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“I see,” Lady Minerva said, nodding seriously and shifting into a position to listen.

“The young artist was very much enamored of Lord Wimpole’s daughter,” Lawrence told his embarrassing story. “He fawned over the lady horribly and asked to draw and sculpt her.”

“And she allowed this?” Lady Minerva asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, yes,” Lawrence said. “She welcomed it. The young artist had already gained something of a reputation for his work by that point, and it was considered an honor to be an artist’s muse.”

“Naturally,” Lady Minerva nodded.

Lawrence pinched his face and stared at Clarence again. “Many a lovely summer’s night was spent in passion that would not otherwise have been permitted or welcomed,” he continued. “And while the young artist was by no means a lothario or more than passingly talented in the techniques of the night—” LadyMinerva’s lips twitched with the urge to smile again, “—those nights held great promise.”

“I should say so,” Lady Minerva said, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

That nearly threw Lawrence from his story entirely. He suddenly realized that Lady Minerva had an impish streak in her. And if what his brothers and cousin had told him about her friends and other Oxford Society ladies was true, they were educated in the same sort of nocturnal activities as men were and engaged in them the same way gentlemen did.

But that was a subject best not examined at present.

“The young artist was quite certain that his proposal of marriage would be accepted,” Lawrence went on, wincing a little as he did.

“I take it the proposal was not accepted?” Lady Minerva asked, a hint of compassion in her voice.

“No, it was not,” Lawrence said flatly. “When the question was asked, the lady in question…laughed.”

“Laughed?” Lady Minerva’s voice was suddenly hard and incredulous.

“I was deemed an unsuitable suitor,” Lawrence confessed, lowering his head slightly. “Good enough to bed, but not enough to wed.”

“And what, pray tell, were thelady’sobjections to the match?” Lady Minerva’s emphasis hinted that she did not think Jessica was a lady at all to refuse him. Lawrence liked her feisty defense of his honor, though.

“She objected to many things,” he went on. “I was not an eldest son. I did not, at the time, have an estate of my own. I was merely an artist.” There were other objections, the ones Lady Minerva already suspected about him, but he could not bring himself to admit that Jessica, and so many others, had thought him stupid.

“What does it matter whether you owned an estate or not?” Lady Minerva argued, enough fury in her eyes to face down a gorgon. “You are the second son of the Duke of Amesbury. Under Wessex law, that makes you the Earl of Amesbury. Did this woman not think it was good enough to be a countess?”

“East Anglians scoff at Wessex titles,” Lawrence admitted with a sniff. “They believe they are silly and confusing, not worth the paper they are written on. And she is a marchioness now.”

“I see,” Lady Minerva snapped. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. “That does not endear the woman to me at all.”

“You have not met her yet,” Lawrence said. “She can be very charming.”

Lady Minerva huffed. “Any woman who would throw you over because of a Wessex title and the absence of an estate is not someone I wish to meet. And if she thinks so little of Wessex titles, why did she marry a Wessex marquess?”

“That I do not know. And I do not think you have a choice but to meet her at this time,” Lawrence said, glancing out the window himself. “We have just arrived at Tidworth Hall.”

Lady Minerva blinked at him, then leaned closer to the window, gazing out at the landscape they now traveled through.

Tidworth Hall was one of the grander houses in that part of the Kingdom of Wessex. He’d visited Lord Otho years ago, well before he’d married Jessica after his first wife had passed. He remembered being impressed by Lord Otho’s interest in horticulture and landscaping. The grounds truly were magnificent, though it was difficult not to have beautiful grounds in such a green and perfect part of the kingdom.

He knew from a few instances of being forced to make polite conversation with Jessica at balls that she had taken it upon herself to renovate the interior of Tidworth Hall upon marrying Lord Otho, and that she had brought a significant amount ofher art collection into the marriage with her. Which was why Loesser knew that she had the statue he’d carved for her in her possession still.

It was the vague invitation to come to Tidworth Hall for a visit at some point, likely delivered for appearance’s sake at one of those balls, that Lawrence was counting on to gain them admittance to Jessica’s house now.

“I am anxious about this visit,” Lawrence admitted as Silas began to slow the carriage as the ground under the carriage turned to the sort of gravel that lined paths closer to great houses. “We will be arriving unannounced, so there is a chance we could be turned away.”

Lady Minerva shook her head. “A woman of no longer actually Lady Wimpole’s status would not turn away guest arriving at her door.”

“It’s Lady Jessica now, since she married Lord Otho Bellinger.”

“Whatever her name is, I will make certain we are given shelter, for one night at least.”