“I’ll just bet he did,” Helena muttered.

  It was Minerva’s turn to glare. “So, Helena to go,” she said, loud enough to hope the attention would turn away from her.

  “I can’t do mine until Robert goes away, and he’s delayed his trip because Prue wasn’t well,” Helena returned, smug devil.

  “I’m fine now,” Prue said, holding up one hand whilst the other covered the slight bump beneath her dress. She looked like a beautiful Madonna, all rosy cheeked and serene. “He’s just fussing. I’m trying to get him to rearrange it, I swear,” she said to Helena apologetically, before her gaze settled on Minerva, making her blush.

  “I know, it’s fine.” Helena grinned and patted Prue’s hand. “My new niece or nephew is far more important than a silly dare.”

  “But what happened with Mr de Beauvoir?” Matilda pressed, as Minerva groaned inwardly.

  So much for distracting her attention, and now Prue was going to be after her blood too.

  Minerva shrugged. “I took him lunch. The poor man never eats. He doesn’t have a housekeeper since he did an experiment that blew up in his laboratory—on purpose—but she accused him of being a devil worshiper or something ridiculous, and ran screaming.”

  Bonnie snorted. “You’re quite certain she wasn’t onto something?”

  “Quite certain,” Minerva retorted. “He’s a brilliant natural philosopher. It just breaks my heart to see him scratching about in that empty house because he’s too devoted to his work to light the fires or find anyone to feed him.”

  “Well, then, we should get him a housekeeper,” Matilda said firmly. “Then you can stop worrying and putting your reputation at risk. I’ll not have you ruining your life out of… of pity.”

  Minerva stared at Matilda in surprise. She always worried about all of them, but she was never quite so… strident. It was only the quaver in her voice that gave away how very frightened she was. Minerva looked at her, holding her gaze steadily.

  “I have thought of doing just that, Matilda, and I will, but I don’t want anyone there spying on us when I visit. So, until I know how I stand with him, I’ll leave things as they are.”

  “You’re going back?” Matilda demanded, looking as though she might cast up her accounts there and then, she was so pale. “You’re not serious? You must not, Minerva, it’s—”

  “I am serious,” Minerva said, interrupting, but keeping her voice calm. “And it’s not for you to tell me who I may and may not see, but I do appreciate your concern. I truly do, and I swear to be careful.”

  Matilda made a disparaging sound, her eyes glittering too brightly. “No, you won’t. You’ll be foolish and put your heart on the line, and he’ll take everything you offer him and then, when he’s had all he wants, you’ll be put aside, all in bits and with no other options.”

  Minerva felt the words like a stab to the heart. She knew it was a possible outcome of her actions—there was no point in not having her eyes open to the risk she was running—but to hear Matilda spell it out so baldly, her tone so hard it was almost cruel, still hurt.

  “He’s not Montagu,” she replied before she could think it through, seeing the words strike Matilda just as hard.

  The room had grown very still, no one daring to breathe.

  “Damn Montagu,” Matilda said, putting her chin up. “I can’t stop you from being a little fool, but I will not end up in bits. I shall marry Mr Burton.”

  There was a collective gasp around her, though Minerva was too shocked to even draw a breath. She was certain Matilda had just decided, at that very moment, perhaps to set an example of what a sensible woman did in a difficult situation.

  “You don’t love him,” she said, watching Matilda, who was so pale her skin seemed translucent, blue veins visible beneath the porcelain complexion. “I’m not convinced you even like him.”

  “I’m not convinced he even likes me,” Matilda retorted. “He wants me the same way he wants a pretty picture or a nice house in the right part of town. So what? He gets me on his arm, and I get a home, security, a family. I’m sure we’ll be content enough with each other, and those are not things I can ignore. If you had an ounce of sense in that silly head of yours, you’d see it too.”

  Anger sparked in Minerva’s heart at being called silly. Matilda, of all people, knew how hard she was trying to be anything but silly, and the accusation rankled.

  “And what about Montagu?” Minerva pressed, knowing she was crossing a line but too irritated to consider it. “What about the fact you’re in love with him?”

