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The heels ofher feet were blistered, and the abundance of energy she normally possessed was depleted. Minerva hugged the white square of linen that housed two bruised apples, a loaf of bread, and a chunk of cheese—all questionably edible at best—tight to her chest. She wasn’t about to be robbed of her possessions a second time, not when she was close to making it back safely to the stairs that led up to her rooms.
How quickly her confidence had diminished once she realized that the urchins she had given apples to were the very same ones who had pushed and tripped her to gain her basket full of food. Tibby’s words rattled through her thoughts and once again ignited enough anger to dry up her tears and push her to try again. She’d woefully underestimated the resilience needed to be self-sufficient, but she wasn’t one to give up easily.
Her hip ached as she mounted the steps to her rooms. To her sanctuary. She made it to the third step before a shooting pain radiated from the bottom of her feet up her tired legs and lodged in her chest. Minerva was left winded, grasping for the handrail and unable to move. Her chin dropped to her chest and she closed her eyes.Keep moving, her mind screamed, but her body refused to respond. Tibby was correct—she was a pampered lady who couldn’t even manage to obtain the basic necessities. A droplet escaped from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
No more tears.
She heaved in a deep breath and rocked herself forward to mount the remaining few steps and then trudge down the landing. Breathless, she stood in front of the door that only hours ago represented endless opportunities, but now appeared as worn as she felt. She rested her forehead against the door. Voices from within had her straightening and pressing an ear to the wood.
“No, no, no, not there, you dunderhead.” It was Tibby’s direct, cutting voice. “Over there in the corner, behind the blasted privacy screen.”
Minerva pushed open the unlocked door. How in the blazes had Tibby gained entrance?
Her gaze fell to the hairpin still lodged in the lock. Apparently, Tibby was not only good at directing people about—she was also skilled at picking locks.
Minerva glanced about the room and nearly lost the bundle in her arms. Curtains blocked out the dwindling sunlight, but she could make out the settee littered with cushions, the small table and two chairs placed near the widow, and a great hulk of a man placing a small table and basin in the corner.
“Lady Minerva!” Tibby exclaimed. “Gawd, what the devil happened to you?” Jack’s sister rushed to her side and ushered her to sit on the settee. Tibby reached for the food, but Minerva pulled back. She wasn’t ready to relinquish her treasure just quite yet.
Tibby left her on the settee. The splashing of water snapped Minerva out of her mild trance. Tibby poured water into a basin and brought it back with her, settling it on the small table next to the settee. A handkerchief mysteriously appeared, and Tibby dipped the clean white material into the water and wrung it out. “Yer a mess, me lady.” The young woman ran the cool cloth over Minerva’s forehead and cheeks. Tibby moved with sure, methodical movements. “I need to take a look at yer hands.” She reached out, took the bundle out of Minerva’s arms, and placed it on the settee. Minerva held out her hands, and Tibby turned them over, palms up.
The woman blinked and then muttered, “Tsk-tsk.” Then she removed Minerva’s bloodstained kid gloves.
Minerva tried not to wince, but the stinging sensation was hard to disregard.
Twisted at the waist, Tibby dipped the handkerchief into the water once more before she set to work cleaning Minerva’s palms. “Wot ye got in there? ’ad best be worth it.” She glanced at the parcel and then back at Minerva. “Did ye hurt yer knees too?” Without waiting for a reply, Tibby lifted Minerva’s skirts and examined her knees. She shook her head and again uttered a series of disapproving tsks. Tibby continued with practiced precision, cleaning the scrapes and bruises.
The silence got to Minerva first, and she asked, “Why did you come back?” She scanned the room that was bare no longer.
“I went home, and me mam reminded me of yer constant generosity. Reminded me it was cuz of ye and yer bloomin’ bonuses ye give Jack that I’m not havin’ to…” Tibby looked up. “Umm…ye best not ask what exactly me mam’s words were.” Boots shuffled behind them, and Tibby looked over her shoulder. “Stop starin’ at the lady and go fetch the bleedin’ cupboard and bring it up.”
She dropped Minerva’s skirts, causing Minerva to hiss as the material rubbed against her raw, albeit now clean, skin.
“Yer knees should ’eal nice and quick. But…” Tibby picked up Minerva’s hands and reexamined them. “Yer hands are gonna take some time to ’eal.”
Minerva groaned. She’d have to wear gloves for her match with Anthony. “Would honey help them heal faster? Gregory always puts honey on our cuts and scrapes.”
Tibby frowned at her. “Does he?”
Minerva nodded.
“Then I’ll bring yer some tomorrow.”
Minerva waited for Tibby’s attention to return. She’d seen the all-too-familiar glazed look on Gregory’s features too often to know better than to try to attempt to converse with a healer sorting through the advantages and disadvantages of a new treatment.
When Tibby’s gaze cleared, Minerva said, “My thanks for your assistance. I really do appreciate it, but I must ask, did anyone see or follow you here?”
“Jack didn’t say ye were in hidin’.” Tibby frowned.
Minerva let out a humorless chuckle. “I thought it would be a lark to be someone, anyone but myself, for a spell.”
Tibby snorted at her dream. “And who were ye wanting to be?”
“Madame Rose.” Minerva smirked at Tibby’s large eyes. “Just for a Season.”
Tibby’s gaze fell to her bosom, which was discreetly tucked away. “Ye’ve got to be funning me.” Tibby scanned Minerva’s features. “Yer Madame Rose?”
