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Her sisters trudged down the hall a few feet before Diana looked at Isadora and mumbled, “I don’t like the twinkle in her eyes.”
Isadora linked her arm with Diana’s. “I don’t either, but we owe Minerva our support.”
Minerva shut the door and scurried over to her writing desk. She slid into her chair and pulled out a sheet of crisp white parchment. With no time to waste, she began to pen a note to her brother.
Dear Gregory
You shall claim to all and sundry I’m not to be disturbed or seen for the next few days.
Ensure Kent and Mama believe you, and I shall ensure that your debt to Lord Eversham is settled.
Your loving sister
Minerva
She sealed the note with wax and rushed to hand it off to Jack, who was posted just outside her door. “For Gregory’s eyes only, and then I’ll need your assistance in a half-hour at the back alley.”
Brow furrowed, Jack nodded and then rushed off to deliver the parchment.
Minerva glanced about the room. There was much to do. She was going on an adventure.
Chapter Seventeen
While Anthony wasglad to be once again residing in his Mayfair townhome, and drinking in the company of friends, he also wished Kent and Camdon would cease glaring at him. He was well aware of their expectations and wishes—win, win at all costs. Minerva was no ordinary chess player. She was a master strategist both seated in front of a chessboard and in life.
Anthony sat back in his chair and waited for Camdon to make his move while Kent continued to pace in a triangular pattern between the window, the door, and the chessboard. He steepled his fingers and drummed his fingertips. Subtle physical movements were a tactic Minerva often employed to distract her opponents. He needed to compile a list of actions that he could employ during their game.
He leaned forward, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He had yet to distract Camdon, but when his opponent looked up from the board to scowl at Anthony, he knew his latest tactic had worked. Anthony stilled, but as soon as Camdon returned his attention to the board, he resumed the finger tapping. That was until Camdon growled, “Good Lord, man, stop.”
Bailey, Anthony’s butler, cleared his throat at the doorway and then proceeded to enter the drawing room with precise steps. He presented Kent with a salver that held a note. A missive with the Malbury seal. Was it from Minerva?
Kent picked up the note, turned it over, and lifted it to his nose, which scrunched up as soon as he inhaled. There was no hint of lemon nor vanilla from where Anthony sat, which meant it wasn’t from Minerva. Then who was it from?
Exerting his will, Anthony remained seated instead of jumping up and snatching the damn parchment from Kent’s fingers.
Kent pried open the letter and said, “Gregory has declared Minerva indisposed for the next few days.” He tapped the corner of the parchment against his palm. Brow furrowed, he reread the note.
Camdon peered up from the chessboard. “Is your sister ill?”
“Most likely not. But whatever Minerva is up to, she doesn’t want me”—Kent’s gaze shifted from Camdon to Anthony—“or us interfering.” He tucked the note into his jacket pocket and resumed his pacing. The last time Anthony saw his friend this agitated was when Kent had lost all hope of ever getting Phyllis to give him a second chance. Did Kent not have faith in Anthony to win his match with Minerva? Was he devising another scheme in the event his friend failed?
Anthony rubbed his temples. The issue was that if he were Kent, he’d be doing the exact same. Minerva rarely took to her bed due to an ailment—although the Malbury sisters often used illness as an excuse to avoid accompanying their mama about Town. Half thetonbelieved the ladies were a sickly lot, when in fact the Malbury sisters were healthier than most. They could walk miles without issue, due to years of practice trapsing about the countryside. He would know, since he trailed Minerva about every summer.
Camdon broke into his thoughts, commenting, “Mayhap Minerva simply wishes for you to remain here while she devises stratagems with Chestwick and Avondale to defeat you.” Camdon placed Anthony in checkmate with his pawn. “Which is apparently not that difficult.”
Kent glanced down at the board and scoffed. “If Drake could concentrate for longer than a minute on the game, he’d have won.” He abandoned his pacing and walked over to the sideboard. The clink of crystal as Kent removed the decanter stopper and the splash of liquid into the tumbler had Anthony thinking of his oath to refrain from partaking until after his match with Minerva. No brandy, and definitely none of the aged Scottish whisky he had a preference for. He needed a clear head for his match with Minerva. Except his mind and thoughts were scrambled after his discovering Minerva was Madame Rose.
He had spent most of the night lying in bed reexamining past events. Minerva had tried to tell him many a time, giving hint after hint. Each one obvious to him now that he knew the truth. He had prided himself in being able to decipher puzzles and solve riddles before anyone else, yet he had missed every clue Minerva gave him over the past two years. For two years, he’d been a buffoon. Ashamed of how blind he had been, Anthony craved a drink to drown his embarrassment. How had he failed to see Minerva for the clever minx that she was?
His hand shook as he reset the pieces in front of him. He had acted just as she had accused him of, only seeing what he wanted to believe. Except he knew the truth now, and he still was at a loss as to how to proceed. She wanted to live the life of an actress. How could he grant her wish and marry her at the same time?
Kent raised his glass in the air and gave his thoughts a voice. “It’s possible Minerva has agreed to work with Chestwick and Avondale to devise a plan to defeat Drake, but I’d wager Minerva has refused their help and is scheming to go on one last adventure before she is shackled.”
“How can you be so certain Drake will win?” Camdon finished realigning his pieces and sat back to accept the glass of amber liquid Kent was offering him.
“Despite his attempts to undermine his abilities, Drake is a blooming genius…” Kent drained his glass and walked back to refill it. “And my sister has been in love with my best friend from the moment I brought him home that first holiday break, years and years ago.”
Anthony ignored Kent’s comment and crossed his arms over his chest, which ached for time lost. If he had been braver and taken action to act upon his feelings for Minerva sooner, they could have avoided years of misunderstandings.
