Minerva Read online

  ‘Comfrey!’

  Very slowly he released Minerva and looked round.

  Lady Godolphin was standing at the edge of the trees, her pudgy arms folded across her breast, her dumpy little figure holding a strange air of command and authority.

  ‘I must ask you what your intentions are towards Miss Armitage, Comfrey?’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘I’m waiting.’

  Lord Sylvester got to his feet and drew Minerva up with him. He walked a little way away from Minerva, looking back at her with a strained look on his face.

  Then he turned to Lady Godolphin. ‘You ask me my intentions, ma’am. Well, they’re the worst, damme! The very worst!’

  And with that he strode away.

  Lady Godolphin stumped down onto the beach and Minerva subsided back on the rock as if her legs would no longer hold her.

  ‘He didn’t touch your virginal, did he?’ demanded Lady Godolphin crossly.

  ‘If you mean, am I still a virgin, of course,’ said Minerva, in a shaking voice. ‘How dare you think I would let any man …’

  Lady Godolphin plumped herself down on the rock beside Minerva. ‘Now, now, don’t be in such a taking. There’s no harm done, so I’ll say no more.’ Whereupon Lady Godolphin began to say a great deal more, and at length, helping herself liberally from the bottle of champagne that Lord Sylvester had left cooling in the water.

  She raged against Lord Sylvester, saying he could have any woman in London for the asking and why he was trifling with Minerva’s affections, she was blessed if she knew. The man was charming, handsome, and a rake. A confirmed bachelor. He kept mistresses, a whole stable of ’em, just as another man might keep horses. But he certainly wasn’t going to marry a country miss.

  Minerva sat miserably with her head bowed. For one wild moment when he had been kissing her, she had felt that his passion was as great as her own. But he was practised in the art of seduction and probably knew to a nicety how to fake it.

  And then somewhere at the pit of her misery, a warm glow started. She would forget about Lord Sylvester. She would marry Chumley. It would be the ultimate sacrifice. She let out a little sigh of relief. The road to duty lay straight and narrow before her.

  She interrupted Lady Godolphin’s tirade. ‘I am going to marry Lord Chumley, so you may rest easy. You will get every penny of your money back.’

  Like most mean people, Lady Godolphin was immediately on the defensive. That was not the reason she thought Minerva should marry. She, Lady Godolphin, was a poor widow woman, despite evidence to the contrary. She hardly knew how to make ends meet.

  Minerva listened meekly to this defense, watching the sunlight glowing on the heavy diamond and ruby necklace around Lady Godolphin’s fat and withered neck.

  ‘Anyway, you should be grateful to me for taking you away from a dead-alive place like Hopeworth,’ ended Lady Godolphin. ‘You must admit nothing exciting ever happens there!’

  Earlier that day, Mr Guy Wentwater was speeding along the Cartham Road – the road that led south out of Hopeworth as opposed to the Hopeminster Road that led north. The yellow wheels of his high perch phaeton spun in a golden blur and the sun gleamed on the glossy flanks of his matched greys.

  He was on his way to visit a remote branch of the Wentwater family who lived some thirty miles from Hopeworth.

  He had planned this expedition carefully, its purpose being to make young Annabelle miss him. She had become a trifle complacent after Emily and Josephine had left for London, and Guy shrewdly guessed that she was getting too sure of him and therefore having second thoughts. She kept harping on about the slave trade. He was quite sure he could get her to elope with him. He had toyed with the idea of simply taking her away, but that would cause a scandal, and Lady Wentwater might cut him out of her will – and for all the money he gained, Guy always wanted more. He did not believe for one moment his aunt’s pleas of poverty and considered her an old miser, which was very probably true. The weather had been splendid, the mugginess of the previous days having lifted. Great fleecy castles of clouds sailed majestically across the sky. The hedges were alive with birdsong.

  Faintly on the wind, behind him, he thought he heard a hunting horn. He slowed his team to a canter. There it was again. The good vicar had gone quite mad, he mused. Whoever heard of a foxhunt at this time of year? It could not be possible. He slowed his team to a halt.

