Charming Artemis, page 12
“Is it something I’m particularly fond of?” she asked.
“It is.”
She pressed her hands together, touching them to her lips as she thought. “Bread pudding?”
He shrugged.
A grin spread over her face. “I do hope it is bread pudding. I adore bread pudding.”
“What are your other guesses?” He had accidentally stumbled upon the perfect formula for learning more about his bride, and he meant to utilize it.
“Peppermint candies?”
He made mental note of that but made no effort to stop her guesses.
“The lavender-colored flowers that are often in vases at Brier Hill,” she said. “They have pointed petals, light purple at the tips but fading to dark in the center. And a green crown tops it. I’ve never seen any flower like those.”
“Love-in-a-mist,” Charlie said.
“Is that what they’re called?”
He nodded.
“Do you also know the name of the . . . ?” Her mouth twisted a bit as she thought. The reigning diamond of Society looked undeniably adorable in that moment. “The fuzzy ones. I can think of no other way to describe them. They’re a deep purple or pink, and there are dozens and dozens of tiny fuzzy flowers on each stalk.”
“Those are called queen-of-the-meadow. My uncle Stanley sent back seeds when he was in America fighting in the war with the former colonies. Years later, my parents planted them at Brier Hill, and they’ve grown there ever since.”
“I know the little blue ones,” Artemis said. “They are forget-me-nots.”
Charlie nodded. “They are my mother’s favorite.”
“I don’t know which flower is my favorite.” Artemis actually leaned a little bit against him, though he didn’t know if she realized it. “I’ve never given much thought to the question.”
A knock echoed off the door. He stood and crossed to it. The proprietress stood on the other side, a generously laden tray in her hands. He stepped aside to let her in. She crossed to the table not far from the door and set the tray down.
“Thank you,” he told her as she left, and he received a maternal glance of approval in return.
With the door closed once more, he turned to Artemis. “It appears we have roast chicken and boiled potatoes. I spy a bit of spelt wheat bread.”
“But what is the secret treat?” She was kneeling on the bed in a long night rail, watching him with wide, excited eyes. She was so remarkably relatable in that moment. This was a lady he could see himself having a great many larks with. A far cry from the unreachable ice sculpture she so often insisted on being.
“Boiled potatoes,” he said in answer to her question.
She snatched up a pillow. “Do not make me toss this at you.”
“I’d not do that if I were you,” he said. “You might knock the potatoes off the tray; then where would you be?”
She laughed and dropped back against her other pillows. “You are impossible, Charlie.”
He took up the little bowl of bread pudding and a spoon from the tray and carried it over to her. “Your special treat.”
“Oh, it is bread pudding.” She took it from him and held it in her hands, taking in the aroma with a sigh.
“I know it’s a particular favorite of yours.”
“It is.”
He walked around the bed and pulled the curtains closed on two sides. They’d taken this approach at the previous inns. He could change for the night that way without embarrassing either of them.
As he tugged his jacket and waistcoat off, he could hear her spoon clang against the bowl.
He pulled off his boots, not so snug that he couldn’t get them off on his own. “How is your secret treat?”
“Delightful,” she said.
He laughed. “You sound like a little girl who’s been let loose in a sweetshop.”
“We had a sweetshop in Heathbrook. I used to stand outside and press my face against the glass and dream of being permitted to have something, anything from inside.”
“Did you ever get to?” he asked.
“Five times,” she said. “A peppermint. A butterscotch. An anise twist. A chocolate-covered almond. And another peppermint.”
“You remember your visits there well,” he said.
“I do.” She sighed with nostalgia. “Those were five of the best days of my entire life.”
Charlie was down to only his trousers. He generally slept in his small clothes—long nightshirts always tangled and bunched in uncomfortable ways—but had made a point of not reaching that state of undress until the candles were blown out and Artemis was asleep for the night. He put on the dressing gown Rose had left on the settee for him. She had very kindly agreed to help them with the logistics of all this since he didn’t have a valet. Charlie wished he had the means of raising her salary.
He tied the sash of his dressing gown. It covered his bare chest, and his trousers kept his legs from peeking out scandalously. “What would you like for your supper?”
“I can fetch it for myself.”
“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. You’re tucked in and comfortable. It’ll be easier for me to prepare you a plate.” He looked back at her. The table was on the same side of the bed as the open curtain. “A little bit of everything?”
“Yes, please.”
He’d not attended many balls, the place at which most gentlemen gained experience creating a supper plate for a lady, but he felt he did a decent job of it just then. After snatching up a set of utensils, he crossed to the bed and set the plate and cutlery on the bedside table.
“Anything else I can get for you?”
She shook her head no.
He hoped she would tell him if she wanted more. Though Rose had insisted Artemis was merely tired, he wasn’t fully assured that was the case.
“Is there a reason you don’t have a valet?” she asked as he made a plate for himself.
The real reason was a lack of money, but that was more embarrassing than the explanation he usually gave. “I don’t dress fashionably enough to need one.”
