Charming Artemis, page 15
“I’ll help you over,” he said. He reached for her handkerchief.
“No.” She snatched it back with every indication of panic.
“I was only going to put it on the bedside table so your hands would be free.”
“I can’t lose it. It’s the only thing he ever gave me.”
The only thing who ever gave her?
Artemis took a shaking breath, still not entirely awake.
Charlie sat on the chaise longue beside her. “Have you been crying, Artie?”
“I don’t cry.” No one seeing her would believe that.
“What is your policy on forgiving idiocy in husbands?”
She sat up more fully and looked at him. Heavens, there was no misunderstanding the puffed, red-rimmed eyes and droplets of tears on her lashes. No matter her protestations, she’d most certainly been crying.
“I suppose that depends on whose husband has been an idiot.”
He took her hand gently in his. “Yours, Artemis. Yours has been painfully stupid, and I’m hoping you’ll forgive him.”
“For which painfully stupid thing?” Oh, she was awake now.
“Take your pick.”
She watched him, her closely guarded handkerchief still clutched in her hand. Who had given it to her? The question refused to dislodge itself from his mind.
“I wasn’t going to insist you kiss me during the game,” she said. “We could so easily have played the entire thing for a lark, chosen a kiss on the hand or cheek and then put up with a bit of teasing. You didn’t have to humiliate me.” A tiny break in her voice betrayed the emotion she was keeping very well hidden.
Charlie squeezed the hand he still held. “I truly am sorry.”
Her brow inched down in thought. “I know you didn’t appreciate the teasing from your brothers and me earlier, so I was quite careful tonight not to join any of their jesting in your direction. I am trying to make things at least a little better.”
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I am as well. You will, to your horror, discover that I am utter rubbish at anything that isn’t mathematics. Ask anyone in this house. I’ve spent my entire life making a mess of everything.”
To his surprise, she leaned a little against him. “We did so well getting along at the inns. Why is it so much harder here?”
He slipped his hand from hers and put his arm around her, sitting with her in a side-embrace. They still were on delicate footing, but it was a comforting arrangement. “I suspect our difficulties are due to my family,” he said. “I fully intend to blame them.”
“I’ll support you in that.”
This was the sort of camaraderie they’d enjoyed on the journey here. It was welcome and fragile and desperately needed.
“I think we should lay most of the blame at Philip’s feet,” Charlie said. “But none of it at Mater’s. I’ll not say anything against her, even in jest.”
Artemis rested more heavily against him, cozily situated under his arm. It reminded him a little of the way Caroline would sit with him when she was sad or tired or simply wanting to talk. Except Caroline didn’t quicken his pulse. Artemis was doing precisely that.
“What is it like having a mother?” she asked in a whisper. “I’ve always wondered.”
If anyone had told him six months earlier that he would find himself heartbroken on behalf of the lady he’d long considered his nemesis, he’d have laughed. There was no laughter in that moment.
He pulled her in closer. “No one enters Mater’s familial sphere without being fully and completely adopted by her. Ask Crispin or your sister-in-law Arabella, or any of my brother’s wives. Allow her the opportunity, Artemis, and she’ll make certain you know precisely how it feels to have a mother, because she will consider you her daughter.”
“Even though I’ve ruined your life?”
“I suspect she has greater hope for the two of us than that.”
She looked up at him. “Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
She took a steadier breath than she had up until then. “Perhaps, instead of trying to fool all your family into thinking everything is sunshine and flower-strewn paths between us, we should expend our effort on trying to have ‘greater hope’ that we can make something of this mess we’ve been thrown into.”
“I’ll support you in that.”
She smiled a bit, no doubt recognizing his exact repetition of her earlier words. “And let us begin by addressing the issue of this chaise longue.”
What did she mean by that?
“There is no reason you should always be the one relegated to the less comfortable arrangement. It’s not fair, and I won’t be bullied into being selfish.”
She put him a little in mind of the Dangerous Duke in that moment; implacable and determined in a way that might have been intimidating if not for the lingering mark left on her face from having slept against the seam of the chaise’s arm.
His pride wanted to object to being tossed from his position of gentlemanly sacrifice, but his neck and back were cheering. “Perhaps we could alternate?”
She gave a quick, single nod. “Excellent solution.”
“One I will accept without objection on the condition that you sleep in the bed tonight. I will consider it penance for having made such a mull of the game earlier.”
Mere moments later, she was settled beneath the heavy blanket on the bed, resting against the feather pillows. Her handkerchief, the mystery he still hadn’t solved, had been stored very carefully in the drawer of the bedside table.
Charlie returned to the chaise longue and sat silent and uncertain. He glanced upward in the general direction of the heavens. What would you have done, Father? Ought I to have done something more? Something different?
He didn’t know his father’s answer. And the heartbreak of it all was . . . he never would.
Chapter Nineteen
A week passed at Lampton Park. Stanley’s family had not yet arrived. Neither had Arabella and Linus—they too had been called to Lampton Park, Arabella being an honorary member of the family. Charlie told himself that was what was weighing on Mater, but he wasn’t fully sure. She’d grown quieter over the last couple of days.
