Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden
Chapter Ten
Artemis was tired. There was no other way to describe what she felt. Every day was a fight, either with her own optimism and endurance or with Charlie. Or both. They’d been at Brier Hill for over two weeks, and everything was a mess.
One bright spot was that he’d made no objection to her and Rose commandeering the empty billiard room and converting it into a space for discussing and designing and creating various bits of clothing. It had become nothing more elegant or grand than a large sewing room, but in it, she’d found a refuge.
“I would advise lowering the waistline just a bit,” Rose said, looking over Artemis’s shoulder at the sketch she was working on.
“I do prefer slightly lowered waistlines,” Artemis said, “but as they are not widely accepted yet, I think lowering it any farther will only make the gown seem an oddity rather than a statement.”
“The lay of the gown will be better with it even an inch below where you’ve placed it.” Rose was correct, of course. She always was.
Bother.
“I’d look a quiz. Hardly the best way to arrive at a Society event, especially dragging recent history with me.” She tipped her head to one side, then the other, eyeing the design critically. “What if we lower the waist but remove the embellishment and make certain the fabric pattern matches up? That would allow the line to be better while not drawing attention to the adjustment.”
“An excellent solution.”
Artemis took up her bit of rubber and carefully erased the midsection of her sketched gown. She’d managed no more than that when Charlie’s voice broke the silence.
“Pardon me for interrupting.”
Artemis looked up and over at the doorway.
“We have visitors,” he said.
“Truly?” She set her eraser down.
Charlie nodded. “And based on the very familiar heraldry flying from the carriage, these visitors are ones you, in particular, will be pleased to see.”
Heraldry flying from the carriage. Adam was one of the few people confident enough to boast to any would-be highwayman or criminal that his traveling coach belonged to a gentleman of rank and wealth. His heraldry was known. And feared.
“Adam is unlikely to leave London whilst Parliament is in session,” she said. “Then again, he has done so before but never without significant reason.”
“If you hurry, Artemis, you can catch him as he reaches the door and ask him what his ‘significant reason’ is this time.”
She slipped from her high stool, mind filled with anxiety at the possibility of disappointment.
Charlie crossed to her. He took her hands in a friendly and encouraging gesture. “The carriage is his, Artemis. Go greet your family.”
My family.She swallowed back emotion. Adam had come, and she was certain he would have brought Persephone and their children. For one who had felt utterly worthless and unwanted for more than a fortnight, it was enough to undo her hard-fought composure. But she didn’t dare.
Goddesses don’t cry.
She looked up at Charlie, bracing herself for mockery at the hint of emotion she’d allowed.
He simply smiled, appearing genuinely happy for her.
“I had hoped they would come,” she admitted, her voice quiet and a bit broken.
He nodded toward the door. “Go on, then. This is no time to stand on decorum.”
With a bubble of excitement she hadn’t allowed herself to indulge in for ages, she picked up her skirts and ran without the least dignity from the sewing room and down the corridor, aiming for the entryway. She reached it just as Giles greeted the arrivals: Adam, Persephone, and both their children.
“Won’t the neighborhood be beside themselves with awe when they hear that my very first guests as mistress of Brier Hill are a duke, duchess, lord, and lady?” She smoothed her gown with a casual arrogance. “I, of course, will be unbearable about it.”
Persephone put an arm around Artemis’s shoulders and squeezed them fondly. “Our same Artemis.”
“Not the same though. I am quite grown up now and terribly mature. Watch.” Artemis pitched her voice high and nasally and assumed a very prim posture. “Mrs. Giles will see that your things are taken to a guest chamber, Your Graces. And as we haven’t a proper nursery wing here, Lord Falstone and Lady Hestia can stay in a room beside yours. All will be seen to forthwith.”
“Impressive,” Persephone said with a laugh.
Adam stood, waiting. Artemis had learned over the years that he hid his thoughts shockingly well. Though she always hoped to break his composure, it didn’t bother her overly much that she was not ever successful.
How fortuitous that her first visitors were family. Charlie certainly couldn’t argue that the financial burden of hosting family was excuse enough to require them to leave.
“Will you come sit for a chat?” Did that sound too pleading? While she’d been jesting about being very sophisticated, she was embarrassed to be falling far closer to childish. But, heavens, she’d been lonely.
“Do not be grumpy, Adam.” Persephone apparently anticipated an objection from that quarter. “A bit of a visit before resting will be perfectly fine.”
“Of course it will.” Artemis wrapped her arm through his, something he usually let her do but made certain she knew he wouldn’t choose. “I will have you know I am an excellent hostess.”
“Because you are so mature now?” he asked dryly.
“Precisely.”
She pulled him toward the sitting room. Charlie stood a few steps from the door. He dipped his head as they approached. “Your Grace,” he greeted Adam.
“Jonquil.”
Charlie turned his gaze to Persephone. “Your Grace.”
“A pleasure, Charlie.”
He then offered a bow to Oliver. “Lord Falstone. So pleased to have you here.”
Oliver could be as staid and unbendingly proper as Adam at times. He offered Charlie a regal head-only bow.
“My lord,” Charlie continued speaking to Oliver, “would you be so good as to undertake an introduction to your sister? I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting her.”
Oliver looked up at his father. Adam nodded subtly. Persephone set Hestia on her feet and put the little girl’s hand into Oliver’s. Hestia was walking quite well but still toddled a bit and fell down now and then. The two children bore too much of a resemblance for anyone to doubt they were related.
