Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden

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.

“Your brother and your husband are likely to be up to their ears in mischief,” Lady Marion warned. “They became such fast friends at that house party.”

“My brother is often a troublemaker, yes,” she said in tones of overblown affront. “But the Jonquil I married is not the least prone to scrapes and never lands himself in any sort of predicament.”

That earned her a chorus of laughter. Her entire marriage was “a predicament,” the result of a monumental “scrape.”

She shrugged. “I can’t, for the life of me, understand why you are laughing. Ours is a life so sedate and well behaved that I fear we are actually dying of boredom. You will all have to bury us both whilst giving incredibly tedious eulogies. It will be exceptionally tragic.”

Smiles and warm-hearted teasing answered her bit of silliness, just as she’d hoped. Being dramatic and entertaining was easy and familiar. That this family so quickly embraced it made it something more than a mask. It offered her a feeling of belonging.

Sorrel—Lady Lampton—hadn’t done a great deal of embroidery during their gathering. Her eyes were on the expanse of garden beyond the window as often as they were on her needlework. Artemis was certain the lady hadn’t undertaken more than a half dozen stitches. Here was something they had in common.

As Artemis was sitting directly beside Sorrel, she could address the lady personally and in a lowered voice. “Perhaps tomorrow, should a sewing circle be proposed, we could sneak outside instead and take a stroll about the gardens.”

Sorrel’s eyes remained on the vista, an unmistakable longing in her gaze.

Artemis felt a surge of hope. Here was something she could offer other than a performance. “I do not mind a bit of sewing, but I do adore being out of doors. Few things lift the spirits so entirely.”

“Lampton Park does have lovely grounds,” Sorrel said. “And the Trent runs nearby, offering a bit of unspoiled nature.”

Artemis made a mental note of Sorrel’s affection for nature. The gown she and Rose were designing to meet Sorrel’s unique needs would benefit from that bit of information. They could incorporate the colors and patterns of nature, suiting it even more particularly to her. Artemis didn’t yet feel confident enough to tell her plans to her new sister-in-law, but she had already found enjoyment and a very welcome sense of purpose in the undertaking.

“There is a lake on the Falstone Castle estate,” Artemis said. “It is one of my favorite spots. It is peaceful and, in the spring especially, absolutely beautiful. I like to sit on its banks and enjoy the quiet.”

Sorrel nodded. “Nature is good for the soul.”

Artemis leaned a bit closer, holding back the bubbles of excitement she felt. She’d offered a bit of a glimpse at her quieter and more vulnerable self. She’d reached out in a more personal way than she usually allowed herself to do. And her uncharacteristically personal offering hadn’t been rejected. “We should go for a walk tomorrow.”

But Sorrel’s expression closed off. “I believe I shall remain inside with the others. It would not do to abandon them.”

“Stepping out for an hour would not be considered abandonment.” She knew Sorrel preferred the out of doors. She could see it in her eyes every time she looked out the window. “We wouldn’t go far.”

“I would prefer to remain inside with the others.” Her tone left no room for further discussion.

With the others.That certainly put Artemis in her place. She would do best to slip back into her role of entertainer. Sincerity had not served her well. “Remaining inside will allow you to more easily learn of your husband’s mischievous plans with his brothers. One cannot overestimate the value of being forewarned about such things.”

All around her, the sisters-in-law chatted amicably about people they knew and things that had happened during their shared time in this family. They asked each other questions that only those who had grown quite close would even know to pose. They were dear to each other, welcomed, embraced. Wanted.

Artemis bent over her embroidery, playing yet another role: that of a lady who adored needlepoint and didn’t feel utterly, utterly alone. Her heart ached in a way that was both emotional and physical. A dull, sad ache she’d begun to fear would never ease.

She had once heard Adam tell Daphne, “If you faint, I will publicly and irrevocably disown you.” It had been his way of telling her to be brave and strong when her whole world was falling apart. Though the instructions had not been intended for Artemis, she’d taken them to heart. Again and again, she’d chosen to be brave. She’d learned to be strong. She had refused to faint, figuratively or literally.