He sat in the small sitting room the family had often used when there’d been fewer of them. Philip was inside reading the Times. Mater was there as well. A book sat open on her lap, but she wasn’t paying it the least heed. Her fingers were wrapped around the silver and blue topaz pendant she so often wore. Her gaze was not focused on anything in particular, and her thoughts appeared to be miles away.
Charlie moved to where Philip sat. Voice low, he said, “I’m worried about Mater. She seems unhappy.”
Philip talked to him from behind his paper, also speaking quietly enough to not be overheard across the room. “We are soon to be reopening Father’s will and reading the last of his instructions. I suspect her grief is growing a bit raw again.”
He did not at all like the idea of Mater grieving. “Could you not simply summarize what remains to be executed of Father’s will and spare her the reading of it?”
Philip shook his head no. “I am not the one who is charged with unsealing and executing it. I am as helpless to spare her this as everyone else.”
None of them could relieve her burden. “Do you at least know why this final portion is to be read now?”
“The instructions were that this final part of the will be opened once you either reached your majority or married, whichever occurred first.”
His heart dropped. “Then I am the reason she’s struggling.”
“Neither of our parents would have wanted you to be a child your entire life, Charlie. Neither would they have wished you to be alone. Setting current events in motion is not an unfortunate thing.”
Charlie slumped low in his chair. It wasn’t a very gentlemanly posture but one he’d assumed again and again as he’d grown up. “It has not particularly been a fortunate thing either.”
“If I could have thought of anything to allow you and Artemis to avoid this, I would have stopped it. But there was no escape.” Philip didn’t generally go so long without making some outlandish comment. That his expression and tone remained somber was a bit disconcerting. “Sorrel, in particular, racked her brain for any possible escape. Neither of us could think of a thing.”
If Philip was going to be responsible and insightful, Charlie would far rather his brother’s focus be on something else. Things were a little better with Artemis but not enough to bear too much scrutiny.
“Speaking of Sorrel,” Charlie said, “how is she faring?”
Philip folded his paper and set it aside. “She is not walking well. The pain is getting to be too much for her. I suspect it is time we begin considering a wheeled chair to help her get about, but she is not the least inclined toward the idea. My Sorrel is a bit stubborn, something I am certain will come as a complete shock to you.”
Charlie pressed a hand to his heart in what he knew was an exact mimic of one of Philip’s signature gestures. “A Jonquil marrying a lady with opinions? Shocking.”
“What is it about us that we are so drawn to ladies who challenge us at every turn?” Philip asked with a laugh.
“Masochism?”
“More likely a fear of boredom.”
Charlie pushed out a breath. “I am certainly not bored.”
That brought on the very scrutiny he’d wanted to avoid. “Are the two of you going to work this out?”
Charlie shrugged. “What choice do we have? Neither of us wants to live the rest of our lives in misery. We’ll have to sort something.” They were trying. He felt increasingly hopeful that they would manage to reach some kind of contentment between them. But while he couldn’t speak for her, mere contentment was not what he’d imagined when he’d thought of one day marrying.
He’d always wanted what his brothers had. What his parents had had. What Artemis’s siblings had. But it felt out of reach.
Voices sounded in the corridor, with footfalls seeming to draw nearer.
“Never fear, Mater,” Philip called out. “That’ll be Stanley’s brood and, I daresay, Arabella and Linus close on their heels. No need to worry further.”
She glanced back at him and nodded.
Charlie didn’t at all like how low her spirits were. What could he possibly do to help? It seemed all he’d done these past weeks was add to her worries. Having all of her grandchildren there would bring her some happiness. Then again, she’d had nearly all of them with her of late, and she was still heavyhearted.
The butler did not step into the doorway to announce Charlie’s one remaining brother or honorary sister. Indeed, it wasn’t either of the anticipated arrivals who appeared there. It was, instead, one unknown gentleman after another. All at least two decades older than Philip, all complete strangers. They looked immediately to Mater, who sat facing the other direction.
At the very front of the group was a gentleman who rivaled Philip’s flair for colorful and dandified fashions, the brightness of his attire marred only slightly by the black armband he wore. Another was dressed in the more somber tones Harold preferred. One of them put Charlie firmly in mind of a few of the dons at Cambridge. The remaining two were a study in contrasts: large scale with an aura of authority and a shorter, thinner gentleman one might be excused for not noticing. An odd grouping, to be sure, made even stranger by the fact that Charlie could not begin to identify any of them.
The fashionable one at the front spoke two words. “Our Julia.”
Mater spun about. She pressed her hand to her mouth, and tears began immediately.
“Why is she crying?” Charlie asked, ready to rush to her defense. “They’ve made her cry.”
“Calm yourself, Tadpole,” Philip said. “Those are happy tears.”
Charlie used to be known amongst his brothers as Tadpole. They didn’t call him that often any longer.
