Charming Artemis, page 28
“Then you haven’t seen Mother in thirteen years?”
Mr. Layton clicked his tongue. “Of course we have. We have visited during times when you boys were away at school. We have written to her and she us. Those who were in London anytime she was never failed to call on her. I assure you, we have not neglected her, but neither have we cast aside your father’s instructions.”
“And were you not at least curious how my brothers and I were getting on?”
Mr. Layton studied him a moment. “I suspect, Charlie, your brothers have not always been good about including you in their discussions.”
That was an understatement. “I’m the baby. Babies don’t take part in discussions.”
“Well, I’m including you in this one because I think you need to know you were never abandoned.” Mr. Layton leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair, as if settling in for a drawn-out topic. “Niles—Mr. Greenberry—has a son who served in the army alongside your brother Stanley. That was no coincidence. When the Duke of Hartley found himself searching out a vicar to offer three of the livings at his disposal, his uncle, Lord Aldric, suggested Harold. When Jason was contemplating asking a chance-met Frenchman to accompany him to the Continent and, later, to act as tutor to his wife’s brother, he talked to Henri, since he has vast connections amongst the French émigrés.”
Lud, that was a lot of connections.
“When Philip and Sorrel needed a doctor who created braces and other such devices, they spoke with Kes—Mr. Barrington—as he has vast experience in that arena. I have an estate not terribly far from Fallowgill and sent detailed reports of its situation to Philip when it was struggling, which also put me in a position to offer help to Stanley and Marjie when they first took up residence there. Niles has experience with horse breeding and provided assistance to Corbin when he first began his efforts at Havenworth. Kes’s brother-in-law is a barrister, attached to Lincoln’s Inn, and he assisted Jason in beginning his studies there. When the love of Corbin’s life found herself in horrible danger, Lord Aldric summoned his many connections to discover chinks in the armor of her tormentor, utilizing his nephew’s high standing to add intensity to the counterattack. And each of us met often with Philip, Layton, and Crispin when they assumed the reins of their estates.”
“You did all of that?”
“Your father would have guided each of you in your pursuits and concerns and decisions,” Mr. Layton said. “He would have fought your battles with you. To do so on his behalf was our very real honor.”
“All of my brothers seem to have known you other than me.” Charlie still couldn’t reconcile that. How could they have been such strangers to him when the rest of the family was so deeply acquainted with them?
“Harold doesn’t know us as well as the others do,” Mr. Layton said. “We ought to have introduced ourselves to you sooner. It feels a bit as if we blinked and you were suddenly grown.”
“May I ask another question?” Charlie had a million of them.
“Certainly.”
“Was my brother Layton named for you?”
“He was,” Mr. Layton said. “Many of the Gents named children after each other. We have always been like brothers, family in a way that goes beyond blood and birth. We would do anything for each other.”
“That is a legacy my father passed on,” Charlie said. “His sons, I’m discovering, would do anything for each other. Crispin is one of us, of course, and now Linus. I suspect even His Grace would join our cause if asked.”
Mr. Layton motioned to the other gentlemen in the room. “As would Mr. Windover and Lord Techney, I would wager.”
Charlie didn’t doubt it for a moment. “Imagine if they’d been here when we paid our not-entirely-friendly visit to Finley.”
“Finley?” The name seemed to strike Mr. Layton. “Why were you calling on him?”
“He was harassing Catherine—again—and treated Marjie poorly. And he”—Charlie swallowed down the anger that rose up in his throat—“made an insulting and indecent proposal to Artemis, heavily insinuating that she was the sort who would welcome it.”
Mr. Layton’s jaw tightened. “The weasel.”
“We warned him to play least in sight,” Charlie said. “I hope he does.”
“He will.” Mr. Layton straightened his sleeves. “I wrote him a letter when he was harassing your soon-to-be sister-in-law Clara a few years ago, warning him that his behavior toward the ladies of the ton was being whispered to their husbands and fathers and brothers. He rushed to Town but was unable to salvage his standing. It seems instead of choosing to mend his ways, he has decided to continue his harassments here.”
“But you think he’ll stop now?”
“The Gents discovered something about his family years ago that we’ve kept in our pockets in case using it became necessary.” Mr. Layton stood, suddenly looking entirely intimidating.
“What are you going to do?” Charlie asked.
“He has been hurting your father’s daughters. I am going to destroy him.” On that pronouncement, Mr. Layton left the room.
Has been hurting your father’s daughters.
For so long, Charlie had felt like his father had abandoned them, that he hadn’t been there when they’d needed him, like he’d promised to be. But he had been.
He had been there through the Gents’ quiet efforts on his behalf.
He had been there through those he had adopted into this family.
He had been there through Mater’s unwavering love and support.
And he was there, living on in each of the Jonquil brothers.
He was there.
And he always would be.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Watching the Jonquil brothers with their children and nieces and nephews, Artemis saw the undeniable reflection of her Papa in each of them. She missed him and mourned him—she felt certain she always would—but there was a bit of comfort in realizing she was now connected to him and, in a very real way, surrounded by him.