  The silence was so profound Minerva’s ears rang with it. Matilda looked as if she’d been slapped, two high spots of colour burning against the snow white pallor of her cheeks. She got to her feet.

  “If you’ll excuse me, ladies. I’m sure you can find your own way out.”

  Minerva watched, heart thudding and stomach clenching with regret as Matilda turned for the door.

  “Mat—” Minerva began, but Helena reached out and clasped her arm, holding tight and shaking her head.

  Everyone watched her go, and Minerva put her head in her hands. “I should not have said that.”

  “I’m glad one of us finally got up the nerve to and, selfishly, I’m glad it was you and not me,” Prue said with a sigh.

  Minerva stared at her in shock. She’d expected Prue to be furious with her. Going on the glint in her eyes, she was not entirely wrong.

  “We will be having words about your visits to Mr de Beauvoir, Min,” she said, her voice stern. Prue had always seen her as her foolish baby cousin, though she was only five years older than Minerva.

  Minerva had believed that had changed, but the tone of Prue’s voice made her doubt it.

  “You won’t tell Mama?” Minerva said in a rush, feeling as though she might cry, her eyes burning. If her mother found out, she’d be sent away and never see Inigo again.

  “Minerva Butler!” her cousin said in outrage. “Whatever do you take me for? I’ll not tell her, nor Robert, for its none of their business, but for heaven’s sake, Matilda is right. You are playing with fire.”

  Minerva nodded, unable to deny it. “I k-know,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I-I’m in love with him.”

  A collective murmur whispered around the group, a mixture of wistful longing and resignation.

  “Does he love you?” Prue asked, gentle now.

  “I don’t know yet. He doesn’t want to love me, I know that. I think he’s afraid to, but… but I think he could, if he let himself.” She wiped her eyes, looking around at the faces of the surrounding women, her dearest friends, the people she trusted most in the world. “He says he doesn’t believe in love.”

  “Idiot,” Bonnie said with her usual candour.

  Minerva choked back a laugh. “I know. He’s the stupidest genius I ever met.” She looked around as Helena’s hand slid into hers, holding on tight.

  “You’re really in love with him?” Helena’s eyes were grave, more serious than Minerva had ever seen them.

  “I am.”

  “Well, then. We have to figure out how the two of them can be together with no one finding out.” This from Bonnie, who’d never shied away from a scandal in her whole life.

  Minerva could have kissed her. Instead, she just sent a grateful smile in her direction.

  “I’ve done far more stupid things for love, Min,” she said. “I promise you, you have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Yes, and there’s absolutely no requirement to do so,” Prue chipped in, giving Bonnie an impatient glare. “You’re happily married now. Minerva has a way to go before we can all breathe easy.”

  “I should apologise to Matilda,” Minerva said, staring at the door with a sick sensation churning in her stomach.

  “There’s plenty of time for that. Matilda won’t hold a grudge, and it’s not like we didn’t all want to say it. She’s been playing with fire far longer than you and, as much as I wish marrying Mr Burton was the answer, I’m just uncertain that it is.” Prue sighed and sat back, smoothing her palm over her belly. “She’s so afraid of being alone, and she’s quite right, he offers her security.”

  “Unlike Montagu, who will chew her up and spit her out,” Jemima said, her expression bleak. “And he’s the man she falls head over heels for. Life is so bloody unfair.”

  All of them started in surprise. Jemima rarely spoke up, so hearing her swear was nothing short of extraordinary.

  “Well, is it?” she demanded as they all stared at her in shock.

  “No, it bloody isn’t,” Helena replied, succinctly and with such force they all laughed.

  The laughter rose until there were tears in their eyes and they were leaning into each other, relieved to let go of the tension that had been holding all of them in its grip.

  Friends, thought Minerva, looking around the room and feeling her heart swell with affection and pride. The best friends in the world.

  ***

  24th January 1815. Church Street, Isleworth, London.