Rose stepped inside the room. Their interactions were quite casual and friendly when only the two of them were present. But when others were about, Rose defaulted to the expected deference most abigails showed their mistresses.

She dipped a quick curtsey and held Artemis’s gaze.

“Pardon me,” Artemis said to no one in particular, then setting aside her embroidery with an entirely feigned show of reluctance, crossed to the doorway. She dropped her voice to a whisper far less calm than she wished it were. “Please tell me you have come with an excuse for me to escape.”

“Not an excuse,” Rose said. “A bona fide reason. There is something you absolutely must see.”

Rose was not prone to dramatics; that was Artemis’s exclusive domain in their friendship. Her curiosity was decidedly piqued.

They walked side by side from the drawing room and through the house. After a moment, Artemis sorted that they were aiming for the back terrace. The out of doors. She felt some relief. Her expressed enjoyment of nature and sunshine had not been feigned for Sorrel’s sake.

“My uncle pulled me aside with an eagerness he generally keeps hidden,” Rose said. “He told me of a new arrival, and I had to find you.”

A new arrival? “The something you wish me to see is, in fact, a someone?”

Rose nodded. They’d reached the terrace doors at the back of the ballroom. Rose pulled aside the curtains and motioned to a group gathered there. Mater, Artemis recognized, but the gentlemen gathered around her, clearly enjoying a quiet conversation, were not immediately familiar.

She studied them. She was nearly certain one of them was Lord Aldric Benick, uncle to the Duke of Hartley. Another, she felt certain she’d crossed paths with at some point but could not identify. Two of them were absolute strangers. The last, though, she knew the moment she truly looked at him.

He wore a burgundy jacket, tailored to utter perfection, over a waistcoat of paisley silk and trousers expertly fitted in a bold yet perfectly suited shade of dark blue. His hessians were polished to an almost blinding shine. His cravat managed that impressive balance between ostentatious and impressively simple that far too many gentlemen attempted and failed to manage. Even his black armband somehow felt fashionable.

She knew him, though they’d never met. She’d studied him before, though she’d never had the courage to speak to him. He was, in many ways, an idol to her.

This was Mr. Digby Layton, arbiter of fashion, who, if not for Beau Brummel’s pushiness in asserting his inarguably less expert opinions, would have single-handedly directed the evolution of gentlemen’s clothing. He had stood firm in opposition of Brummel’s efforts to entirely eliminate color and flair and pattern from the fashions gentlemen of the ton embraced. Brummel had made a name for himself, but Mr. Layton had actual taste and fashion sense.

“From what my uncle told me,” Rose said, “Mr. Layton and the late earl were the very best of friends. All these gentlemen were. They’ve come in support of the dowager.”

“I’ve married into a family that counts Mr. Digby Layton as a close friend?” Heavens.

Rose nodded with emphasis. “It was Mr. Layton who first suggested my uncle be brought on as the current Lord Lampton’s valet.”

Artemis turned wide eyes on her. “Your uncle knows him? How have you not told me this before?”

Rose held her hand up in a show of innocence. “I only just learned of it today. I assure you, I gave him a thorough scolding for keeping that secret from me.”

Artemis looked back out the windowed doors. Digby Layton. She’d wanted to meet him for so long, but now that an opportunity lay in front of her, she was nervous.

“You must go talk to him,” Rose said, nudging her a bit. “You’ve been given an unforeseen opportunity. Don’t squander it.”

“What would I even say?”

Rose sighed, the sound one of fond annoyance. “You were raised by the Dangerous Duke. If he heard you were afraid to offer a good afternoon to a dandy, he’d toss you in his gibbet.”

“If you faint, I will publicly and irrevocably disown you.”

She steeled her resolve and stepped out onto the terrace. No one spotted her at first. Their conversation continued on.

“How is Raneé finding motherhood?” the dowager asked Lord Aldric.

“Not nearly as enjoyable as her mother is finding grandmotherhood.”

“There are few things so satisfying,” the bespectacled gentleman said, “than the indisputable right to hand a fussy child back to his or her parents.”

The three of them laughed. The other gentlemen were in conversation with each other.

“I do wish the ladies had come,” the dowager said. “I’d love to see them all. And to hear all about everyone’s children and grandchildren. Our families are all growing so quickly.”

