The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)(9)
Caro and Eliza looked at one another.
“You don’t have to marry him,” Eliza said slowly. “Of course you don’t, if it will make you unhappy. But before you refuse, please consider what your other choices would be. I might counsel you to wait.” That was said with a dubious frown, one that said a second, preferable proposal was unlikely to come as Minnie aged. “If there’s the smallest chance that Stevens might hit on the truth…” She trailed off.
She didn’t need to voice the words. If the truth came out, there wouldn’t be another offer.
Minnie hadn’t lied to the Duke of Clermont. Gardley was the best she could hope for—a man who knew only that she grew quiet in crowds. A man who preferred her quiet. He hadn’t bothered to discover a single thing about her: her favorite color, her favorite food. But then, it would be safer to marry a man who wanted to know nothing of her.
Miss Wilhelmina Pursling would be pathetically grateful to Gardley for an offer of marriage. But Minerva Lane, on the other hand…
“He doesn’t even know who I am,” she said. “He called me a little rodent. Minerva Lane was never a rodent.”
“Don’t say that name.” Eliza’s voice was quiet but alarmed. Her hand pressed against Minnie’s knees, clutching.
“Keep quiet,” Caro said. “It never does to speak the truth.”
Keep quiet. Don’t panic. Never tell anyone the truth. She’d lived with their rules for twelve years, and for what? So that she might one day be so lucky as to be forgotten entirely.
The memory of Minerva Lane—of who she’d been, what she’d done—felt like a hot coal covered in cold ashes. It smoldered on long after the fire had been doused. Sometimes, all that heat rose up in her until she felt the need to shriek like a teapot. Until she wanted to burn the mousy shreds of her tattered personality.
It rose up in her now, that fiery rebellion.
The part of her that was still Minerva—the part that hadn’t been ground to smoothness—whispered temptation in her ear. You don’t need to keep quiet. You need a strategy.
No strategies. Her great-aunts really would protest, if they knew that she contemplated taking action. It had been years since she’d allowed herself to do so.
Stevens thinks you’re writing the pamphlets. You know you’re not. So find out who’s doing it.
Stupid. Foolish. Idiotic. Impossible.
But it didn’t matter how she browbeat herself; the insidious thought wouldn’t leave. How could she find out who’d done it? It could be anyone.
No, it can’t. You know it’s not Captain Stevens. Not your great-aunts. Not yourself. If she could figure out who couldn’t have done it, only the guilty would remain. By process of elimination…
No, you fool. There are hundreds that could be to blame. Thousands.
But having given herself a task, it was nearly impossible to shut down her thoughts. There were those block-letter capitals, the exclamation points. Paragraphs of text, describing the factory owners and their offspring. Something was odd there.
And then, for some reason, she thought about something else entirely. Minnie knew why she had been hiding behind the davenport. She’d been avoiding the crowds and Gardley’s proposal.
But why on earth had the Duke of Clermont been there?
ORGANIZE, ORGANIZE, ORGANIZE!!!!
And how strange was that smile of his—that friendly smile, slightly abashed? When would a duke ever have learned to apologize for being what he was?
No, there was definitely something odd there. Something…
The realization hit her with a force so blinding that the carriage almost seemed to disappear in a flash of light.
Moments like these were one of the reasons it had been so lovely to be Minerva Lane. There were times when it felt like words were mere threads, completely inadequate to contain the enormity of her thoughts. The landscape in her head rearranged with tectonic vigor, coming together with a certainty that was larger than her ability to explain.
And like that, even though she knew she shouldn’t—even though she knew how dangerous it was to strategize—Minnie knew what she needed to do. The plan fell into her lap with full force.
It was not the kind of thing that the rodent-like Miss Pursling would consider. But Minerva Lane, now—she knew what to do.
And thank God, she wasn’t going to have to marry Walter Gardley immediately.
Maybe one day she would. But if she could keep Stevens from suspecting her, she might be able to put him off for months. And maybe—just maybe—something better would come along.
Chapter Three
IT WAS ALMOST UNFAIR, MINNIE THOUGHT as the Duke of Clermont entered his front parlor, how handsome he was. The morning sunlight streaming in through the windows bounced off light blond hair that would have been too long, had it not had a bit of an unruly curl to it. He stopped on the threshold and rubbed his hand through his hair as he contemplated her, mussing it even further. But whatever softness the disarray of his hair might have imparted to his appearance was countered by his eyes. They were sharp and cold, a piercing blue, like a creek flooded with icy spring waters. Those eyes landed on her and rested for a few seconds, and then darted to Lydia, who stood by her side.
Lydia had giggled when she heard that Minnie intended to call on the Duke of Clermont—and she hadn’t batted an eyelash when Minnie had explained that she needed to talk to him privately.