Page 51 of Black and Silver

Lawrence was hurt…and Minnie found it to be the most endearing thing she had ever known. Too many of the men of heracquaintance had been brash and uncaring. Whether or not they even had feelings was questionable. Lawrence, however, wore his heart on his sleeve. It was, perhaps, the reason why shallow women, like Lady Jessica, had rejected him and thought him simple.

Lawrence was not simple, he was caring. He was not stupid, he was sensitive.

He was still, and would always be, the most wonderful man of her acquaintance.

“I am sorry if I’ve hurt you,” she said, lowering her head, then scowling at herself as the necessity of clearing her nose once more ruined the sentimentality of the moment. “I trust your judgement, Lawrence. If you feel it is best we go straight to Godwin Castle, then I will not question you, I will simply go with you. Anywhere. Always.”

The silence that followed her soft declaration was heavy. It was clear that a simple apology was not enough to soothe Lawrence’s bruised heart. And perhaps they were both too exhausted and wrung out from the events of the day in any case.

There would be time for Minnie to make a deeper apology ahead of them. She clung to that belief as she settled in for a long drive. Whatever was needed, she would find a way to repay Lawrence for his kindness and prove to him that she was neither silly nor fickle. She was beginning to understand that what she truly was was his.

Chapter Seventeen

It was unseemly for a man of Lawrence’s title and stature to be mired in the depths of emotional confusion, but that was where Lawrence found himself for the next three days as he and Minerva traveled to Godwin Castle. His heart and his mind were at odds, and the upsets of his past were throwing their weight into the argument, causing everything within him to be in constant turmoil.

He was hurt by Minerva’s plot to feign her own death, and even more by the fact that she had not confided her plan in him. One part of him argued that she could not have known he was trustworthy when they set out on their journey, therefore she would have had no reason to inform him of her plans sooner. Another part of him groused that she should have said something as soon as the bond between them began to form.

Overall, he was deeply concerned for Minerva’s health. They’d made the potentially disastrous decision to continue driving through the night, into the early hours of the next morning, before stopping at a wayside inn. While that decision put much-needed distance between them and Lord Owen, it could not have been good for Minerva’s recovery.

When they continued on the next day, Minerva was still in a terrible state of discomfort, between her thick head, her bright-red nose, and her increasing cough. Despite the fact that she insisted she felt better than she had days before and that she sounded worse than she felt, Lawrence was left with images of Minerva dying in his arms in earnest by the side of the road somewhere in the middle of the country.

Minerva would have enjoyed dying in his arms at twilight, near the seaside, with Godwin Castle in sight on the horizon. She would have found that to be the most romantic death possible.

Lawrence forced those thoughts out of his head as well. There was not room for them. Because he was also desperately worried for what might happen to them, should Lord Owen catch up to them on the road.

He’d ordered Silas to take a somewhat winding route to Godwin Castle in case of such an occurrence. When they stopped at inns along they way, he chose the largest and busiest ones he could find, obtained a room under a false name, and pretended once again that Minerva was his wife so that they might share a room. It was wicked of him, he knew, but it was much safer for him to keep Minerva within his sight rather than leaving her to her own devices in a room of her own.

“I am beginning to think you do not wish me to have my own lodgings because you are afraid I will run away from you and continue with my original plan,” Minerva told him with a tired sigh as she sat at the tiny table in what Lawrence hoped would be the last of their stops before reaching the Isle of Portland, Clarence perched between them.

“Whatever gives you that idea?” Lawrence asked flatly as he placed the meat pie from the tray one of the inn’s maids had brought to them for supper in front of Minerva.

Minerva did not answer with words. She merely glanced askance at him as he took his seat across from her, blew her poor, sore nose—an activity that had become much less frequent in the last day—and picked up her fork.

Several minutes of silence followed before she said, “I am sorry for making you feel put out.”

The battle within Lawrence pitched to full emotion. He forgave her. Of course he forgave her. He was hurt.

He should not forgive her. She had frightened him with the specter of losing her. Surely, she should do some sort of penance for causing him such difficult feelings.

He covered his awkward state of mind and bought himself time to formulate the best answer by reaching for one of the mugs of ale that had been delivered with their supper.

“Did you truly believe you could execute your plan?” he asked once he’d gulped the ale down.

Minerva glanced morosely at him over their suppers. “At the time the plan was formulated, I believed I could. I did not expect to have anyone with me at the moment of initiation who would care one way or another what happened to me.”

The sadness in Minerva’s eyes shot straight to Lawrence’s heart. All bitterness, most of which was merely a reflection of his storied past anyhow, fell aside. He reached out and placed his hand over Minerva’s smaller one as it rested on the table.

“I would have cared, Minerva,” he said quietly. “I do care. I care very much.”

Minerva’s tired eyes were glassy with unshed tears as she twisted her hand to hold his. “You could come with me,” she said, hope joining those tears. “We could escape to Sweden together, you, me, and Clarence, and live happily in Stockholm for the rest of our lives.”

A bittersweet ache struck Lawrence’s stomach. From the sound of things, she still planned to carry out her plan in some way.

“I cannot go,” he said, not without compassion. “I am known in Stockholm. I had an exhibition there several years ago.”

“We could go somewhere else?” Minerva suggested, appearing closer to weeping than to hatching an entirely new plot.

Lawrence shook his head. “I have a life here. I have family whom I love, who need me.”

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