Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden

Chapter Twenty-One

Charlie couldn’t shake from his mind the image of Artemis so delightedly excited when he’d seen her in the corridor the afternoon before. Her entire demeanor had been light and natural and genuine. Her voice had rung with very real pleasure and excitement.

He had, in that moment, seen Artemis with no walls, no armor, no pretense, and his heart had yet to recover.

He’d watched her throughout the evening as she’d spoken with Father’s friend Mr. Layton. Though Charlie hadn’t been privy to their conversation, he could see she had enjoyed it. Genuinely enjoyed it, not merely making a show of being interested and entertained. Her expressions had ranged from intrigued to pondering to confident. There had been no theatrics, no feigned ennui, no hint of the actress she so often was. And she had thoroughly enjoyed herself.

He’d lain awake most of the night on the chaise longue, trying to make sense of the change in her, wondering what could be done to keep her from disappearing once more behind her defenses.

By breakfast the next morning, though, she was unreachable once more, indulging in dramatics and off-hand dismissals. He wanted her to be her true self, her real, unfeigned self. He’d seen that Artemis only in glimpses, and he missed her.

And so, after the morning meal, he went in search of the only person he knew who could bring out such happy sincerity in her.

He found Mr. Layton on the back terrace in light conversation with Mr. Barrington, the Gent who put Charlie in mind of so many of the dons at Cambridge. Mr. Layton, with his brightly colored, highly tailored clothes and exaggerated mannerisms, put him in mind of Philip. It made these strangers feel surprisingly familiar.

“Charlie.” Mr. Layton waved him over. “Come join us.”

Neither appeared the least put out by his arrival and interruption. He took a seat near them and dove directly into his inquiry. “What did you and Artemis talk about last evening?” he asked Mr. Layton.

The question had clearly not been expected.

“A great many things,” he said. “Nothing of terrible import.”

A frustrating answer. “She seemed to enjoy your conversation. Sincerely enjoy it. She very seldom does.”

“She doesn’t enjoy conversation?” Mr. Barrington asked.

“She does,” he said. “At least she goes to great lengths to appear that she does. She goes to great lengths to appear to be a lot of things.”

Both men eyed him with unmistakable interest and surprise. Only upon looking at them did he realize he had, in his exhaustion and desperation, allowed his tongue to run away with him. Without thinking, he’d spoken ill of his wife.

“What sort of rubbish husband manages to get everything wrong all the time?” he muttered.

“One with the surname Jonquil, in my experience,” Mr. Barrington said.

“Indeed.” Mr. Layton’s theatrics rivaled Artemis’s but were somehow less frustrating. Perhaps the difference was that he gave no impression of trying to hide behind his antics. It felt, instead, like a bit of entertainment. “I have made a petition to the Crown to create a medal to be awarded to any lady who endures being married to a Jonquil.”

“They are, without question, the bravest of us all,” Mr. Barrington answered with a slow nod.

They both looked at Charlie and burst out laughing.

“You cannot convince us,” Mr. Layton said, “that any of you boys are less dense in matters of the heart than your father was.”

“But was Father married to a lady who hated being married to him?” Charlie tossed back.

In perfect unison, they said, “Yes.”

Charlie knew his parents’ marriage, arranged as it had been, hadn’t been a love match to begin with, but he’d not once heard the word hate attached to their feelings on the matter.

“Do you suspect your Artemis hates being married to you?” Mr. Barrington asked.

“I have more than mere suspicions,” Charlie said. “We’ve disliked each other for a very long time and were forced to marry due to a rather stupid misunderstanding. I would declare myself entirely certain of her hatred of our current situation, but—”

“But she doesn’t have sincere conversations.” Mr. Barrington nodded his understanding. “And you find yourself wondering not only what your future now looks like but also who the lady you’ve married actually is.”

Lud, that was a discouraging summary.

He scratched at the back of his head. “She was so open with you, Mr. Layton. And when she told me yesterday how pleased she was to have met you . . . ” He emptied his lungs, letting his arm drop once more to his side. “I felt like I was seeing her—the real her—for the first time.”

Mr. Barrington leaned forward, watching him with a searching gaze. “And did you like who you saw?”

He didn’t say anything, but the growing grins on the gentlemen’s faces told him he didn’t need to.

“I remember all too well your father realizing he’d begun falling in love with your mother.” Mr. Layton laughed quietly, then looked to Mr. Barrington. “Heavens, Lucas was caught unawares by that change, wasn’t he?”

Mr. Barrington nodded. “And, miraculously enough, managed to salvage the mull he’d made of it all up to that point.”

While there was something reassuring and heartwarming about hearing stories of his father, it was also frustrating. “If he were here, he could tell me how he managed to turn his marriage around. I’m stumbling my way through mine.”

“Charlie,” Mr. Layton said kindly, “we were with him as he managed that.”

A fragile bit of hope blossomed inside.

Mr. Layton rose and motioned him to do the same. “Take a stroll around the grounds with us. I think we can give you a bit of the advice your father would have, and perhaps warn you of a few of the missteps he made along the way.”

