Charming Artemis, page 11
His laugh emerged in an odd sort of snort, bringing her own laugh to the surface. She’d been crying mere moments earlier, and now she was laughing. The change was unexpected but welcome.
“What did you actually come in for?” he asked. “I suspect it wasn’t in the hope of discussing theoretical mathematics.”
“I wanted to peruse a book of old fashion plates.” Embarrassment surged as a blush over her face. “I’m certain you find that a very shallow and simple pursuit.” She ought not be ashamed of her interest, yet he had just told her of his in terms she could not begin to understand.
“Clearly”—he motioned at his ramshackle appearance—“I know nothing of fashion. That you are an undisputed expert is impressive, Artie. Truly.”
She hadn’t always liked when he called her Artie. Lately, though, it felt like a nickname borne of affection. Other than Princess, she’d not experienced that. “Will you find me bothersome if I stay in here while you ponder the mysteries of the mathematical universe?”
“Not at all.”
She retrieved one of her plate books and settled comfortably on the sofa, her feet tucked up beside her. Charlie took up his book again and resumed his pacing and pondering.
He’d shown her greater kindness than her father ever had, despite having every reason to deeply resent her. She’d told herself that was the reason she’d not attempted to forge a connection with him: because he clearly disliked her. But she had to admit, in that moment, that her fear ran far deeper.
She had spent her life plagued by an unanswerable question: was hers the life that ought to have been preserved twenty years earlier? She knew the answer her father would have given. What if Charlie’s answer were the same?
Chapter Thirteen
The question of what to present to the Royal Society remained unanswered in Charlie’s mind. He wasn’t well-versed enough in Budan’s theorem to expound on that. He was deeply intrigued by the law of quadratic reciprocity but hadn’t anything new to add to the topic. He’d hoped to further study Euclidean geometry at Cambridge, as he was convinced its principles were not the only ones at work in the universe no matter the general consensus. That last would make an excellent topic for lecture, but he couldn’t prove anything nor speak with a great deal of authority.
This was an opportunity he dared not waste. It could be a means of reclaiming a little of what he’d had to give up. And yet, that was not what hung heaviest on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Artemis.
“He never looked at me or spoke to me.”
“He never said my name.”
Charlie could hardly imagine a father completely ignoring his child and doing so for the entirety of her life. He’d been unsure what to do while she’d shared such personal pain and recollections. Had she needed an arm around her shoulders or a hug? He’d settled for holding her hand, hoping it would help. After a time, she’d rallied. And she’d stayed in the bookroom for a while afterward, reading and perusing her fashion plates.
Had he done the right thing? They didn’t love each other, and this marriage had not been their choice, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to be unhappy.
Now, with only the light of his candle breaking the dark of the bookroom, his mind refused to make sense of anything. Not mathematics. Certainly not the lady he was married to.
He took up the letters Giles had delivered to him earlier that day but which he’d not yet had time to even glance at. Letters in one hand, candleholder in the other, he made his way back to his bedchamber. None of his clothes were so fashionably close fitting that he needed a valet to help him undress. He could simply strip down to his small clothes and climb into bed when he was ready.
Light spilled through the ajar door of the circular sitting room, precisely the amount one would expect from a candle. Charlie moved to the door and peered inside.
Artemis was seated on the sofa, her legs up beside her, just as she’d sat in the bookroom. She held a folded handkerchief in her hands, which rested on her lap. Her gaze was on the bit of linen, and what he could see of her expression was deeply sad. Heartbroken, even.
Charlie’s heart dropped to his toes. He hadn’t caused this, had he?
“Artemis?”
She didn’t look up. He knew she wasn’t asleep.
What was he meant to do? He didn’t know what was causing her distress. He certainly didn’t know how to fix it.
What would you do, Father? There was, of course, no answer. He was on his own, muddling through life, as always.
He crossed to her, pausing just long enough to set his candle and the letters on the side table next to the sofa before sitting beside her. “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing I can’t sort out.” Her usual tone of defiance felt forced. She had often frustrated him with her playacting and insincerity. Seeing that mask crack, though, was not the satisfying experience he would have expected.
“Not much can be said for me, but I am generally considered a good listener,” he said.
“I suspect I have forced you to listen to more already today than you’d prefer.” She shrugged a shoulder and tipped her chin at an arrogant angle.
Not once in the last two years had Charlie expected he would ever feel empathy for Miss Shamcaster.
“I am sorry about how you were treated,” he said. “A father is someone who ought to . . . ought to be there when you need him.”
Eyes still on her handkerchief, a bit of linen that appeared to have seen better days, she asked, “Was yours?”
He seldom spoke of his father, almost never, in fact. But he felt in his bones that she needed him to. She needed to know that her difficult feelings about her father were something others could empathize with.
“My father died when I was seven years old,” he said. “So, no, he has not been around when I’ve needed him. I suspect, though, if he had remained alive, he would have been.”
