Page 47 of Black and Silver

Lord Owen stared at him like he thought Lawrence was a dolt. “My lord, in my recent investigations into my bride’s whereabouts, I spoke to not only her acquaintances, but also to others she has interacted business with in the last several months.”

Lawrence said nothing, but prickles of dread began to race down his back.

“That included a group of fishermen in Bristol,” Lord Owen continued.

Lawrence merely blinked.

Lord Owen went on. “Are you aware, my lord, that it was my bride’s intention to stage her own death by fall from a cliff and to seek passage with these fishermen to Ireland, from whence she intended to carry on to Stockholm?”

It took every ounce of control in Lawrence’s power not to burst into wild laughter, or to gape in shock. Of course Minerva planned to fake her own death so that she could escape the binds of a marriage she did not want. Which explained why she’d thought Sweden was Heaven before.

But that only complicated the predicament they were in now.

“How dare you suggest that Lady Minerva, whose fever scourged body lies swaddled in quilts under the stones of that church, would do anything as wicked as pretend to have left this world?” he hissed, jabbing a finger toward the church.

He advanced on Lord Owen, who stepped back in alarm, continuing with, “How dare you insult my grief at losing the most wonderful woman I have ever known, a woman with whom I wished to spend the rest of my life, by insinuating that I did not sit by her bedside as I watched her fail, that I did not whisper psalms over her as she breathed her last? How dare you tell me that I did not weep bitterly as I wrapped her delicate form in whatever sheets I was able to find, or that I did not carry her to the church, where I have been praying over her ever since? Do you not see the state of me, man?”

He gestured to his own rumpled appearance while simultaneously advancing on Lord Owen even more. He had the advantage of height over Lord Owen, and he was well aware that, even in playacting, he’d worked himself into a state that would frighten even the most stalwart of men.

“I…I am not…I cannot say….” Lord Owen scrambled for words as he tried to put as much distance between himself and Lawrence as possible.

“Silas!” Lawrence shouted, making his appearance as wild as possible. “Take this man back to the village! I want him out of my sight. He is a blackguard for inflicting deeper wounds on me in my hour of grief!

“Yes, my lord,” Silas said, nodding. He immediately turned to gesture for Lord Owen to enter the carriage through the already open door.

“This is not right,” Lord Owen said, inching toward the carriage, more out of fear than because he was convinced Lawrence was telling the truth. “None of this is right. I will leave so that you might compose yourself, sir,” he went on, pulling himself up into the carriage, “but I will return on the morrow to bring an end to this farce. Lady Minerva is mine,” he called out, as if he thought Minerva could hear him…which she most likely could. “She might have escaped one ceremony, but she will not escape another. I carry a special license with me, and the moment I find her, I will have the nearest holy man marry us, whether I have to hold a knife to her back to force her to say the words or not!”

With that, he snapped the carriage door behind him. It was a good thing, too, because the callous way he spoke of Minerva made Lawrence want to wring the man’s neck.

“Get him back to the village and then return here as swiftly as possible,” Lawrence told Silas in as quiet a voice as he could as he walked his friend to the front of the carriage. He whispered, “Lady Minerva is alive, but I fear we will need to make a hasty escape from this place as quickly as possible.”

Silas’s eyes went wide, then he burst into a smile. “The two of you will be the death of me, my lord,” he said as he climbed up into the driver’s seat. “And not from plague.”

Lawrence gave him the slightest of smiles before stepping back and assuming a posture of utter grief again.

He maintained that posture as he watched the carriage retreat, just in case Lord Owen glanced out and saw him. As soon as he was convinced it was safe, he dropped his sad look and turned to march toward the church. Minerva owed him answersand the entire story of her flight back to Wales, and he would have those answers now.

Chapter Sixteen

Minnie sniffled and wiped her nose on the handkerchief she’d brought with her, then breathed through her mouth as she watched the scene between Lawrence and Owen unfold outside the church. If she had not felt so utterly miserable, she would have thrilled at the confrontation, and at Lawrence’s incomparable acting abilities.

She could only just hear what was being said between the two men across the distance and through the glass of the church window, but she was able to make out the essence of the conversation.

“Is that man your husband?” the woman from the village asked as she watched from the other corner of the window, as eager to keep abreast of the situation as Minnie was.

Minnie sent her a sidelong look. She was uncertain which man the woman referred to.

“Neither are my husband,” she explained, earning a shocked look from Mary. She sniffled, dabbed at her nose, then said,“One attempted to marry me against my wishes, and the other….”

She stopped, the truth snagging on the part of her that valued her independence and strength. The other had not offered for her hand as of yet, but if he ever did, she would be hard-pressed to deny him, or her own wants.

She was spared having to explain as much to a woman she did not know, one who believed her to be a witch, by Owen suddenly shouting out, “I will return on the morrow to bring an end to this farce. Lady Minerva is mine! She might have escaped one ceremony, but she will not escape another. I carry a special license with me, and the moment I find her, I will have the nearest holy man marry us, whether I have to hold a knife to her back to force her to say the words or not!”

“Oh, gracious!” Mary gasped as Minerva sunk below the bottom of the window once more to stay out of sight. “He is a nasty sort. I would choose the other one myself, even if he is a madman.”

Minerva fought a smile as she let herself sink all the way to sit on the floor with her back against the wall. As soon as she heard the carriage roll away, she deemed it safe to give her nose a thorough blow.

Lawrence was rather mad, she thought to herself as she worked to clear her head as much as she could while Mary glanced on with a queasy look. He’d been mad to agree to escort her to Wales when all the rest of thetonwas engaged in politics in London. He’d been mad to humor her with silly stories and games throughout their journey. And he’d most definitely been mad to sit by her bedside all through the worst of her fever when to do so meant a risk to himself.

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