Page 52 of Black and Silver

He should not have said that. Those words tipped Minerva over the edge, and she wept.

“I did not mean to hurt you with those words,” Lawrence said, setting down his fork so he could take both of her hands in his. “We will be at Godwin Castle by tomorrow evening. You will see how kind and loving my family is, even though we are a passel of eccentric misfits. I am quite certain that they will envelop you in their love, and their madness, as well.”

Minerva wept louder, then snotted, then coughed. She was a beautifully pathetic sight, and he loved her more than he could possibly say.

“All will be well, my dear,” he said. “You will see. Even Clarence thinks so.”

They were sweet words, but Lawrence worried that he would not be able to make them come true.

They set out the next day in a driving rain. Minerva had slept surprisingly well through the night, but Lawrence was half convinced that was because her body was still in the throes of illness, despite what Minerva insisted, and it needed the sleep to heal.

She dozed in the carriage as well as they jostled on over more muddy, rutted roads, Clarence by her side, Lawrence watching her. If he never traveled again, it would be too soon. Or he would travel by boat alone from that point forward. Minerva mighthave thought rain and gloom were delightful, but Lawrence craved sunshine and dryness. If Minerva wanted to run away with him anywhere, he might consider fleeing with her to the deserts of the Levant.

At last, in a moment when the rain let up just a bit but fog hung low, with lanterns already lit and a chill breeze blowing in from the sea, they reached Godwin Castle.

“There you are,” Lawrence nodded out the window at the grey, stone edifice as they drove nearer. “Godwin Castle. My family’s ancestral home.”

Despite the curse hovering over it, Lawrence felt the warmth of familial affection in his heart at the stony sight.

Minerva, who had been quieter throughout the day, both in terms of conversation and a decrease in sneezing and coughing, inched forward on her seat, one hand remaining on Clarence’s pate, and peered out the window. Lawrence felt a certain sense of satisfaction in her gasp and in the light that came to her eyes. He hadn’t seen that light in days.

“That,” she said, “is a cursed castle.”

Lawrence chuckled before he could stop himself and remember he and Minerva were supposedly at odds. “Yes, unfortunately, it is.”

He had never been so glad that the castle was cursed. In fact, thanks to the light in Minerva’s eyes alone, he almost wished that they would march into the great hall and find that Dunstan had already married so that he was the sole inheritor of the blasted place. Presenting Minerva with a cursed castle as a wedding gift seemed somehow fitting.

That was not what happened once they arrived, however.

Silas drove the carriage into the cobblestone courtyard on one side of the castle, Lawrence alighted and helped Minerva down, Clarence held carefully in her arms like a pet and a shield, and the castle footmen rushed forward to help with the baggage.

It would have been an unremarkable arrival, had not Mrs. Weatherby spotted them as they made their soggy way into the front hall.

“Good Lord!” Mrs. Weatherby exclaimed, clapping a hand to her heart, her eyes going wide. “Lord Lawrence, is that…is that Lady Minerva Llewellyn with you?”

“Yes, it is,” he replied.

Lawrence’s casual thought that the castle’s housekeeper looked as though she’d seen a ghost was proven startlingly accurate when Mrs. Weatherby continued to gape and said, “But, my lady, we all believed you were dead.”

All three of them stood stock still, gaping at each other. Lawrence suddenly wondered what the old woman from the village had written in the letter he’d signed. It must have been dire, judging by the way Mrs. Weatherby blinked at Minerva.

More importantly, Minerva stared sharply at Lawrence, a puzzled frown on her wan face.

“How would they believe that I was dead?” she asked, shaking her head slightly.

“I, er, I wrote a letter to my father, telling him you were ill and advising him I would bring you here for your convalescence and asking him for healing advice,” Lawrence said, trying not to mumble his answer. “At least, that is what I thought I said. The old woman from the village actually wrote the letter.”

“And you did not read it?” Minerva asked.

Her expression changed to sheepishness a moment later as she must have realized what she was asking.

“That is not what the letter said,” Mrs. Weatherby informed them. “It stated that Lady Minerva had taken ill with a putrid fever, one that had killed many people in the area, and that she was not expected to survive.” She paused, glancing between the two of them, then told Lawrence, “The letter did say you were coming here, however. We have been anticipating yourarrival. Your room is ready and waiting, but I will need more preparation to make a guestroom available for Lady Minerva.”

“I will be grateful for whatever accommodation you could provide,” Minerva said, sounding weak and tired.

That must have appealed to Mrs. Weatherby’s deeply caring nature.

“My lady,” she said, as if saying “my poor dear”. She stepped forward to slip one arm around Minerva like a sister. “You are clearly still unwell. Come to the duchess’s sitting room with me and I will prepare a healing tea for you. As soon as a guestroom is ready for you, I will have a nice, warm bath drawn, and then you can rest for as long as you’d like.”

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