Chapter Eleven #2
Forcing his scratchy throat to swallow made no difference. It was an important question; one he did not feel he could answer…yet she deserved to know he would not be staying long.
His very soul rebelled against the thought before Henry could speak it. What, leave? Leave Minny?
Admit his life was over and confine himself to dull bachelorhood?
“You don’t know,” Minny pressed gently.
Henry shook his head, as though that was sufficient.
“But your money will run out eventually, I suppose,” she said quietly. “You cannot just stay here forever. You are not a gentleman, happy to lay about the place and do nothing!”
Her laugh was light, and Henry tried to laugh with her.
Yes. It was not as though he were a duke, with responsibilities back at Dulverton Manor. Not as though he had a sister depending on him. Not as though he could simply walk away from that life, title, prestige, and live in a smithy.
Tempting as it was. As she was.
“I have a little more coin laid aside,” Henry said aloud, knowing it was an insufficient answer, but helpless to think of anything else to say. “I can stay a while longer. I mean, for the present. For a while.”
God’s teeth, his mouth was running away from him, but what was he supposed to do? Minny’s eyes were bright, intrigued, and it was all Henry could do not to promise the world.
He was in deep. Too deep.
But his primary concern had to be Peggy. “I suppose at some point I will have to go to London to seek the next steps of my journey. I…have you ever been to London?”
There was a reason he had never been invited into the King’s service. Subtle, he was not.
Yet he sparked a reaction—and one that made his heart sink.
Minny’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Why would you ask me that? What would possess you—London? Why London?”
“Only because—well, it’s London. Everyone knows there are jobs in London,” Henry said lamely.
The distance between them had opened into eons. Even if he gave into his wish to reach out and touch the woman swiftly capturing his heart, there was no way to reach her.
He had introduced a gulf between them, and it was one he could never cross.
Minny was frowning, suspicion across her face. “No, I have never been to London, and I don’t know anyone who has been to London. I have no wish to go there!”
Henry’s heart sank, if possible, even further. Who was it that said the lady doth protest too much? Shakespeare? Marlow?
“Ah,” he said helplessly. “I see.”
Minny glared, the ire he had seen when they had first met darkening her eyes. “Why do you want to know so much about London?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Henry said helplessly, wishing to goodness it was late enough in the day to feign tiredness and disappear back to the King’s Head.
But he had to try, didn’t he? He could not retreat without truly trying. The information in London had said messages came back and forth from this very forge.
“One reads so many interesting things about London,” he hazarded, keeping his eyes fixed on Minny. “In the newspapers. So much scandal, so much gossip.”
Yes, there was no mistaking it. Her gaze flickered to the notebook on the stool, panic suffusing her face.
Henry’s shoulders slumped. He should have known, should have kept focused, should not have allowed himself to be so easily swayed by a pretty woman and warm hands. Should not have kissed her twice.
Because she was a part of this. There was such guilt in her face, such fear, there was no mistaking it.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Minny said stiffly. “I have short shrift with those who meddle in gossip, they do not know what damage they can do to people’s lives. They have no—their honor is—I have not read any London newspapers.”
It could just be a coincidence, Henry thought wretchedly. His heart was traitorous, spirit weak, and he wanted so desperately for Minny to be innocent. A mere misunderstanding. Something they could laugh about one day, once he could unburden his heart to her.
And there was truth in her words, he could see that. Admittedly, Minny was also glaring fiercely as though she would fight him bodily if she had to, but nothing but honesty rang from her words.
“Right. Good—I mean, fine,” Henry said hastily.
Minny waited, as though expecting a further attack. But that was his own imagination, surely. She could not possibly know what he was referring to. Could she?
“So,” she said awkwardly. “What are you going to do with that?”
Henry blinked. That? What on earth was she talking about? “I beg your—what?”
“The horse shoe you made. The one in your hand,” Minny said slowly, as though explaining something very simple to a very dense person. “You cannot possibly think to shoe a horse with it, I doubt any of the farmers around here would let you. So, what are you going to do with it?”
“Oh,” said Henry blankly.
He looked at the cold metal in his hand. In his frantic thoughts about Pegs and Minny and scandal, he had quite forgotten about it.
There was no denying it would be a very sick horse to require such a horse shoe.
“I should melt it down, I suppose,” he said quietly. “It can be no use to anyone.”
Not unlike himself, Henry thought darkly. Here he was, a duke! Why had he not sent a servant to do this? Spying on Minny Banfield and discovering if she was connected to this mess should have been a task completed in a matter of days.
Yet he had lingered here, foolishly, slowly entrapping himself in emotions for the smithy’s blacksmith he must fight…must, yet had not.
He was useless. A poor duke to permit such scandalous libel about his sister, and a poor blacksmith indeed.
A warm hand slipped into his. Henry started and saw to his astonishment that Minny had stepped across the forge and was smiling shyly.
They had kissed twice, once when his shirt had been most ridiculously removed. Yet, Henry found neither experience more intimate than this. Standing here with Minny’s hand in his, in the place he was starting to think of as their forge.
“A thing is not useless if it is not perfect,” Minny said quietly.
Henry’s heart twisted. Dear God, how did she manage to look straight into his heart?
“It’s special, because you made it. Why don’t you send it to that sister of yours,” she continued. “Show her what you have achieved since you set out here.”
The thought of sending the terrible horse shoe to Peggy brought a smile to Henry’s face. “I’m not sure whether she would appreciate it—but I know someone who would.”
Minny raised an eyebrow.
“My friend, the d-devil of a friend,” Henry corrected. Hell, he almost said the Duke of Penshaw then! “I think he’ll appreciate my…talent.”
His hand was gently squeezed. “Well. As long as someone does.”