  Inigo sat at his work bench in the laboratory, leaning on his elbows and ignoring the slide he’d just put under the microscope in favour of staring out of the window. It was a grimy day, grey and cold, a steady drizzle of rain plastering itself against the windows as the wind gusted towards the back of the house. A draught of cold air snaked around the ill-fitting glass, making him shiver and reminding himself he’d not lit the fires. Usually he was too wrapped up in his work to notice such things until it hit freezing, but today his home seemed grim and empty. Loneliness curled in the pit of his belly like an old dog, a familiar companion settling down for a long nap.

  She was coming today, he reminded himself, and he hated the flutter of anticipation in his chest, the way hope chased away the grey clouds and made everything lighter. Stop it. Stop it, he told himself. Hope was dangerous, and he’d learned to distrust it a long time ago. He’d once had a friend at the foundling hospital. Timothy Brown had arrived in the summer Inigo turned eight and they’d become fast friends. Inigo, inured to the hard life of an orphan, had protected Tim, who’d been lost and vulnerable, susceptible to bullying. He’d been the sweetest little boy, with white blond curls and big blue eyes, the face of an angel. He was also sturdily built and healthy. So when a respectable childless couple came to the hospital looking to take a boy into their family, to help them on their farm, sure enough it was Timothy they took.

  “Don’t worry,” Tim had said, hugging him tightly before he left. “When I’m settled, I’ll make them come back for you. Two hands are better than one.”

  Inigo had believed him. He’d waited days, weeks, wondering how long it would take Tim to settle in. When one of the wardens had caught him staring out the window for the fiftieth time, he’d asked what Inigo was doing.

  “Waiting for Tim, sir,” he’d replied. “He’s been adopted, and he said he’ll ask the family to take me too. He promised to come back for me.”

  Inigo could still see the careworn face of the warden. He’d been one of the decent ones, not so handy with his fists as some of the others. “Give it up, lad,” he’d said, gruff though not unkind. “They don’t want boys like you. ’Tis only the pretty and the strong what get taken in and you ain’t neither, ’sides which, it ain’t up to Tim who gets adopted. They ain’t never comin’ back. Best you get used to the idea.”

  “No,” Inigo had cried, shaking his head, hot tears coursing down his face. “No, it ain’t true. He promised. He promised me….”

  He’d hit the warden in his fury and been sent to bed with no supper, but as the days went by, it became clear the man had spoken true. That truth had hurt more than anything Inigo had ever known, which seemed ridiculous, for he’d lost nothing. Nothing had changed for he’d had nothing to lose, but he’d hoped, and losing hope had killed something inside him for good. Or so he’d thought. Yet here he was again, with that dangerous emotion stalking about in his head, distracting him from his work, from what mattered, to stare out of windows and dream of things he could never have.

  Only the pretty and the strong, the warden had said. Well, that had changed, at least. Now it was the wealthy, well-bred gentlemen of the ton who had the right to take what he wanted. He didn’t want it, he reminded himself. Yes, he’d wanted a wife, someone to organise his life, so he didn’t spend all his days in a house with no fire lit and no food in the cupboards. Liar. It hadn’t been only for that. It was because he was tired of being alone. Harriet had been his friend and he’d thought it would be nice to have a friend with him. It would be good to have someone to talk to about his work, to share a meal with, to have someone bring him a cup of tea and ask how he was getting on and had he remembered to eat his lunch, someone who might remember he existed and worry for him.

  Inigo pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and drew in a deep breath. It would have been enough, it would, if he hadn’t met Minerva. He’d never thought he’d feel possessive of a woman, would ever want one woman over all others. He’d never understood those feelings. If he’d found a woman who enjoyed him physically but wanted no commitment, no marriage, he’d always believed that would suit him. Yet when the scandalous Mrs Tate had offered just that some months back, he’d run a mile. Why? Why Minerva Butler of all people? Why on earth was this one woman getting under his skin and making him question everything he’d ever believed about himself, about what he wanted? Damn her! Now his guts were in a knot and he couldn’t sleep, and too often he could swear he caught the delicate scent of her, like a phantom haunting his home, his heart. He let the breath out, steadying himself, refusing to look at his watch. She wouldn’t come. She’d warned him she might struggle to get away but that she’d do her best. She wouldn’t come. Now she knew what would happen if she did, and she’d come to her senses, and….