  A great cry suddenly rang out over the countryside ‘Gone away! Gone away! Forrard! Forrard!’

  ‘Quite mad,’ mused Guy, picking up the reins. But something made him twist his head and look down the long white ribbon of road stretched out behind him.

  Racing, bunched together, in full cry, came the vicar’s hounds. Guy swore under his breath. Best to sit still and hold his horses until they had passed. But the loud belling of the hounds struck some primitive chord in his heart and he shivered despite the warmth of the day.

  He watched, hypnotized, as the pack surged towards him.

  The thickset figure of the vicar on a huge hunter appeared behind the pack, waving his hat and yelling, ‘Yoicks!’ for all he was worth. ‘Yoicks!’ came the answering echo of John Summer, the whipper-in.

  And then Guy froze in terror as he found himself surrounded by the leaping, snarling pack. His horses reared and plummetted.

  ‘Mr Armitage!’ cried Guy in terror. ‘Call them off!’

  ‘Stay!’ shouted the vicar, riding up, and the hounds crouched down in a ring around the phaeton, lips drawn back over sharp fangs, red eyes glaring up at the quivering Guy.

  ‘Step down, Mr Wentwater,’ said the vicar, dismounting from his horse. ‘I would have a word with you.’

  ‘But they’ll tear me apart!’ screamed Guy.

  ‘They will, if you stay there, and I don’t know I can hold ’em that long. They won’t touch you if you come down.’

  ‘My horses will bolt.’

  ‘John, hold Mr Wentwater’s horses,’ commanded the vicar. ‘Now, Mr Wentwater …’

  Guy climbed down and stumbled as his shaky legs bore him towards the vicar. The vicar put a paternal arm around his shoulders and led him a little down the road.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Mr Wentwater,’ he said. ‘Y’see, though it’s not the Season, the farmers have been plagued by this here fox, and when I hear of vermin on my property, I get rid of it. Now, this pack o’mine has taken agin you and I can’t promise they won’t tear you apart another time. Your visit to Lady Wentwater is at an end, so I am sure you won’t be back in Hopeworth for some time. I mean, as it stands, the hounds’ll tear you limb from limb. I’m sorry about it. But I don’t like vermin on my land. D’you see?’

  And Guy looked at the vicar, and he saw.

  He tried to muster some dignity but his face was ashen and his whole body was trembling.

  ‘I shall not be returning for some time,’ he said in a strange, high, shrill voice.

  ‘Then we have nothing to worry about. You may be on your way, Mr Wentwater.’

  Sweating and stumbling at every step, Guy made his way back to his carriage and swung himself up. The hounds had retreated some way down the road and were standing around John Summer.

  The vicar swept off his shovel hat and made a low bow. ‘Goodbye Mr Wentwater. We shall not be seeing you for some time.’

  Guy smiled, his lips curling back over his teeth in a travesty of the hounds’ snarls. He cracked his whip and set off down the road at such a speed that after only a few moments there was nothing but a cloud of white chalk dust to mark his passing.

  The vicar turned around with a broad grin on his face. ‘Let ’em have it, John, though ’tis so old and mangy, I hope it don’t poison ’em.’

  John Summer winked and opened the sack under his arm and drew out the dead fox which had been hidden in the box under Guy Wentwater’s carriage seat and hurled it into the nearby field where the hounds pounced on it. He had removed it from its hiding place in the phaeton when the vicar was talking to Guy.

  ‘P
ooh!’ said John, holding his nose. ‘Wunnerful he didn’t smell it.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ said the vicar cheerfully. ‘Them vermin never know when they’re not wanted. It’s been a good day, John, and I would like you to come with me to Squire Radford. He’ll want to know all about it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘It’s uncommonly kind of you to give me house room,’ said Peter, Marquess of Brabington, helping himself to another tankard of beer. ‘I never thought to enjoy the luxury of a quiet English breakfast again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lord Sylvester from behind the barrier of the Morning Post.

  ‘I never thought to see another Season either. You’ve no idea the humiliation of being dumped aboard a hospital ship and taken home to England and all because of a severe bout of dysentery and fever. If they had left me alone, I would have been well enough to return to my regiment in a few days.’