This was the last night all of the Jonquil siblings and honorary siblings would be at Lampton Park. The first wave of the exodus had begun a couple days earlier with the departure of all the Gents, except for Mr. Layton. They, in fact, had been gone by the time her siblings had descended on the estate. Mr. Layton would be leaving in the morning, along with Stanley’s, Jason’s, and Corbin’s families. The Lancasters would be leaving in the morning as well, each to their own homes, but with a promise to gather again soon.
Charlie and Artemis could not delay their departure forever. How Artemis prayed she was not mistaken, that Brier Hill would not return to the place of struggle it had been in those early weeks. She sat on a sofa in the drawing room with her hand in Charlie’s. A tenderness had grown between them in this house so filled with love.
“I propose,” Philip said, rising as if about to make a royal decree, “we spend our final evening engaged in a game of questions and commands.”
His suggestion was readily accepted by all. For her part, Artemis grew a little nervous. They had played this game once before, and it had not been a pleasant experience for her.
“Please promise me this will go well,” Artemis whispered to Charlie.
“Trust me, dear.” He’d asked that of her earlier that day when she and Rose had been offered the opportunity to live an impossible dream. Her faith in him had not been misplaced then, and she would allow herself to believe that it was not misplaced now.
A hat was procured and names written on slips of parchment.
“What is the forfeit?” Sorrel asked.
“Same as our last game,” Layton said, “but with a slight change. Any couples called up together still have the option of a kiss. But for everyone else, rather than offering something kind to say about the one we are partnered with, we will, instead, offer a memory of any person in the room.”
Everyone agreed, and the game began.
Layton’s name was drawn first, with Harold chosen to offer either a question or a command.
“What is a favorite game you played with Father?” Harold asked.
“He and I enjoyed playing battledore and shuttlecock. We once were able to achieve a twelve-turn volley. He was so excited. I remember him telling everyone in the house. ‘A full dozen! A full dozen!’ He was more excited even than I was.”
Mater laughed quietly. “Lucas loved games.”
Clara was called on to offer a question or challenge to Harold. Her voice as soft as ever, she posed a question to her brother-in-law. “What was your father’s favorite sweet?” she asked him.
“He never left a sweetshop without—”
“Peppermints,” the older Jonquil brothers and Mater answered in unison.
Peppermints. Twice Artemis had chosen peppermints when she’d ventured with him into the Heathbrook sweetshop. It was one of her fondest memories.
Mater was called up, teamed with Lady Marion.
“What activity did your late husband enjoy that might surprise us?”
“Harold will not be surprised,” Mater said, “but Lucas loved to climb. He took such delight in scaling mountains and standing on the top of the world. When he was younger, he climbed peaks all over Europe. The mountains around Brier Hill were a favorite of both of ours. We spent countless happy hours walking those paths and looking out over the valley below.”
He had climbed mountains. Artemis would never have guessed.
Arabella and Mariposa were called up next, with Arabella choosing to answer the question posed.
“The late earl had seven sons, but you were like a daughter to him,” Mariposa said. “How did he feel about daughters?”
Arabella answered not in a general way but with her gaze firmly on Artemis and speaking directly to her. “He loved his daughters, though we were not with him in the way his boys were. His little girl, who died just after she was born. I, the honorary daughter who lived nearby. And his little Princess, who was far away but never out of his thoughts. He loved us all.”
This was the first Artemis had heard that Mater and Papa had lost a daughter.
“When I was with him,” Arabella continued, “he never treated me like I was less important to him than his sons or less capable or less intelligent. I was made a part of the things he did with his sons and their chaotic games and playtime. My own doubts and pains made me wonder if he forgot me the moment I was out of sight. But he never did. He never forgot any of us.”
Artemis leaned against Charlie. He set an arm around her shoulders.
“They’re doing this for me,” she whispered.
“They want you to know him,” he said. “They want him to be more to you than vague moments and uncertainty.”
On and on the game went. Papa’s sons shared memories of their father. His daughters-in-law offered insights into the family, ranging from, “Keep headache powders on hand for use after spending an afternoon with them all,” to, “Anyone in the family can be teased by any other member, but insults and unkindness from the outside will not be permitted.”
Adam was called up to accept either a question or a command from Linus. The Dangerous Duke rose and joined his brother-in-law in the midst of the gathering. He stood stoic and stiff, as usual. Nothing in his expression gave the slightest indication he was happy to be participating, yet Artemis suspected he had agreed to this ahead of time.
“I have either a terribly personal question or a very embarrassing challenge,” Linus warned.
Adam let out a breath that sounded almost like a growl. “I will choose the forfeit: sharing a memory of someone in the room.”
Linus dipped his head and retook his seat. Adam looked over them all. “I prefer not to recount my memories of the current Lord Lampton.”
“You wound me, Brother Adam,” Philip called out.