“A great many young ladies in Society have declared you shockingly handsome. If you dressed to the nines, you’d be devastating.”
It was a fine compliment but a bit of a depressing one as well. What good would being “devastating” be to him now? He was already married, and to a lady who disliked him enough that no amount of fashionable handsomeness would change that.
He sat on the settee and pulled the folded blanket lying there over his lap before tucking into his supper.
“Did you know Rose is niece to your brother’s valet, Wilson?” Artemis asked.
He couldn’t see Artemis now. The settee sat at the foot of the bed, and those curtains were pulled closed. “Philip told me back when the arrangement was first made,” Charlie said.
“And did you feel sorry for Rose, knowing she would be enduring my company for years on end?’
He had, actually. But their pretended amicableness had made for a pleasant couple of days. He didn’t want to throw that all out. “The two of you seem to get on very well.”
“She is the only person of my acquaintance, aside from Wilson and your eldest brother, who shares my enthusiasm for fashion. We can discuss it for hours on end, piecing together wardrobes we would suggest for various people were we in a position to do so. The very first imaginings we concocted together were for Princess Charlotte.”
The nation had very recently come out of mourning for the young royal, who’d died in childbirth. She’d been only a year older than he and Artemis were. Such a tragic end. “Philip struggled a great deal with the news of the princess’s passing. He’d nearly lost his wife the same way mere months earlier.”
“Rose tells me that her uncle is absolutely besotted with the newest little Jonquils.”
“Everyone is,” Charlie said. “Kendrick—Lord Jonquil, I suppose I should say—is an absolutely delightful handful. Lady Julia is something of an angel. She reminds me of Hestia. The two would likely be very good friends.”
“They are practically family now,” Artemis said. “Something I am certain Adam finds unbearable.”
Charlie chuckled. “I will never forget the day he and Philip beat each other to a pulp on the banks of the Trent during that house party. Philip so often acts like a frippery popinjay. It was a bit amazing to see him hold his own against the Dangerous Duke.”
“Even more amazing,” Artemis said, “I have seen the Dangerous Duke sing a lullaby to a sleeping baby.”
Before seeing His Grace hold his children at Brier Hill, Charlie might have struggled to imagine such a scene. He could do so easily now. “His children adore him. That much is clear.”
“I asked him once if his father had been tender and attentive. I know his mother wasn’t, and I couldn’t sort out where he’d learned the way of it. He said his father taught him to be a duke, to be independent and strong-willed and authoritative and dependable, but that he learned to be a father and a husband from another source entirely.”
That was an intriguing mystery. “From what source?”
“He didn’t say, and I could tell he would object to me pressing the matter. I haven’t ever asked him again.”
Charlie had finished his food and rose, crossing to the side of the bed once more. She’d finished eating as well. He took up her plate and her empty bowl. “If I ever need to bribe you, I now know how.” He held up the bowl.
“I’ve loved it since I was a little girl.” She pulled her blanket up, tucking it over her shoulders, and leaned back against her pillows. “Persephone would save back bread for days before my birthday each year so she could make it for me.”
They really had been in dire financial straits if bread pudding had been a delicacy.
Charlie returned their dishes to the tray the proprietress had brought in, then went around the room blowing out the candles. The one on Artemis’s bedside table he would leave for her to extinguish when she was ready.
In the dim light, he carefully returned to the settee. It wasn’t quite long enough for him to stretch out on, but it would do for one night. He hadn’t the first idea what the arrangements would be at Lampton Park. In light of the crick in his neck, he hoped they’d have separate rooms, or at least one with a longer sofa.
“Oh mercy!” Artemis gasped the word out. “The tray.”
“What about it?”
“The proprietress will come back to fetch it at some point,” she said from behind the bed curtain. “Whispers of our arrangement will be all over the inn in an instant.”
That was inarguably true. At the previous inns, Rose had slipped in before the chambermaids arrived to tend the fire in the morning, allowing him and Artemis time to wake before being caught out in the true state of their marriage. While Charlie’s concern was far more for his family’s evaluation of things, the potential for embarrassment along the way weighed on Artemis.
He took up his blanket and walked around the bed to the side opposite of where he knew she was lying and pulled back the curtain. “I’ll lie on top of the blankets. It’ll be dark enough that no one stepping inside the room will be able to tell the difference.”
He pulled the bed curtains closed again and situated himself as best he could. He flicked the blanket he’d brought with him out over them both. That would give the impression needed to prevent the whispers Artemis feared. It was both the most and least comfortable he’d been at any of their inn stops.
“You’ll even be able to straighten out your legs tonight,” she said.
“The very lap of luxury, this.” He settled himself on a pillow, closed his eyes, and let the air slowly leave his lungs. They could make this work.
The bed shifted a little. Citrusy pine hung quite unexpectedly in the air around him. An instant later, he felt the tickle of hair brushing against his face and neck, then the lightest of kisses pressed to his cheek.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Artemis said.