  ‘Um.’

  ‘But now I am here, I shall have at least a month of peace and quiet far from the cannon’s roar. It’s a messy war, Sylvester. Damned Boney owns most of Europe and those Whigs don’t see the point of all the British fighting.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘You are not listening to a word I say. You are probably not even reading that paper either but merely using it as a shield while you dream of the fair Minerva.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Aha! I thought that would fetch you. I heard the gossip before I had been in town above an hour. It’s the talk of the clubs. There’s this vicar’s daughter who’s got the most unlikely collection of beaux on a string – including you.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Lord Sylvester put down his newspaper and looked at his friend with some exasperation. ‘You should know better than to listen to gossip like that, Peter. They’ve had me practically married off to one or t’other since I came out of short coats.’

  ‘This gossip had a different flavour to it.’

  ‘Take it from me, it’s all a hum. How shall I entertain you? Do you wish to meet some pretty ladies?’

  ‘Not I. I was never in the petticoat line. There’s a prize fight down in Hopeminster I mean to attend.’

  ‘Hopeminster,’ said Lord Sylvester thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I might join you. I had forgot all about it. This Saturday, I believe.’

  Lord Sylvester began to discuss the merits of the various pugilists and successfully diverted his friend’s mind from Minerva.

  Minerva, thought Lord Sylvester, while he chatted easily. I can’t get that wretched girl out of my mind. In a way, it’s a kind of sickness. He was glad of the Marquess’s company. Peter was an old friend, a friend with whom he could always be on easy relaxed terms. Therefore, why could he not voice any of the turmoil that beset him when he thought of that wretched girl? Perhaps it would be a good idea to use Peter’s visit to get away from the round of theatres, balls and routs.

  Strange that Peter had never shown much interest in any woman, although they all ran after him as hard as they could. He was extremely handsome, as dark as Lord Sylvester was fair. He had thick, black hair, as black as Minerva’s, thought Lord Sylvester with a sudden wrench at his heart. His eyes were a peculiar tawny shade, ‘sherry’ eyes, and he had a strong face with a prominent domineering nose over a firm mouth and cleft chin. He had an easy, panther-like grace and danced superbly – as most of Wellington’s officers did.

  He suddenly realized that Peter was talking about Minerva again. ‘I kept hearing her name over and over again at White’s the other evening,’ said the Marquess. ‘Bryce, Blenkinsop, Chumley and Dubois were all in a huddle, plotting something.’

  ‘Indeed! What, pray?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just caught her name mentioned over and over again and they seemed to be sniggering quite horribly. It was as if they had something quite dreadful planned for her. That Dubois is an evil man. He’s the best shot in England and twice he’s killed a man in a duel. He always gets the other fellow to call him out so that he can look innocent. Tell me about Miss Minerva Armitage.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Lord Sylvester, affecting a yawn. ‘She’s a country vicar’s daughter who is being brought out by Lady Godolphin …’

  ‘Good heavens, that old rip.’

  ‘Exactly. That dreadful old lady and her malapropisms. Do you know she actually talked about the British troops storming the French fornications? Although sometimes I think she does it deliberately.

  ‘She has her eye on Chumley as a mate for her charge and Miss Armitage’s cousins are come to town and affected to take an interest in Chumley, merely, of course, to annoy Minerva. So Lady Godolphin descends on Miss Josephine Armitage, compliments her on her gown, and assures her, ‘You are looking quite vaginal, my love. Quite vaginal.’ Fortunately none of the Armitage girls had ever heard the word before and merely grasped that she meant “virginal” so the shaft fell wide. The cousins have money, and Miss Minerva has none, as they keep on pointing out.’

  ‘I am beginning to be overcome by a desire to meet this Minerva.’

  ‘Then we shall call. But she’s an ordinary sort of girl. Nothing out of the common way. I find myself too often made sorry for her. She has to marry or her fox-hunting father will end in the River Tick.