“Careful,” Stanley tossed back, “or he truly will wound you.”
Artemis was absolutely certain she detected a bit of laughter behind Adam’s indomitable expression. “I mean to break with the pattern,” he said, “and share a memory of the dowager countess.”
Of Mater?
“I was only just eight years old. My father was somewhat newly buried, and my mother was, as always, traveling who knew where. I was very much alone in this world when Lord and Lady Jonquil invited me to Brier Hill to spend a few weeks with them.”
He turned and faced Mater, though she would already have known this story.
“It was, without question, the happiest interval I had passed since losing my father. In their home, I was wanted and accepted. They rebuilt beneath me the foundation that had crumbled when my father died. Lady Jonquil, as she was termed then, was a mother to me when I desperately needed one, and she continued to be long after most anyone else would have washed their hands of any obligation toward a child not their own. I have not—could not—adequately express to her how significant her role in my life has been. I fear I have repaid her importance to me with inexcusable inattentiveness.”
Mater rose and, a look of tender fondness on her face, moved directly to him.
He watched her with a look of mingled hope and heartbreak. “When my father died, the two of you saved me.” Adam took an audible breath. “When Lucas died, I should have flown here without hesitation. I should have been with you.”
A tear trickled slowly down Persephone’s cheek.
“I failed you,” Adam said. “I failed you, and he would have been disappointed in me, just as you must have been.”
“Oh, my dear boy.” Mater took one of Adam’s hands. “Do you not think I know you well enough to understand the way you mourn? To know that you isolate yourself when you grieve? I knew why you didn’t come. I understood. I missed you, but I understood.”
Heavens, theirs was far more tender a connection than Artemis would have guessed, even having heard him recount their history.
“I told myself you didn’t truly care for me, that you never had.” Adam shook his head. “The lie eased some of the pain.”
“Your heart always was tender,” she said with a motherly smile.
A tender heart? Artemis had seen it when Adam interacted with his wife and children, and she had experienced it briefly during their stroll around the grounds. But to hear Mater talk of his softheartedness with such conviction was jarring.
“I felt so hopeless,” Adam said. “I’d given up, resigned myself to misery. Without Lucas, I—I was lost.”
“I worried when I heard you’d chosen an arranged marriage,” Mater said. “I feared it meant you had decided to fully cut yourself off. But then you invited me to your wedding, and I knew you wouldn’t have done that if, in your heart of hearts, you didn’t have some whisper of hope that your marriage could be a happy one.”
“I looked for you.” His voice dropped to an entirely unusual quiet, uncertain tone. “I knew logically you could not come while in deepest mourning. But then you didn’t come after that, and I worried you stayed away because . . . you were embarrassed at the idea of people knowing you’d helped raise someone you were ashamed of.”
Adam, the Dangerous Duke, the most infamous and feared man in the kingdom, was laying bare this very personal vulnerability in front of a room full of people.
Mater set a hand on either side of his face—and he didn’t snap at her. No one was permitted to touch his scars other than Persephone and his children. Artemis watched with wide eyes, her mouth a bit agape. This was a different Adam than she had ever seen.
“My brave Adam,” Mater said.
“You always used to call me that,” he whispered.
“And you used to call me Mother Julia.”
Artemis thought she saw the slightest hint of a tear in Adam’s eye.
“I have never and could never be ashamed of you,” Mater said. “I have watched you from afar and have seen my Lucas’s influence in your life. He would have worried to have seen you undertake an arranged marriage, as I did, knowing your parents’ unhappiness in theirs and our early struggles in ours. But you followed his example and loved and respected your wife and worked to build a life together that is happy and beautiful and hopeful. That is his influence.”
“And yours,” Adam said.
Mater turned and looked at Persephone. “You loved my darling Adam when he was very much alone. You saw the good in him when he struggled to see it in himself. For that, I will love you for the rest of my life.”
Persephone wiped a tear. Many in the room did. Artemis herself was not immune to the enormity of the moment.
Mater returned her tender and loving gaze to Adam. “We brought you to our home more than thirty years ago, my brave boy, because we loved you. And we were family because—”
“Because family is who you choose.” He finished the sentence in a voice that clearly indicated he was completing verbatim an established phrase between them.
“That lesson, offered so long ago, has created this beautiful family you have now. Your sisters-in-law and brother-in-law are family to you not because they were required to be but because you chose them. In that, I see Lucas’s influence in your life.” Mater took his hands and held them tenderly but firmly. “His heart broke at not being able to save his Princess. But she found her way to you, and the foundation Lucas laid thirty years ago saved her. Through you, his beloved Adam, he saved her. You saved her. He would be beyond proud of you. Do not ever doubt that.”
Tears pooled in Adam’s eyes. Artemis was certain of it now. Never could she have imagined such a thing.
“It sometimes feels so cruel that he hasn’t been here,” Adam said. “Having him be part of these past thirteen years would have been . . . perfect.”
