Never Fall for Your Fiancee

Good gracious! At this rate, she’d be biting his hand off to accept his outrageous proposition, seduced by just his presence and the alluring thoughts of toast and butter.

Minerva schooled her features into an unimpressed and slightly dubious mask. “You were explaining how your mother’s matchmaking became intolerable?”

“Intolerable and suffocating. I endured it for as long as I could. For years, she shoved young lady after young lady under my nose. Wherever I went, whatever I did, there would be someone there—eyelashes fluttering. Even my own house became a torture chamber.” She caught a whiff of his cologne and was sorely tempted to lean closer to inhale it. “I suffered through endless teas and interminable dinners, making small talk with determined young ladies all too eager to sink their claws into me. And some of those ladies were quite tenacious, I can tell you. They resorted to all manner of devilments, Miss Merriwell. Unimaginable machinations which my mother was often fully complicit in. That I managed to remain single is, frankly, nothing short of a miracle. Just shy of two years ago, on the spur of the moment while at my wits’ end with dear Mama, I invented Minerva to put a stop to it.”

“I see.”

Although she didn’t. Inventing a fiancée, even under such trying conditions, seemed a bit extreme. Maintaining the ruse undetected for a prolonged period of time seemed highly implausible. Especially as his mother obviously wanted to see him wed. Surely, she would have investigated his claim? Sought out his imaginary fiancée?

“I take it your mother lives exclusively in Hampshire?”

That might explain why she was yet to meet his Minerva. Unlikely, but possible, she supposed. And there she went again, believing the unbelievable. Why did she keep giving him the benefit of the doubt when bitter experience had taught her that men usually were that shallow? A silly question, when she already knew the answer: twenty whole pounds and an aesthetically pleasing broad set of shoulders. Two shameful truths that probably made her shallow, when she had always prided herself on her substance.

“She resides in Boston. The one in America, not Lincolnshire. Did I mention my stepfather is American?”

“She continued matchmaking all the way from America?” Now, that really was quite a feat and did not help to give credence to his story despite the shoulders.

“My mother is a determined woman, Miss Merriwell. And a romantic. It is her sole mission to see me settled and she wasn’t the least bit deterred by the distance. At least when she was here, I could keep an eye on things or escape well in advance if I got wind of her plans.” He pulled a face. “After she left, her scheming became much more unpredictable. Her campaign to see me shackled continued with a vengeance via correspondence, and thanks to her wide circle of acquaintances here in town, she was able to recruit an army of minions to continue the work she had started. Within a few months of her departure, I found myself inundated with invitations and daily surprise visits from every society matron or social-climbing gentleman eager to marry off a daughter. I was accosted at entertainments and harangued if I ventured outside.”

“Poor you.” How the problems of the rich and entitled differed from hers. Minerva would give her back teeth to swap. Living in his world certainly held more appeal than living in hers. Fancy clothes. Comfortable furniture. Servants there to serve your every whim …

“When that failed, my mother threatened to return alone, sacrificing her own happiness until we found me the perfect bride together. She knew the guilt I would inevitably feel would become insufferable. And she also knew I would loathe the enforced proximity which such a self-sacrificing visit would undoubtedly entail. As a point of principle, a gentleman should always rebel against a parent—don’t you think?”

“I suppose a little rebellion ensures you are your own man.” How wonderful would it be to have the luxury of rebellion! Her wandering father hadn’t given her the option.

“Exactly! Except … I’ll admit, in my case the principle got rather out of hand, and at the imminent threat of her booking her passage, I panicked. I invented Minerva—a young lady of gentle breeding who dragged me out of my shallow, self-indulgent existence and showed me there was more to life.”

He gestured to her person as if she fitted the bill exactly, then winced again. “Like you, Miss Merriwell, I have a talent with the pen—except mine is with prose rather than drawing. Knowing my mother’s penchant for romance, I declared there was no need for her to rush home, because Cupid’s arrow had finally pierced me and my heart was hopelessly lost. In gushing detail, I told her I’d rescued a beautiful damsel in distress from a runaway carriage, and immediately fallen head over heels in love with her the moment I stared into her intoxicating eyes. It was a most convincing and, if I might say, touching tale but not one I am particularly proud of.”