Chapter Sixteen #2
“Am I sure love between two people is always precious, always to be trusted and defended?” Minny asked quietly. “Am I sure I have done all I can to help and protect those who have no help nor protection under law?”
Perhaps something of her quelled anger showed in her tone, or perhaps it was in her face, for Henry dropped his gaze.
“You cannot know what it is to love and see danger in every opportunity to reveal that love,” Minny said, her voice soft.
“I saw it in my brother. He adored…well, it is perhaps best not to say. Once the village found out, that was it. He was forced to leave, to forfeit all opportunity to take up the forge. And when I saw how swiftly I could help those who loved contrary to what the law dictates, I am not ashamed to say I have taken every opportunity to do so.”
For a moment, she was certain Henry was going to chastise her. Critique her perhaps, for loving men who were so different to what Society expected.
So, when he eventually spoke in a low voice, his words were a shock. “I am sorry.”
Minny blinked. She must have misheard. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“I did not know—”
“Of course you did not, because you did not have the decency to ask,” Minny cut across him.
Her heart still thumped wildly, but there was a sick pain in her stomach that would not cease. No number of apologies could undo the words he had hurled.
“You scoundrel. You miser. You cruel harpy—you villain!”
The man she had thought she knew, had loved, was a dream. Just that, a dream.
Henry Everleigh was a man who judged first, shouted first, then did not even think to ask questions later. He was dangerous. He was fiery, much like her, but Minny always believed she directed her passions to good.
And what had Henry done? Accused her of something she had never done, against someone she had never even heard of, then stormed out.
“Minny—”
“Miss Banfield,” she corrected sharply. She glared, trying to make him understand. “You came here, to my home, to my forge—”
“I only wanted to—I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Minny snapped. “Dear God, I thought I was doing you a favor!”
Something shifted in Henry’s gaze. “I was paying you.”
“Nothing more than I earned, the amount of time I wasted with you!” Minny did not believe the words she shouted, but the pain in her chest had to be purged somehow.
He had shouted at her, hadn’t he? He had believed she was capable of cruelty, of gossip, of the desire to end a woman’s reputation. Well, perhaps it was time he heard a few home truths of his own.
“You,” Minny said quietly, taking a step forward. “You were so convinced of your superiority in intellect and understanding, you did not hesitate to consider whether you could have the complete wrong end of the stick.”
“Minny, I—”
“And when you did, you were swift to censure me,” she continued, glaring as she took another step forward, hating her frantically beating heart. “I, a woman on my own, without protection—”
“I would never have—”
“You were going to set your lawyers on me!”
Henry had the good grace to look awkward. “Yes, but…dash it all, Minny, I thought you would understand! You did what you did for your sibling, and that was precisely what I was doing!”
“And would it shock you to learn, Miss Banfield, that your letters have already damaged, perhaps beyond repair, the reputation of someone dear to me?”
But it was too late. Minny could no longer look at him and see the man who had become so dear over the last few weeks.
Instead, there was only a man who disbelieved all the goodness he purported to find in her, who was swift to declaim her as a harpy, and who believed the best way to deal with such a disagreement was to send lawyers against a woman.
No, it was over.
“I am sorry, Minny—”
“Miss Banfield,” Minny repeated, emphasizing each syllable. “Mr. Everleigh—or your highness, or whatever you need to be called! You believed the worst of me. You called me a harpy!”
She watched him wince. Then—
“It’s Your Grace, actually.”
And there it was. The anger which had flared, then died down, flared again as though the bellows of her soul were pumped harder than ever before.
Minny blinked away the spots that appeared in her vision as she did her best not to fly at the man. That was the trouble with a temper like hers. It was always about to be let loose at the most inconvenient—
“Get out.”
Henry blinked. Then he stepped forward, and Minny found to her horror he was now mere inches away.
She could not help but breathe in the heady intoxication of his scent.
She could feel his warmth. Only a few inches separated them, and it was impossible not to feel the pull she had been unable to fight yesterday.
The desire she felt for him.
The passion she knew he could swiftly awaken in her.
All she had to do, Minny thought wildly, was lean forward. Her lips would touch his, and all her principles, all her determination to do what was right, would melt away.
Melt into his arms.
“I am sorry, Miss Banfield,” Henry breathed, his gaze flickering from her lips to her eyes. “I was wrong—entirely mistaken. I should not have said—”
“No, you should not,” said Minny, trying to keep a hold of herself. “But you did.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Oh, if only he could take back those words, if only he could erase them from her memory. It would be as though he had never accused her, merely waking that morning in each other’s arms and deciding to be happy for the rest of their lives.
“Once said, those words can never be unsaid,” Minny whispered, heart breaking.
“Minny—”
“I would be grateful if you would depart from my forge and my home,” she said, whipping away from him before all self-control was lost.
It was only a few steps to the door but it felt like an age. At every moment, Minny was certain Henry would reach for her, grab her hand, pull her back—and a small part of her wanted him to.
Wanted him to kiss away the hurt he had hurled at her just moments ago.
But that touch never came. Instead, Minny felt the cold iron of the doorhandle between her fingertips as she twisted the knob and opened the door.
Pathstow appeared. A new day. Villagers were meandering toward North Street where that week’s market stalls were being erected. She could hear complaints of the weather drifting on the breeze.
“Minny, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” lied Minny, glaring at the man to whom she had given everything. “Please leave, Your Grace. I got it right that time, didn’t I?”
She had worked hard to keep all warmth from her voice, and it appeared she was successful. For the second time that day, the Duke of Dulverton strode out of her forge—but this time, Minny did not race after him.
She closed the door slowly, turned to lean against it, gently slid onto the floor, and allowed the tears she had fought for so long to burn down her cheeks.