcuts and draw what I am told. But I shall store this lovely place in my memories and draw it for pleasure one day.” Minerva turned toward the veritable feast he had laid for them. “In the meantime, you promised to feed me.”
“That I did.” She took his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to it, laughing as he whipped out a handkerchief and draped it over the bare piece of stone he had reserved for her bottom to rest on. Then he produced two fine porcelain plates and handed her one. “As this is an informal meal, I shall allow you to serve yourself. However, I heartily recommend one of those little apple tarts.”
“Apple tarts? For breakfast?”
“Well, I could hardly pack coddled eggs and bacon, could I? They would have been stone cold well before we got here, and eggs don’t travel well. Besides, coddled eggs don’t go with champagne.” He winked as he fished out the bottle from the basket with a dramatic flourish. “But those strawberries do. Have you any idea how hard it is to come by strawberries in winter?”
“They came from your glasshouse, didn’t they? So for you, not very hard at all. Did one of the servants pick them for you? What a hideous struggle.”
“Semantics, my dear Minerva. You are supposed to be impressed.”
“I am impressed. By everything. You always manage to impress me.” Today, last night, that first time he had stepped in to rescue her from Mr. Pinkerton. A true knight in shining armor, when she had been convinced none existed.
“What can I say?” The cork popped, and the cold champagne foamed over the neck of the bottle. “I am naturally impressive.” He poured her some in a beautiful crystal glass. “And much too modest for my own good.”