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Charlotte coughed and failed to cover her laughter. “Would you consider Northwell a worthy opponent if he were to challenge you to a chess match?”
“That is the fourth gentleman you have inquired about today.” Minerva held out her hand and said, “Hand me that invitation list.”
Isadora handed over the list. Minerva scanned the names, many she was certain hadn’t been discussed or agreed upon. She mentally counted. Three-quarters of the list were gentlemen, and of those, half were part of Avondale’s set that had devoutly declared bachelorhood. “Sister, etiquette would state you invite an equal ratio of ladies to gentleman. What are you scheming?”
“I’m merely attempting to become better acquainted with my fiancé’s friends,” Isadora replied.
It would take too long to extract the truth from her sister, so Minerva shifted her attention directly upon Charlotte. “Pray, explain why there is a distinct lack of eligible ladies from the Wicked Ladies Salon.”
Charlotte gave her a sweet smile and replied, “We can’t afford to lose more members this early in the Season—terrible for morale. As you know, part of the allure of being a member of the salon is to mingle with ladies of similar determination to remain unwed.”
Minerva had no counterargument. A first for her. She glanced down at the list and read off the first name that caught her attention. “The Earl of Camdon? I’ve read about the man, but he’s been a ghost about Town.”
Charlotte’s nose crinkled. “He’s recently returned from the Continent.”
“The Continent? Was he enlisted?”
“No.”
Charlotte and Isadora shared a look, and it was Isadora who said, “He’s an agent for the Crown, specifically with the Foreign Office.”
“Do you know him well, Charlotte?”
“Well enough.” The girl was never short on words. Her curt responses indicated she knew far more about the man than she was willing to admit.
A housemaid rolled in a tea cart and positioned it in the center of the room. Charlotte hopped up and grabbed a lemon tart and popped it in her mouth.
Minerva stacked the sealed invitations into a pile and whispered, “You won’t succeed.”
“Succeed?” Isadora asked.
“Aye, your scheme to marry me off to one of Avondale’s friends will fail for multiple reasons, but primarily because I wish to have no affiliations with the Crown and the bloody Foreign Office.”
“Why?”
Minerva couldn’t admit it was for purely selfish reasons. She didn’t want the responsibility of others, and she’d spent most of her years taking care of or prioritizing others before herself. Free from those responsibilities, she wanted to live a different life. One that didn’t bind her by social rules. One that allowed her to express herself…
She wanted to live as her alter ego, Madame Rose. The mysterious opera singer that was highly sought after on both sides of the channel.
Minerva squared her shoulders, feigning disinterest at the topic at hand, and prepared to answer. “Having you and Avondale involved is more than enough for one family.”
“But you have skills and abilities that they obviously seek.” It was clear Isadora was not done discussing the issue.
Minerva calmly replied, “You possess many of those same skills. I have other pursuits I wish to fulfill.”
“Mayhap if you shared those with me, I could assist and persuade the decision makers in the Foreign Office to leave you alone.”
Isadora’s words hit a nerve. Minerva didn’t need help. She managed an entire household, kept the family together as one, and…and now she was ready to be alone.
Forcing her lips to form a smile, Minerva said, “Sister mine, focus on your upcoming nuptials and stop trying to play matchmaker.”
Charlotte returned, tea in hand. “There must be at least one if not two gentlemen upon the list that you find interesting.”
Minerva glanced at the list of names once more. If she didn’t play along, then the pair would only devise another scheme. At least this one she could manipulate to her advantage—draw attention away from her real plans and provide her with alibis for evenings when she needed to venture out to play Drake. It would be far easier to disappear for an hour or two during an event than to have to sneak out of the Malbury townhouse night after night.
She spotted a name that brought a frown. “Why does Mr. Scott’s name not resonate?”
“He is the brother of the Marquess of Dunbury, who is also on the guestlist,” Isadora replied.
