Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden

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.

“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.