  A knock sounded at the front door and Inigo scrambled to his feet, almost knocking the stool over in his haste. Cursing, he looked down at his crumpled shirt and regretted not having dressed properly. He tugged the sleeves down at least, though he had no idea where he’d left his cufflinks. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, relieved that he’d shaved as he hurried to the door and pulled it open.

  Inigo stared in shock, taking a step back as he was confronted with a veritable wall of femininity.

  “Good day, Mr de Beauvoir,” said the Duchess of Bedwin, giving him a taut smile as she looked him over and made him feel every bit the ragged orphan boy he’d been as she took in the creased shirt and the fact he wore no waistcoat or cravat.

  That they must know he’d been waiting for Minerva and hadn’t at least dressed properly made heat crawl up the back of his neck. He searched what seemed to be a crowd of women, to discover Minerva staring at him, looking equally mortified.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed, eyes wide with anxiety.

  “We’ve come to see your laboratory,” piped up one of the women, a curvy, dark-haired girl with a faint Scottish accent. He thought she looked vaguely familiar. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.”

  She shot him a mischievous look, giving him a once over and grinning.

  Now his ears were burning as well as his neck.

  “May we come in then, Mr de Beauvoir, or shall we stand on the doorstep in the rain for the next twenty minutes?” the duchess demanded coolly.

  Inigo took another step back, too dumbstruck to do anything else.

  The women filed in, one after another. It felt as if there were dozens of them, skirts rustling and pretty, delicate perfumes scenting the air. Suddenly the dim hallway was full of impossibly bright colours and frills, as if a flock of exotic birds had flown in through the window to escape the rain. He was outnumbered and had no idea what to do next.

  “The laboratory is through there,” Minerva instructed.

  The duchess nodded and the women followed her out, leaving Inigo alone with Minerva.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, wringing her hands. “When they discovered I’ve been visiting you they got all protective. They’ll go in a minute, leaving me, and then come back again when Prue pretends to have left her umbrella. That way no one will notice I’m here.”

  Inigo fought to find words to react to this preposterous scheme, but found he could do nothing but stare at her.

  “Are you angry?” she asked, her lovely face clouding as he just glared at her in outrage. “Please don’t be. I know it’s ridiculous and I have no idea what they’ll do next time. I shall have to escape without them knowing, but they are only looking out for me.”

  Inigo swallowed. “I’m… not angry,” he said, realising he meant it.

  These women were her friends; they were trying to protect the foolish creature from herself. Admittedly it would have been better if they’d just locked her in her room, but still.

  Minerva let out a breath, her relief palpable. “Oh, I’m glad. I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you.”

  She put one hand on his shoulder and lifted onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Inigo closed his eyes as her lips touched his, reminding himself sternly to breathe.

  “Come,” she said, taking his hand. “I’ve been working on Prue to ask Bedwin to sponsor your work.”

  Utterly dazed, Inigo followed her through to his laboratory, pausing on the way to shrug on a coat and tie a haphazard cravat, and tried not to get hysterical at the sight of his sanctuary filled to the rafters with women. In fact, there were only five of them including Minerva. It felt like an invasion.

  “We swear we won’t touch anything,” the duchess remarked, amusement glinting in her sharp gaze as she noticed his panicked expression. “Minerva tells us you believe you have made a significant discovery. A new element?”

  Inigo nodded. “I’m writing a paper at the moment,” he said, wryly acknowledging to himself at least that the paper currently consisted of about five lines, as his mind had been elsewhere.

  “Bedwin is fascinated by such things,” the duchess said, casting a curious glance over the shelves and work surfaces. “You must come to dinner once your paper is written, before you publish it. I’m certain he would find it interesting. He’s a keen sponsor of the arts and sciences.”

 

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