Never Fall for Your Fiancee

“I have no idea, miss. All I know is I have been tasked with rousing you and informing you to dress up warm.” The long carriage ride back to Clerkenwell … Instantly, she felt sick at the prospect. “And to tell you to hide if you happened to collide with anyone. That is most important. Your presence is apparently imperative and cannot be delayed.”

As painful as that was to hear, it made sense. After all the potentially damning mistakes these past few days, prudence dictated she needed to elope as soon as was feasibly possible before their flimsy house of cards really did collapse. If nobody saw her before breakfast, once she was gone, it would be easy to claim she had stolen away in the middle of the night.

Tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye—but then again, would she ever be? Despite all her resolute intentions, Hugh had sneaked past her defenses and stolen part of her jaded and unhopeful heart regardless. Perhaps more than just a part of it, if the pain was this intense?

“Tell him I will be there as soon as I am dressed, Payne.” Her throat had constricted, the sadness in her voice too obvious to properly disguise.

“Very good, Miss Minerva. Martha is on her way with some fortifying tea.”

This was it.

The end.

Probably just as well.

If it hurt this much now, how much would it hurt next week or the week after?

With leaden feet, she went to the wardrobe and began to rifle through her new clothes to find something suitable to elope in. Dress warm, he had said. Although Payne hadn’t told her to pack. Should she?

Her eyes fell to the tatty old bag she had brought with her, pathetically empty on the shelf. She would need her things once she got home. She grabbed the handles, then dropped them as if they were hot. She had no idea what to take because most of it had been provided by Hugh. Were all these beautiful clothes now his or hers? Miserably, she closed the wardrobe. It made no difference. She would never wear them again. Every stitch would simply remind her of him, and Payne would arrange to have whatever was deemed fit sent later alongside her sisters.

“Your tea, miss, and a bit of toast.” Martha hurried in and deposited both on the bedside table. “You make a start on those while I sort out the rest.” The kind-faced older woman nudged her out of the way and studied the array of gowns, quickly settling on the smart new emerald wool pelisse with its jaunty military-style braiding and matching dress, while Minerva attempted to choke down the food.

She lay the garments on the mattress, and hurried back to fetch stockings in the finest gauge of lambswool, soft leather half boots, and gloves. Next, atop those, came a beautiful green bonnet with silk ribbons and intricate velvet flowers. The same flowers encircled her reticule, in which the maid placed two delicate embroidered handkerchiefs. A pretty chemise, edged in tiny rosebuds, stays, silk garters. All the trappings Minerva had never dared hope to experience but had quickly become used to.

She would miss all this, too.

And this wonderful house. Her marshmallow eiderdown and goose-feather mattress. Those crisp, white sheets that crackled each night as she slipped between them. Tea in bed. The well-meant sparring between Olivia and Jeremiah. Payne, the servants, mad Lucretia and her heaving bosom. Hugh’s twinkling blue eyes over the dinner table.

Hugh.

She mourned each and every aspect of her unexpected temporary life, alongside the man who had given it, while Martha chatted and fixed her hair, then she stared dispassionately at herself in the mirror next to her fancy dressing table. Somewhere over the last ten days, she had turned into a lady.

“You look beautiful, miss.”

“Thank you, Martha … for everything.”

“’Tis my pleasure, miss. Shall I have the striped silk pressed for tonight or the pink taffeta?”

“Whichever you think best, Martha.” It wasn’t as if she would be wearing it.

As if the entire house also understood her time was up, Minerva collided with nobody on her way out. Not a maid, not a footman, not even Payne, so she was denied the opportunity to say goodbye. To avoid the busy kitchen, she slipped out of the French doors in the morning room and crunched across the frost-covered lawn to the stables.

“There you are!” Hugh bounded toward her across the yard, beaming from ear to ear, obviously relieved his convoluted and meticulous plan had finally succeeded. “We need to be quick! The grooms tell me my mother has taken to riding early every morning with Jeremiah. We don’t want to encounter her! That would spoil everything.”

“I don’t think she is up. The house was very quiet when I left.”

“Maybe—but she is small and moves with surprising stealth. It would be just like her to suddenly appear.” He took her elbow and practically propelled her toward a waiting curricle. Now the warm clothes made sense. There was no carriage, because this smart gig was much faster. They would fly along the road to London at top speed. He helped her up and then solicitously wrapped a thick blanket around her knees, reminding her he was the most considerate man she had ever met. “Step lively, Payne! The clock is ticking.”