  ‘For some reason, the four you have mentioned are always underfoot, together with the unlikely combination of Barding, Yarwood and Fresne, so they do not give her much chance to fix her affections on anyone more suitable. It is my belief she’ll settle for Chumley.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll probably do very well,’ shrugged the Marquess. ‘Women are quite hard-headed when it comes to marriage. They’re happier settling for money instead of love.’

  He spoke with a trace of bitterness in his voice and Lord Sylvester looked at him curiously. Before he inherited the marquessate, Peter had not had a feather to fly with. Had some girl rejected him in the past due to his lack of funds? It was no use asking. Peter would laugh and deny it.

  He contented himself by saying, ‘We shall call on Miss Armitage this afternoon and you can satisfy your curiosity.’

  They were lucky to call at a time when Lady Godolphin was lying down and Minerva’s usual court was absent.

  The Marquess was taken aback by Minerva’s unexpected beauty. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, and her black hair shone with purple lights. She treated them both courteously, seeming very poised and at ease. But the Marquess picked up the tension between the pair and wondered at it. His friend, Sylvester, seemed to be holding himself on a very tight rein and at last said abruptly, ‘So you still plan to marry Chumley?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Minerva, ‘I am to meet his parents. He says it is important to know someone’s background before making any major decisions.’

  ‘As serious as that,’ said Lord Sylvester, raising his thin eyebrows. ‘Lady Godolphin must be in ecstasies. He has no doubt asked her permission to pay his addresses.’

  Minerva looked awkward and pleated a fold of her silk gown between nervous fingers.

  ‘He asked me not to tell her. His parents are visiting relatives at a place near Barnet. Lord Chumley suggested I tell Lady Godolphin that I am going driving with him. He is being very thoughtful, You see, if we should not suit, and we come to that decision after I have met his family, then Lady Godolphin will not be so disappointed.’

  ‘And when is this to take place?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘This Saturday? And how are you to explain your absence for such a long time to Lady Godolphin? You will be gone several hours and that is an overlong time for a simple drive in the Park.’

  ‘Lady Godolphin has accepted an invitation to the Aubryns’ rout so she will not be here.’

  ‘I think you should tell Lady Godolphin,’ said the Marquess suddenly, thinking of the sniggers and low voices he had heard in White’s.

  ‘Oh, no, I could not do that,’ said Minerva simply. ‘I gave Lord Chumley my word. Perhaps I should not have told you. But he only said not to tell Lady Godolphin.’r />
  ‘I do not think, after some reflection,’ said Lord Sylvester, ‘that Lady Godolphin is a good chaperone for you. For example, much as we delight in your company, you should not be allowed to entertain two gentlemen without a duenna.’

  Minerva gave a weary little shrug. She looked over at the two handsome men seated opposite her and wanted to explain to them that she had no choice. She had prayed and prayed and her duty was plain. She must marry quickly.

  At that point, Josephine and Emily Armitage and their mother were announced and came in on a wave of silks and lace. Lady Edwin all but ignored Minerva, Josephine and Emily completely ignored Minerva, as all three set their sights on Lord Sylvester and the Marquess.

  Peter, Marquess of Brabington, found he could not bear the atmosphere any longer and rose to his feet, saying they must take their leave.

  Lady Edwin and her daughters promptly rose as well, remembering all sorts of engagements. The Marquess turned in the doorway, after ushering the others out, and tried to say something. Minerva sat very still and quiet, her hands folded in her lap. Instead he gave a curt little bow, followed the others, and quite rudely extricated Lord Sylvester from the ladies.

  ‘Phew!’ said the Marquess. ‘That poor, pretty, little thing! Well, now I have met her and seen her predicament, I think there is only one course which lies open.’

  ‘Which is?’ demanded Lord Sylvester curiously, as the two friends strolled arm in arm across Hanover Square.

  ‘First of all, I assume you don’t want to marry her yourself?’

  There was a long silence. Then Lord Sylvester said in a low voice, ‘She is very young and innocent and country bred. It would not answer.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the Marquess cheerfully. ‘So, the answer is this, you are rich and I am rich. We go to Hopeworth and give this wretched vicar enough money to pull him up by the bootstraps on condition he takes his daughter home.’