Mater leapt from her chair and ran like a young girl across the room. The men embraced her on the instant. They all spoke at once. Charlie couldn’t make out a single word. Mater affectionately touched each of their faces in turn. They were clearly not unknown to her.
“Who are they?” Charlie asked Philip.
With a grin, he said, “The Gents. Father’s best friends.”
That was, apparently, all the explanation Charlie was to receive. Philip abandoned him and crossed to the group of new arrivals. The men greeted him with handshakes, and he offered words of welcome. Mater remained among them, slipping from one friendly embrace to another. It was the highest her spirits had been since Charlie’s arrival at Lampton Park.
Father’s best friends, and Charlie didn’t know a single one of them. Was there no end to the ways his father was a stranger to him?
Mater waved him over. “Come offer your greetings, dear.” To the gentlemen around her, she said, “You all, of course, remember Charlie.”
“This can’t be little Charlie,” the bespectacled, professor-like gentleman said.
“He can, indeed,” Mater said. “He’s grown now. And married, if you can believe that.”
The subdued gentleman chimed in. “He looks like Stanley.”
Mater nodded. “I think that every time I see him lately.”
Charlie couldn’t make heads nor tails of that declaration. “I don’t look that much like him.”
“Not your brother Stanley,” Mater said. “My brother, Stanley.”
“You all knew Uncle Stanley?” Charlie had only ever heard stories of his aunts and uncles. All of Mater’s and Father’s siblings had died by the time the two of them were married.
“And your grandparents,” one of them answered.
These gentlemen knew more about Charlie’s family than he did.
The fashionable Gent put an arm about Mater’s shoulders, but he spoke to Philip. “The lot of us intend to steal away your mother for a time. Don’t waste your breath arguing; you know you’ll never emerge victorious.”
Philip held up a hand in a show of innocent denial. “Arguing creates wrinkles. I’d not risk this”—he motioned to his face—“over a futile disagreement.”
The dandified one dipped his head regally. And quick as that, Father’s friends whisked Mater away.
Charlie swallowed back the temptation to call her back again. Had he not matured in the least since his early years at Eton when he’d cried and cried every time Mater had left him there?
“Thank the heavens they came,” Philip said with a tense sigh. “She needs them here.”
“They’ll be kind to her?” Charlie pressed. “Can you absolutely guarantee they will?”
With a firmness that would have shocked anyone who knew him as the dandified Earl of Lampton, Philip said, “If I couldn’t guarantee it, I’d have thrown every last one of them out of the house, personally and violently. I would do as much and more to anyone who dared to mistreat Mater.”
“And all of us would help you.”
Nothing stoked the flames of the Jonquil brothers’ fury as quickly and thoroughly as unkindness directed at their mother. Mater was the thread holding all of them together. She’d sewn up the wounds of this family’s grief again and again. If not for her, Father’s death would have fractured them all.
Her sons would do anything in the world for her. If Charlie and Artemis, in the end, could not find peace between them, he would spend the rest of his life hiding that from his mother. He would not burden her with that heartache, even if it meant carrying that weight all alone.
Chapter Twenty
Artemis could sew exceptionally well, but embroidery was her idea of absolute torture. She loved the look of expertly executed needlepoint. She had a deep appreciation for the skill needed. But she would far rather wield her needle in creating or reworking a gown or pelisse or riding frock. That type of sewing was not considered quite as proper and ladylike. So when the Jonquil sisters-in-law gathered in the drawing room for “a bit of sewing,” she resigned herself to the acceptable variety and endured it as best she could, all while longing to sit with Rose for a spell to undertake one of their projects together.
Lady Marion, a remarkably friendly lady with curly red hair and an air of enthusiastic happiness, spoke as she worked at her needlepoint. “While I am grateful that the other brothers are here to interfere with Philip and my Layton’s usual mischief, I worry that the lot of them under one roof will simply result in absolute devilment.”
“They even pull Harold into the occasional lark,” Sarah said. “I have spent the past dozen or more evensongs praying that Corbin and Jason would be a calming influence.”
Clara smiled at Sarah’s teasing remark but didn’t offer one of her own.
“I have no such hope of good behavior.” Jason’s wife was originally from Spain. The notes of her homeland created a lovely symphony in her words. “They are likely in mischief even as we speak. And Stanley, you will see, will arrive with ideas for more trouble.”
“I fear my brother will only too gladly join in any bit of trouble they undertake,” Artemis said. Linus and his wife, Arabella, were soon to arrive. “I cannot imagine where he got that inclination. The rest of my family are unfailingly well behaved.”
They all laughed at her exaggerated tone, as she had hoped they would. One could not miss that they were fond of each other. Even Sarah, who was the newest member of this exclusive sisterhood, other than Artemis, was at ease and welcomed among them.
Artemis, alone, seemed the outsider. At least it was a familiar role. But she was determined to find her place among them. She would have friends and sisters . . . and family. But she didn’t know how to claim that. She fell back on her usual approach to being among people: theatrics.