Again, everything shifted. He opened one eye and looked in her direction. She resettled on her side, facing away from him, then blew out the candle.
It was for the best the room was dark. Otherwise, she would have seen the heat he felt stealing up his neck. He was both a little embarrassed and pleased as a peacock.
He had done something right. He, the brother who was forever in scrapes, who seemed to always need rescuing and correcting and scolding, had done something so right that he’d earned a sweet gesture of gratitude.
A few minutes might have passed, perhaps a few hours, but he was still quite awake when the door to the room creaked open.
“Charlie.” Artemis’s worried whisper surprised him. He’d assumed she was asleep. Her worries over the embarrassment awaiting them should the state of things be discovered was even greater than he’d realized.
“Don’t fret, Artie,” he whispered in return.
He slipped a little closer and set an arm over her, atop the blanket that he’d laid across them both. His arm would be visible to the proprietress as she stepped in. They would appear to be a couple quite comfortable together, sleeping soundly with none of the awkwardness they actually faced.
The proprietress slipped inside and quickly and quietly retrieved the tray. With expertise borne of years of experience, she pulled the door closed even with her hands full, leaving Charlie and Artemis alone once more.
Into the silence left behind, Artemis spoke in a quiet and somewhat broken voice. “You must think me utterly pathetic.”
“Not at all,” he said.
“But worrying so much over being whispered about.” He felt her take a shaky breath. “Society’s Ice Queen is meant to be above such concerns.”
“Perhaps.” He held her a little closer. “But Artemis Jonquil is a human being, and she is permitted to have worries and uncertainties.”
“What of Charlie Jonquil? Does he have any of those human frailties?”
“At the moment, Charlie Jonquil is feeling absolutely superhuman.”
His arm shook with her light chuckle. “My hero,” she said in a singsong voice.
He laughed along with her. It was a light and tender and comfortable moment between them, one made even more welcome by its rarity.
This was progress. This was hope. Perhaps he wasn’t destined to make a mull of his entire life after all.
Chapter Fifteen
Artemis didn’t know what to make of Charlie Jonquil. They’d been mortal enemies for nearly two years, picking at each other, disliking each other, resenting each other. That had grown ever more pointed in the weeks since they’d been forced to marry. But during their journey to Nottinghamshire, he’d been sweet and patient, accommodating, and thoughtful. Of course, they had agreed beforehand to play the role of a caring couple. Perhaps he was simply as talented a performer as she had learned to be over the years. He’d certainly shown himself a remarkable mimic.
But he’d been kind even when they’d been alone in the inn the night before. There’d been no one around in need of fooling. He’d been sweet and funny, and he’d made her feel at ease in a situation that could have been terribly uncomfortable. She liked the Charlie she’d spent time with in that pokey little room. He’d been very like the Charlie who’d played games at Brier Hill. Who’d listened as she’d spoken of her father. Who’d softly touched her hair. She’d been more herself with him in those moments than she had been with almost anyone else, and he hadn’t been repulsed or rejecting.
How tempting it was to snatch at that thread of hope, but she’d had far too many snap over the years to trust it.
She’d still not made sense of it all by the time they arrived at Lampton Park. The Jonquils were known to be a tight-knit and fiercely loyal family. Their loyalty to one another was legendary. And she had shattered all the hopes of their youngest brother. She hadn’t the first idea how she would be received.
Charlie had grown quieter as they’d drawn closer to his family home. He seemed as uneasy as she.
“I’m a little nervous,” she said as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the imposing house.
He let out a slow breath. “So am I.”
They’d seen each other through the awkward discomfort of the inns on the journey here; they would support each other through this as well. Heaven knew the effort wouldn’t be perfect, neither would the facade they meant to present, but it was something.
A liveried footman handed her down. She stood a moment, breathing through her uncertainty. Artemis of myth was likely never nervous. She was a warrior goddess, captain of her own ship, determiner of her own fate. The Huntresses would be appalled if they could see how far short of her namesake’s legacy she was falling at the moment.
Charlie stepped up beside her. Artemis squared her shoulders. They were in this together.
“Are you ready to resume our roles?” he asked.
“I think we had best try.”
Almost mechanically, he offered her his arm. There was no real warmth in the gesture.
“If you don’t try to look a little happy,” she whispered, “they will never believe the ruse.”
She heard him push out a strained breath. A smile appeared on his face. It was not entirely believable, but it might do.
Artemis had vastly more experience pretending to feel at ease in situations where she knew she was not wanted or welcome. She wrapped that protective cloak around her as she’d done many times before and walked at his side into the lion’s den.
Whenever she’d imagined herself married and visiting her husband’s family, she’d pictured herself a welcome part of that family. She’d imagined gaining a father and mother who loved and cherished her, siblings who considered her one of them. Instead, she was arriving as the enemy. All the playacting in the world wasn’t likely to actually change that.