“I wonder sometimes which is more difficult: missing the kindnesses one once had or mourning the tender moments that never were.”
How easily she could have been describing the last thirteen years of his life. “I’ve wondered that myself.”
She took a slow, deep breath. It was the sort of thing one did when hoping to retain one’s composure. “Did you enjoy your mathematics?”
“I always enjoy mathematics.”
She shook her head. “You are a strange person, Charlie Jonquil.”
“Yes, but a strange person with letters.” He reached over to the table and took up the stack. “And two of them are for you.”
Eagerness entered her expression. He was glad of it. Seeing her so downcast weighed heavily on him.
He set her letters in her hands.
“Daria,” she said, eyeing the first. “And Nia,” she said about the second. She looked at him briefly. “Two of the Huntresses.”
“Ah.”
She bent over her letters, so he turned his attention to the one addressed to him in Mater’s familiar handwriting. He flipped it over and broke the seal.
It was a single sheet of parchment written on one side only. A brief letter, then. That was a bit disappointing.
He read silently.
My dearest Charlie,
I realize you are only just settling into your new life and home, but I fear I must disrupt. While it will seem an oddity to you, and I will confess it is unusual, your father’s will requires that all you boys and your families come to Lampton Park for the reading of its final portion. He was very specific about this.
Though the reason for this gathering is perhaps not the happiest, I am so pleased at the possibility of seeing all my boys again, and you in particular, Charlie. I look forward to hearing how you are progressing with your marriage and the life you are building.
Come as soon as you are able, with plans to stay until all of you are able to arrive and these matters can be seen to.
All my love,
Mater
She anticipated hearing a good report from him, reassurances that all was going well. He and Artemis were not much better off than they had been when last Mater had seen them. They spent most of their time ignoring each other. When they weren’t isolated, they were generally arguing. And now and then, they had moments of companionable peace, like they’d had today.
And on the back lawn during their game of catch us, catch us. Heaven knew he’d thought about that moment many times. He imagined himself touching her soft curls again, putting his arm around her. He couldn’t shake the idea, and he couldn’t deny that it was far more appealing each time he pondered the possibility.
But even that bit of encouragement didn’t change the reality of their situation. His struggling marriage would be subject to direct comparison with the loving and successful families his brothers were building. Fleeting moments of not wanting to strangle each other would not pass muster at Lampton Park.
Charlie couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Mater. And his brothers would alternate between teasing him mercilessly and offering mountains of unsolicited advice. He didn’t care for the possibility of either one.
“Is something the matter?” Artemis asked.
“We are being summoned to Lampton Park, something to do with my father’s will.” He couldn’t reconcile that part of it. Father had been gone for thirteen years. How could any aspect of his will be read and enforced only now?
“Will very many people be there?” She gave no indication of what she hoped the answer would be.
“My entire family,” he said. “And I know them well enough to be certain they will not bother to hide their curiosity about the two of us.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke again. “What are we to do? I suspect neither of us wishes to be scrutinized.”
He could think of only one answer. “The same thing your brother-in-law told us to do in London”—once more mimicking the duke’s voice—“we will undertake a required bit of playacting.”
“We’re going to lie to your family?”
He hated that her evaluation wasn’t entirely an exaggeration. “I propose we call a truce between the two of us while we’re there. We’ll make a show of being on friendly terms and, in so doing, avoid the awkwardness we would endure otherwise.”
In other words, yes, he silently added. We are going to lie to every last one of them.
Chapter Fourteen
Charlie had been adept at pretending to be other people all his life. He could recreate each of his brothers’ mannerisms and vocal oddities. His schoolmates had been endlessly entertained by his impersonations of every professor and headmaster they’d ever had. He, of course, could also do impersonations of all of his friends.
Thus, playing the role of doting husband was not terribly difficult; he simply acted like he was any of his brothers.
The journey from Brier Hill to Lampton Park required multiple days. They’d already passed two nights at inns along the way. They’d made a show of being a perfectly content couple and, as a result, were never given a second glance. Nothing about them drew anyone’s notice. That was the goal.
On their final night on the road, they stopped at the White Horse, a quaint coaching inn with a warm, inviting atmosphere. They’d arrived too late for the supper hour, but the proprietress was nearly overcome with concern over the state of their bellies and well-being.
“You must be fair starving.” She eyed Artemis. “You’re so thin, love. Such a tiny thing. You’ll be fainting clear away, you will.”
“I’m not so desperate as that,” Artemis assured her.
“Help me to convince her, sir,” the woman said to Charlie.
He adopted his brother Layton’s approach with his wife when she was worn thin but too distracted to take proper care of herself. He set an arm about her waist and pulled her next to him.
With a soft smile, he leaned close and, in exactly the solicitous tone his brother used, said, “A bit to eat before you retire for the night would likely do you good.”
