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With her backup against the wall, Minerva let her head fall forward and sighed. She cradled her injured left hand in her right. After spending an inordinate amount of time building and lighting a fire, she’d quickly discovered how ill-prepared she was to complete even the simplest of tasks, like boiling water for a cup of tea.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The burning throb of pain at the center of her palm was nothing compared to the ache deep in her chest that grew every hour she spent alone. She had scoffed at Anthony’s lack of will to remain hidden, and even laughed at the fact it had only taken two days of solitary confinement for the man to come to his senses. How vain of her to consider she would fare better than Anthony. She hadn’t even been left alone for more than a day and she already missed everyone, but especially the man she had lain with willingly in her makeshift bed.
Overconfident in her abilities, she had once again ventured out only to find herself lost amongst a sea of people. It was a peculiar sensation to be surrounded by others and yet feel entirely isolated. The street vendors that were usually attentive and friendly behaved as if she were invisible. Dressed as Madame Rose, she was treated with apathy rather than enthusiasm.
With near-perfect hearing, she couldn’t ignore the snide references to her being some poor pigeon’s mistress or the pitying looks from others. Evidently it mattered not if she was Madame Rose or Lady Minerva—people gossiped about her or pitied her regardless.
Humiliated, she’d returned to her rooms hoping a cup of tea would restore her spirits. When she walked through her door and found herself all alone, she clutched at her chest, the pain so intense it caused her to gasp for a breath. The ache wasn’t due to the fact she had no one to order about. It wasn’t the knowledge that her family had moved on without her. And it definitely wasn’t the fact that she missed the comforts of being a lady.
No, the pain was all due to the realization that what she truly desired was to continue being Lady Minerva Malbury, surrounded by her siblings and close friends, all of whom she could trust. She didn’t want to be anyone else. The fantasy of living as Madame Rose, with loving and adoring supporters all about her, had been demolished. Assuming the identity of her alter ego for a Season wasn’t going to make her happy. She needed to be a part of her siblings’ lives, mayhap not in the role of mother any longer, but in other ways.
A sharp rap at the door had Minerva scurrying over to the exit.
She pressed her ear to the door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me. Tibby.”
The prospect of having company had Minerva clumsily turning the latch with her good hand and fumbling to open the door, which nearly hit her in the face as Tibby pushed against the wood.
Minerva stepped back as the door opened with a whoosh. “Is something the matter?”
Tibby’s eyes fell to Minerva’s upturned, blistered palm. “How in the blazes did that occur?” It was apparently a rhetorical question, because she shook her head and said, “Don’t answer.” Jack’s sister grabbed Minerva by the elbow and led her to the washstand over in the corner. Methodically Tibby lit a candle and then brought Minerva’s hand closer to the flame and examined her palm. “Did ye already clean it?”
“I did. Gregory said it’s imperative to keep a wound clean, or else sepsis is likely to set in. I don’t have any honey, or else I’d have applied some.”
“Hmm… Does your brother Gregory always favor natural cures?”
“He’s an avid learner in all methods of healing. I should introduce you to him.”
“No offense, me lady, but I’d rather you not.” Tibby reached into the satchel that hung across her chest and rested against her hip. With swift movements, she rifled through her bag, reading labels until she found a small bottle that she promptly placed between her teeth. Next came a small mixing pot, which she poured water into. After popping the cork from the bottle, Tibby emptied what appeared to be a powder into the bowl and mixed it with her fingers until it turned into a slurry. Scooping up the mixture with her forefinger, Tibby applied it first to the deepest burns and then methodically out from there.
The healer held Minerva’s hand over the bowl and rinsed away the paste rather than covering it with a bandage. “Why—” Minerva paused mid-query as a pain radiated up her arm. The burn was deeper than she’d originally believed.
“I don’t need more bleedin’ lords following me about. Me clients are already nervous as is.”
Tibby was still discussing Gregory while Minerva was more curious as to why she had applied the white paste only to wash it off immediately. A bell of warning rang in her mind. “What do you mean, ‘more’? How many gentlemen are following you?”
“Hmm…let’s see… There was Lord Drake, who followed me about most of the day yesterday, and then early this morn Lord Camdon began following me for a spell before I lost him in King’s Square. Mind you, Lord Camdon was the best disguised, but Lord Drake was the hardest to lose.” Tibby cleaned out her mixing bowl, dried it with a linen cloth, and tucked it back in her bag. She turned to face Minerva once more. “And then there was yer brother, Lord Kent, who was trailing behind me for an hour or two this afternoon, after he caught me leaving Malbury Townhouse.”
“Did Jack send for you?”
“No. I merely went to see me brother to discuss somethin’.” She dug into her satchel and withdrew a little jar of honey. “It’s no wonder why yer wishing to be Madame Rose. Tenacious hounds, those gentlemen are.”
Minerva let out a giggle at Tibby’s description of the men. Her smile faded as she confessed, “I’m not certain I wish to be Madame Rose any longer. I’m not as self-sufficient as I thought.” She winced as Tibby applied a thin layer of honey and wrapped her hand with a clean strip of cloth. Minerva waved her bandaged hand up in the air. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Yer hand will heal; no permanent damage.”
“I wasn’t talking about my hand, Tibby.” Minerva sighed.
Tibby frowned as she tucked the supplies back into her bag. “Then wot were you goin’ on about?”
Minerva hadn’t known Tibby for long, but Jack’s sister was steadfast, and Minerva instinctively trusted her. Confiding in a stranger might be soothing. “After you left, Lord Drake appeared at my door last night.”
“Well, ain’t he clever. And?” Tibby’s brows sloped down in the middle to form a deep valley just above her nose.
“He’s attracted to Madame Rose in a way he never will be to his best friend’s little sister.”
“Lady Minerva, yer talkin’ to me in riddles. Tell me plain-like.”