“They discussed it,” Lord Aldric said, “and came to the consensus that having all our wives here might be painful for Digby with his grief so raw yet.”

The dowager’s expression turned utterly empathetic. “I suspect that was wise.”

In the next moment, the gentlemen spotted Artemis and rose.

The dowager waved her over. “Artemis, do come make the acquaintance of my dear friends.” This was, without question, the lightest the dowager had appeared since Artemis and Charlie had arrived. The kind lady motioned to the most substantially built of them all. “Lord Aldric Benick.” To the bespectacled one, “Mr. Kester Barrington.” To the more sedate one with kind eyes, “Mr. Henri Fortier.” To the one who Artemis suspected would have preferred be left in a quiet corner, “Mr. Niles Greenberry.” Then she turned to the gentleman Artemis was both eager and nervous to meet. “Mr. Digby Layton.”

They all sketched quick and proper bows.

“Gents,” the dowager said, “this is my newest daughter-in-law, Artemis Jonquil. Until a few weeks ago, she was Artemis Lancaster.”

Understanding washed over their expressions.

“Sister of the Duchess of Kielder,” Lord Aldric said. “Our paths have crossed on a few occasions, but I am pleased to make your more particular acquaintance.”

Artemis dipped her head. Her eyes, of their own accord, shifted back to Mr. Layton. He was a pattern card of gentlemanly fashion. And she knew he had already taken an assessment of her attire and fashion choices. She knew because she did the same thing when she met people. It wasn’t an evaluation in order to dismiss or belittle them but rather her mind evaluating which aspects of clothing were suited to which people, which didn’t work as well, which were surprising, and which were expected. Her mind couldn’t help it. She was always learning, always exploring. She hadn’t the least doubt he did the same.

“I have heard report of you, Mrs. Jonquil,” Mr. Layton said.

“You have?” Her voice quavered a little. Bless her, she was nearly shaking. No one who knew her would guess she was ever anything but entirely confident. She worked hard to make them think that. Even the Huntresses were presented with her most confident facade.

“My associates in London tell me you have cut quite a dash in Society,” Mr. Layton said. “Your eye for fashion is widely spoken of.”

She swallowed. “As is yours, sir.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Do you realize,” she continued, “the drapers still speak of the run on diagonally printed patterns you caused in 1813 when you staunchly refused to allow your tailor to fashion a waistcoat for you with roller-printed fabric of any other variety?”

He tugged at his cuffs. “Why make do when one can make waves?”

Oh, she liked him already. But she could see the others were not nearly as keen on the topic at hand. She would not burden them with it, especially since she had interrupted whatever they were discussing before her arrival. “I would enjoy hearing your thoughts on current fashions,” she said to Mr. Layton, feigning a degree of confidence she did not entirely feel, “when you have a free moment.”

“I would enjoy that as well,” he said.

She dipped a curtsy and slipped quickly from the terrace back through the ballroom doors. Rose had already left. Artemis would give her a full report when next she saw her. At the moment, though, she wanted nothing so much as to skip about gleefully.

Digby Layton, a legend of fashion, had heard of her, and what he’d heard had impressed him. She could have shouted and cried with joy all at the same time.

With effort, she kept herself to some degree of decorum as she rushed from the ballroom, intent on tucking herself away for a bit in her bedchamber. The sting of rejection she’d endured with her sister-in-law had eased with the ready acceptance of a gentleman she’d long wished to meet.

Oh, how she had needed that.

She crossed paths with Charlie in the corridor of the family wing.

He eyed her with a touch of confusion. “Ought I to be afraid at such a broad grin as that?” Enough teasing sat in his tone to take the edge off.

“I’ve just met Mr. Digby Layton.” She took his hands and bounced a bit, her excitement overcoming her dignity. “He’s as delightful as I’d hoped.”

He laughed a little. “I’ve not seen you this giddy in . . . well, ever.”

She sighed and didn’t bother hiding her grin. “I haven’t been this happy in ages.”

She spun about as she made her way into the bedchamber. What had been a miserable day had turned into a ray of absolute sunshine.