Page 26 of To Wager with Love

The fellow looked a little surprised, and possibly revolted at her praise. There was a slight sniggering sound from behind her that Minerva recognised as belonging to Bonnie. It was quickly smothered; no doubt Ruth’s doing.

“It was my pleasure,” he said brusquely, about to turn away until Minerva stalled him by laying her hand on his arm.

“But still, you didn’t have to come to my rescue and… and I’m terribly grateful.”

She sent him her most devastating look, perfected from hours before a looking glass, shy yet interested, all blue eyes from under long lashes. It had made many a young man sigh with longing.

Mr de Beauvoir wrinkled his nose.

“Good day to you, Miss Butler. Ladies.”

He gave a rather stiff bow and Minerva watched as he left the shop. She let out a sigh as the door closed behind him.

“Minerva… oh, Minerva…?” Bonnie whispered, waving a hand in front of Minerva’s eyes as though to bring her round from a trance.

“Oh, stop it,” Minerva said, blushing a little.

“Only if you tell me what on earth is happening in that head of yours,” Bonnie demanded, staring at her in wonder. “You looked at him like he was the sun and the moon and the stars all rolled into one, and he’s not even handsome, besides looking poor as a church mouse. Did you see that dreadful coat he was wearing? It was all worn at the elbows.”

“He needs looking after,” Minerva said, nodding dreamily.

Bonnie pulled a face. “Blech,” she said, looking at Minerva as if she’d run mad. “Ruth, you talk to her.”

“What about?” Ruth replied, laughing now. “The fellow was very chivalrous, you have to admit, and there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Clearly,” Bonnie replied, obviously bewildered.

“Oh, excuse me.”

The two women looked around, astonished as Minerva waylaid the fellow who had abused her so rudely. The man started, almost dropping his now neatly packaged books for a second time.

“Please,” Minerva said. “Could you tell me who that man was? You obviously admire him a great deal.”

“That was Mr Inigo de Beauvoir,” he said, with the same tone he might have said, that was the Duke of Wellington. There was reverence in his words, along with quite obvious contempt for her ignorance. “He’s one of the brightest minds of our generation, a remarkable scientist. I’ve listened to several of his lectures at The Royal Academy,” the fellow added, as though this was some achievement, which perhaps it was.

He bustled off, looking as if he was bursting to tell someone exactly who had just torn him off a strip. Minerva wondered if the story would change somewhat in the telling.

“A scientist,” she said, or rather breathed, feeling thoroughly awed by such intellectual prowess. “How….”

“Dull,” Bonnie muttered.

“Interesting,” Ruth said firmly, whilst Minerva stared at the door, pondering why wonderful was the only word she could think of.

Chapter 8

Honestly, Kitty, I don’t know what came over Minerva. If I was as beautiful as she is, I wouldn’t waste it all on some fusty intellectual. He didn’t look the least bit interested in her and how is that even possible? She’s gorgeous, and besides that I doubt he’s ever been to a ball in his life.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Bonnie Campbell to Mrs Kitty Baxter.

31st August 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.

“You spent a lot of time here as a child.” Matilda guessed, watching as Harriet stared into the fire, the picture of misery.

Harriet nodded. “We practically lived here. The late earl and my father were very close friends, and my parents were often away with my father’s work, researching some long dead Egyptian king or an illegible papyrus. Father could go away quite happily, knowing Lord and Lady St Clair would look after us.”

There was a certain amount of bitterness behind the words and Matilda wondered how much Harriet and her brother had seen of their parents.

“So, you and Jasper were friends?”