Free Confessions From an Arranged Marriage by Miranda Neville

trinkets, the duke demonstrated his contempt for his only son.
    Blake was used to that. To his surprise some of his anger at the snub was on behalf of his fiancée.
    Miss Montrose shall have the use of all the family jewels in due course.
    That clever young lady might be oblivious to the duke’s meaning, but not Blake. The duke was stating that Minerva, with her insufficient connections and fortune, would only be fully welcomed into the Vanderlin family when she’d produced a son. Or even two.
    Blake was rather charmed by her naïveté. She had no idea she’d been given inferior jewels. He also felt some compunction that she wouldn’t be earning the good ones any time soon. When he collected Desirée’s ruby bracelets, he noticed a magnificent emerald and diamond necklace in a glass case.
    â€œA copy of one owned by the late Empress Josephine and made in Paris,” the jeweler said, only too happy to demonstrate the most expensive item in his shop to a customer known to be about to have immediate, rather than future, access to a handsome fortune. “With the war well behind us we have no need to avoid French fashions.”
    â€œIndeed not,” Blake said. “I’m off to Paris myself in a week or two.”
    â€œWith such a necklace a lady would have no trouble holding her own, or even surpassing, the French ladies.”
    Blake left the premises with the bracelets for his mistress in one pocket and a wedding present for his bride in the other.
    He reached his rooms to find that someone had delivered a parcel for him. Any expectation of pleasure vanished when his man told him it came from Vanderlin House. He didn’t bother to open the duke’s note. As promised or threatened, his father was making another attempt to prepare Blake for his illustrious future by setting him a course of study. He picked up the first of a thick sheaf of pamphlets and allowed himself a little grin. Minerva, at least, hadn’t made good on her kind offer to provide him with improving literature. Perhaps there was hope for them yet.
    He’d better give it a try. Every now and then he suffered an attack of hope that a miracle would occur and he would be able to appreciate one of these earnest tracts, full of matters vital to the future of the nation.
    He poured himself a glass of sherry for fortification and turned to the first page.
    The smell of ink on cheap paper assaulted him. Small print and long words danced before his eyes.
    Ten minutes later he stood up and pitched them into the fire, glass and pamphlet both.

Chapter 7
    W hen Sebastian deemed his wife well enough to travel up from Kent, Minerva was reunited with her sister at the Iverleys’ house in Portman Square. Once the children had been kissed and admired and settled in the nursery with their attendants, Diana lost no time in hustling Minerva to her boudoir for a tête-à-tête.
    â€œI’m so sorry, my darling,” Diana said, drawing Minerva down onto the sofa with her and holding her hand. “It’s all my fault.”
    â€œWhy? Because you didn’t marry Blakeney yourself? Do you expect me to believe you regret wedding Sebastian because of what has happened to me?”
    â€œHardly! Though I’m glad to see your misfortunes haven’t rendered you incapable of impertinence. I meant if I’d been well enough to attend to your presentation myself, the ball would have been here. There would have been no chance of Blake trying to seduce someone in the library because Sebastian wouldn’t have let me invite him.”
    Minerva rested her head on Diana’s shoulder, as she had so often as a child. Finally in company with the one person in whom she might fully confide, she felt none of the need to scream with anger or weep with fear she’d been suppressing.
    â€œWhat’s done is done,” she said. “I must make the best of it.”
    â€œMy dearest Min! The maturity of