“Hestia, this is Mr. Jonquil,” Oliver said. “Oh.” He looked up at Persephone. “What do I call him now that he’s married to Aunt Artemis?”
“A very good question, Oliver. It is best to ask him. The three of you can decide what you would prefer.”
Oliver turned back to Charlie once more. “What do we prefer?”
Charlie held out a hand to him. “Let’s situate ourselves in the sitting room, and we’ll come up with a solution.”
The offer was accepted without hesitation, an odd thing for Oliver. He tended to be a little shy of strangers and had a decided preference for being with his family. Charlie walked the two children through the threshold, keeping his pace slow enough even for Hestia to keep up without difficulty.
Persephone watched the departure. “He has a way with children, doesn’t he?”
“A trait he inherited from his parents,” Adam said.
“Parents?” Artemis looked to him. “Did you know his father, then?”
Adam nodded and pulled his arm from hers, offering it instead to his wife. “I knew them, in fact, when they lived in this house.”
This was news to Artemis. But she was offered no further insights. Adam and Persephone followed the path their children had taken, leaving Artemis to do the same on her own.
Charlie had sat himself and Oliver in a large wing chair, one with just room enough for the both of them to sit beside each other. Hestia sat on Charlie’s lap, a triumph again. While Oliver was a bit wary of strangers, Hestia was often terrified. She showed not the least discomfort with him though.
“What do you call the other gentlemen who have married your aunts?” he asked Oliver. “Perhaps you could call me that.”
Oliver shook his head firmly. “I can’t call you Harry. It’s not your name.”
Charlie glanced over at Adam and Persephone sitting on a sofa facing their children and barely held back the grin clearly fighting to break free.
“Does everyone call him simply Harry?” Charlie asked his little companion. “Or are there other options?”
“Papa sometimes calls him—”
“Best stop there, Oliver,” Artemis said, dropping into a twin wingback chair next to theirs. “Your papa doesn’t always call your uncle Harry by appropriate names.”
Adam ignored the lot of them. He hadn’t benefited from a Papa who had told him it was important to sometimes be a bit silly.
“We call him Uncle Harry,” Oliver said.
“Uncle Harry,” Charlie repeated. “Is that your pattern, Lord Falstone? Uncle and their Christian names?”
Oliver nodded. “And they call me Oliver, not Lord Falstone.”
Charlie was sweetly patient with him. “Dropping that formality requires permission from your parents.”
“When amongst only the family, we all are less formal,” Persephone said. “Except Adam. You’d best call him whatever he tells you to.”
Charlie nodded. “I know how to follow instructions.” Hestia was watching him closely, curiously. She had Adam’s tendency to ponder things deeply. Charlie bounced her a bit on his knee, watching her in return with a tenderness that echoed a warmth in Artemis’s heart. Though he was the girl’s uncle and not her father, he looked at Hestia in the way Artemis had always wanted her father to look at her. The way her Papa had.
In that moment, her memories of her Papa shifted to include blue eyes.
“You can call her Hestia,” Oliver declared. “And you can call me Oliver.”
“I would be honored,” Charlie said. “And you can call me Uncle Charlie. Although, my niece Caroline—you might remember her from the day we spent launching paper boats on the river quite some time ago—she calls me Uncle Charming.”
Oliver giggled. There was no other word for the laughter that echoed from him. Artemis didn’t think in all his life she’d heard him giggle. He laughed often enough and was a decidedly happy child, but he was very reserved. Giggles were new.
Charlie pulled in a quick breath, precisely the sound of a person having a sudden epiphany. “Oliver,” he said very seriously, “have you ever played hide-and-seek?”
“Of course I have,” he declared with a hint of wounded pride.
“Excellent,” Charlie said, still using the tone of one discussing something of extreme importance. “Because this house, Oliver, is the very best house for hide-and-seek. When my family would stay here, my parents insisted on games of hide-and-seek and further insisted on participating.” Charlie lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. “They were often very hard to find.”
Oliver bounced a little in his seat. Heavens, how was Charlie turning the often-somber boy into a giddy child?
“Would you like to play hide-and-seek with me? We will need to limit ourselves to this room, as Hestia would be overwhelmed looking for us all over the house.”
Oliver nodded. “I am a very good hider.”
“I suspected you were.” Charlie helped him onto the floor. “I will sit here and close my eyes for a time. You find a place in this room to hide. After a spell, Hestia and I will do our utmost to find you.”
Oliver was already looking around, no doubt searching for a spot.
Charlie turned his attention to Hestia. “Will you be my partner, darling?” He brushed a wisp of her thin, baby hair back away from her face and past the stub of an ear she’d been born with. His eyes darted to the girl’s parents.
Artemis held her breath. Adam was sensitive about any unkindness or insult in the matter of Hestia’s missing ear. Charlie might find himself torn limb from limb.
“She has the green Lancaster eyes,” Charlie said.
Persephone nodded. “And the Lancaster curls, both of which I didn’t inherit, though most of my siblings did.”
Charlie was fully focused on his armful once more. “I hope you will be my friend, Hestia. I suspect you are an absolute sweetheart.”
“You’re supposed to close your eyes,” Oliver called out from beside the sofa his parents were sitting on.
“My deepest apologies.” Charlie cuddled Hestia to him and closed his eyes.
Oliver began running about, searching for the best hiding spot. Artemis’s attention was fully on her very confusing husband. This Charlie, with his tenderness and gentleness, could win her heart with hardly any effort. Why was it, then, she only ever seemed to cross paths with the one who drove her mad?
