Page 59 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Minerva’s smile softened, and she took a step back, gesturing for them to go. “Of course,” she said, her voice steady despite the pang of loneliness that settled in her chest. “The two of you should be the center of attention.”
Chastity’s eyes lingered on her sister for a moment longer, as if she still wasn’t entirely convinced. But then Lord Wellford gently pulled her onto the dance floor, and Chastity allowed herself to be swept away, her laughter echoing through the room.
Minerva watched them go, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The ballroom was a whirl of color and light, filled with laughter and celebration. It should have been easy to get lost in the joy, to let herself be carried along with the happiness of the evening. But she felt oddly out of place, like a spectator at a play she wasn’t quite a part of.
Samantha sidled up beside her, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well?” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Shall we find you a dance partner, or will you insist on brooding all night?”
Minerva’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Brooding? Me?” she retorted, but there was no true bite to her words. “I would never.”
Samantha gave her a knowing look, then slipped an arm through Minerva’s. “Come on, then,” she said. “If you won’t dance, at least let’s find some champagne. You look like you could use a drink.”
Minerva laughed, letting her friend steer her toward the refreshment table. “You are a terrible influence,” she teased.
Samantha grinned. “Only the best kind,” she replied. “Besides, tonight is a night for celebration, and I won’t have you sulking in the shadows.”
Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, her gaze fell on a familiar figure standing near one of the grand windows. Her breath caught, and her heart gave a traitorous lurch.
Evan Pembroke, the Duke of Colburn, was there. He stood in quiet conversation with another gentleman, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the chandelier. His presence was an undeniable force, one that seemed to draw her attention despite every effort she’d made to forget him these past two weeks.
Samantha’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she followed Minerva’s gaze once more, this time taking in the figure of Evan Pembroke, the Duke of Colburn, standing across the room. Her playful grin faded, replaced by dawning understanding.
“Wait a moment,” Samantha said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she turned back to Minerva. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
Minerva froze, her fingers tightening around the delicate stem of her champagne glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, her voice too quick, too defensive.
Samantha’s eyebrows shot up, her dark eyes widening with surprise and intrigue. “Oh, you most certainly do,” she said, a triumphant smile breaking across her face. “All those weeks of secrecy, the man you have been so tight-lipped about... it is him. The Duke.”
Minerva felt a wave of heat rush to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, pretending to find her drink fascinating. “It is not what you think,” she muttered, though she knew it was useless. Samantha had always been too perceptive for her own good.
“Not what I think?” Samantha echoed, her voice rising in disbelief. “Minerva, I have seen you hide from scandalous gossip, but I have never seen you like this—flushed, fidgety, and... oh my heavens, it is him!” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, but her excitement was palpable. “You have been pining after a Duke this whole time?”
Minerva’s shoulders stiffened, and she shot her friend a glare. “I have not been pining,” she insisted, though even she could hear the unconvincing edge to her words. “And lower your voice, will you? The last thing I need is for anyone else to hear.”
Samantha pressed her lips together, but her eyes sparkled with barely-contained delight. “Forgive me,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “But you cannot blame me for being curious. You have kept this secret locked up tighter than the Crown Jewels, and now I finally see why.”
Minerva let out an exasperated sigh. “It is complicated,” she admitted, her voice softening. “And it is not something I care to discuss here, in the middle of Chastity’s engagement ball.”
Samantha studied her friend for a moment, her expression softening. “Minerva,” she said, her tone gentler now, “what happened between the two of you? You have been different ever since that night in the gallery.”
Minerva swallowed hard, her gaze flickering back to where Evan still stood, the sight of him stirring emotions she wasn’t ready to confront. “He kissed me,” she finally admitted, her voice barely audible. “And then he left. Just... disappeared for weeks.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “The nerve of that man,” she said, a flash of indignation crossing her face. “And now he has the audacity to show up here?”
Minerva’s chest tightened, and she felt the sting of tears she refused to shed. “Yes,” she whispered. “And I don’t know if I am more furious with him... or with myself.”
Samantha’s expression softened even further, and she reached out to squeeze Minerva’s hand. “You deserve better,” she said firmly. “But if he’s here, it is time you got some answers.”
Minerva took a breath, her lips pressing into a wry smile. “Or,” she said, lifting her chin with a practiced air of nonchalance, “I could simply refuse to speak to him. Why should I chase after him for answers? If he’s so desperate to explain himself, then let him come to me.”
Samantha arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into an amused grin. “Oh, so now you’re going to play the aloof, unreachable lady?”
Minerva nodded, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Precisely. He abandoned me for weeks, and I have no intention of making this easy for him. If he wants to talk, he will have to humble himself and make the first move. I will teach him a lesson about disappearing without a word.”
Samantha laughed, the sound warm and approving. “I must admit, I like this plan. Make him squirm a little. Heaven knows he deserves it.”
Minerva’s heart still felt heavy, but her friend’s support made the weight a little easier to bear. She lifted her glass of champagne, her fingers steady now, and took a slow sip. “Yes, let him cometo me,” she declared, the words a thin shield over the storm of emotions within her. “If he dares.”
Samantha leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “And what if he does come to you, all contrite and eager to explain?”