He’d known from the first moment he met Artemis that she was an actress of greater ability than even those appearing on the London stage. She’d proven that true again and again the last three days.
She leaned against him, her posture and expression demure. “I am so tired. I don’t mind being a little hungry, if only I can lie down.”
Was she really so exhausted as that? He eyed her more closely. “You aren’t growing ill, are you?”
She shook her head, a soft pull to her lips. “No, dear. I’m only tired.”
Charlie brushed the back of his hand along her forehead. Philip was forever doing that when Sorrel was unwell; she almost without fail swatted his hand away and told him to quit being a fusspot. Artemis would likely have done the same, but less gently, if not for the roles they were required to play.
“You aren’t feverish,” he said.
“Merely tired.”
But was she? He cupped her jaw with his hand, brushing his thumb along her cheek. Stanley did that all the time with Marjie. “I worry about you.” Something Philip said.
She leaned her head against his hand and closed her eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would think she actually took comfort in his touch, the way a wife would if she and her husband were on kindly terms.
“Perhaps you should lie down,” he said. “Your abigail will be waiting for you.”
She looked at him once more. “Thank you, dear.” With one last besotted smile, she slipped away and followed the proprietress’s daughter up the stairs to the room they would be given for the night.
“Might I trouble you to bring up a tray?” Charlie asked. “I cannot bear the thought of her being hungry, but she also seems legitimately exhausted. I wouldn’t wish to prevent her from resting.”
“Aren’t you simply the sweetest.” The proprietress sighed. “And she loves you, she does. Saw it in her eyes.”
He felt a little guilty at having deceived the poor woman. She didn’t deserve to be played such a trick. Yet, the two of them arriving unhappy and miserable would have been embarrassing for everyone, including her. “I’m very fortunate.” He hoped he embodied half the sincerity his brother Harold used when declaring how grateful he was for his beloved Sarah.
“I’ll bring you up a tray, sir. Is there anything in particular the lady likes? Anything I might include that’d be a joy to her?”
He knew the actual answer to that. Perhaps he wasn’t a complete disaster of a husband after all. “Do you have any bread pudding? It is her favorite.”
“We do, sir. I’ll send her up a warm bit of it along with her supper.”
Charlie didn’t have to imitate anyone with his reply. He was genuinely grateful to the woman. “I cannot thank you enough. We’ve had a long few days of travel. This will restore her spirits, I am certain of it.”
“Her happiness matters to you.” The proprietress nodded, clearly feeling she knew the answer.
Her happiness did, in fact, matter to him. He wanted her to be happy, to be hopeful about her future. He wanted her to find some pleasure in the life that had been forced on them.
“I’m happy when she is happy.” It was nothing but the truth. Their lives were too intertwined now for their happiness to not be as well.
“Go on up with you.” The woman kindly motioned him on, the gesture and the expression on her face as maternal as one was likely to find. “You could use a bit o’ rest yourself, I daresay.”
“I could at that.” Especially as he was certain he’d afforded Artemis time enough for Rose to help her change into her nightclothes.
They had formulated this approach before leaving Brier Hill. Their playacting as a loving and in-love couple meant they would be assigned a shared bedchamber at inns along the way, which was decidedly awkward for a couple who had only recently reached a degree of tolerance between them. So at each inn, she made her way to their room before he did—until that evening, she’d simply left the private dining room ahead of him—and Rose helped her change for the night. That allowed her to be settled into bed before he arrived. He slept on the floor or, if he was particularly fortunate, on an obliging sofa or settee.
Rose was only just stepping out of a room two floors up when he reached it.
“Is she all tucked in?” he asked.
Rose nodded. “And between the two of us, Mr. Jonquil, she looks done in.”
“Do you think she’s ill? I thought she seemed a bit pale.”
“Likely only worn down from days of travel.”
He hoped that was all. “Supper’s being sent up on a tray. She’ll get something to eat without losing any rest.”
Rose gave him a look of approval. Two people approving of him in a matter of minutes. He hardly recognized himself.
Charlie slipped inside the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Artemis was cozily situated under a coverlet, pillows behind her so she sat nearly upright. She had a book of fashion plates open in front of her.
He sat gingerly on the side of the bed, facing her. “A tray’s being sent up.”
“Thank you.”
“And there’s a bit of a treat for you coming along with the meal.”
She set her book aside and eyed him with curiosity. “What is the treat?”
He shrugged a little. “It’s a surprise.”
Her eyes lit with interest. “What is it?”
“I’m not going to tell you, Artie. If I did, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
She leaned forward, half sitting, half kneeling. “Tell me, Charlie. Do.”
He shook his head.
“You mean to tease me?” She was grinning. Artemis, he was discovering, took particular delight in spontaneous larks. They had that in common.
“I mean to make you guess,” he said, his heart as light as it had been during their game of catch us, catch us.