“And a few of the missteps the rest of us made as well,” Mr. Barrington added. “The Gents rather bumbled our way through the 1780s.”

“And beyond,” Mr. Layton added.

They took the stone steps down to the pebbled path and began a meandering circuit of the grounds.

Somehow, Mr. Layton looked regal even during something so unrefined as an afternoon ramble about the back lawn. Mr. Barrington looked utterly academic. How would an onlooker describe Charlie? Probably “desperate.”

“I think our first question must be, What is your goal for this marriage?” Mr. Barrington asked. “Do you wish for a love story for the ages?”

“I would settle for anything that isn’t a complete disaster.”

The other two exchanged glances.

“Sound familiar, Digby?” Mr. Barrington asked his friend.

Mr. Layton nodded. “His father’s son through and through.”

Charlie wasn’t often compared to his father. Even though this similarity was less than flattering, he liked hearing it. “Father clearly managed to avoid disaster. He and Mater had the sort of marriage most people only dream of.”

“The deep love they had for each other was not his initial goal,” Mr. Barrington said. “His first focus was to build a friendship and a much-needed degree of trust.”

Friendship and trust. Two things Charlie’s marriage didn’t yet have, though there’d been moments when both had at least seemed possible.

“How did Father approach that?”

“He chose activities that could be easily enjoyed by two people who were not in love; many, in fact, were the sort of playful pastimes one indulges in during childhood.” Mr. Barrington adjusted his spectacles as he spoke. “He was operating under the theory that Julia could enjoy the undertaking without worrying that she was opening herself up to being hurt.”

Hearing Mater referred to by her Christian name was so odd. She’d been Mater all his life. He had some vague memories of Father calling her Julia, but no one else ever did.

“She worried a lot about being hurt,” Mr. Layton said. “She had suffered through so many losses and so much pain in her life. I don’t know that she could have endured another blow. Though she made a good show of being strong and unbreakable, Julia was quite fragile. Once Lucas realized that, once he truly appreciated the fear she carried with her, the pain that rested just below the surface, it changed his entire approach to his marriage. His frustration gave way to compassion. His railing at being forced into a marriage he hadn’t wanted gave way to a deep desire to build a life with her. His desire to avoid being hurt himself became nothing compared to his need to protect her from further suffering. It changed him.”

Charlie spun a leaf in his fingers as he listened. So much of what they were describing could be applied to him. His frustration, his railing against what he’d lost, his seemingly strong but undeniably hurting wife. “Changed him?”

Mr. Barrington nodded. “Your father was always a good man and the best sort of friend. But letting himself love your mother, deciding to be the kind of person she deserved to build a life with, brought out something more in him than had been there before.”

“He was always good,” Mr. Layton said. “He became remarkable.”

“And he and Mater were happy in the end.” Charlie knew that for a fact.

“My boy,” Mr. Layton said kindly, “they were happy long before the end.”

“How did he go about building a friendship between them?”

Mr. Barrington nodded his approval. “The best place to begin. Well chosen, Charlie.”

The compliment warmed him. These gentlemen, who had been unknown to him days earlier, were proving reassuring and strengthening. Hearing their approval felt nearly like hearing it from Father himself. Nearly.

“Take what opportunities you can find to undertake a lark or two,” Mr. Layton said. “Laughter is a glue too many underestimate. You can build a bond through happy moments that will see you through the sad ones.”

Charlie nodded. He’d seen the truth of that already. Playing catch us, catch us with Artemis, Oliver, Persephone, and Hestia had been just one of those happy and joyous moments. It had given him hope.

“Discover what her interests are,” Mr. Barrington said. “And share yours with her. Your parents built their connection on a foundation of mountains and mathematics.”

That last caught Charlie’s attention. “Father was a mathematician?”

Again, the men exchanged the sort of look one saw only between friends with decades of connection behind them. It was a knowing, amused look.

“No,” Mr. Barrington said. “He wasn’t.”

“You did say mathematics,” Charlie insisted.

“We did,” Mr. Layton said, “but you assumed which of your parents had the passion for it.”

Charlie stopped on the spot, shock holding him perfectly still. “Mater had an interest in mathematics?”

Mr. Barrington nodded. “When I was visiting them at Brier Hill early in their marriage, I came upon your mother teaching herself differential calculations.”

All Charlie could do was stand and stare at them. Why had no one told him this before?

Mr. Layton slapped a hand on his shoulder. “At the risk of shocking you further, Charlie, your mother is, in my estimation, likely a genius. Were she a gentleman, she would have proven herself an academic legend at Cambridge.”

“You’re having a laugh at my expense, aren’t you?”

Mr. Layton shook his head. “As fond as I am of a laugh and a bit of absurdity, we’re in earnest.”

“Entirely,” Mr. Barrington said. “I’m in the Royal Society, have lectured here and there, have published extensively on scientific topics, and I do not believe I have ever met your mother’s intellectual equal. Life limited her opportunities for building on her natural abilities, but, I assure you, we are telling you the truth of it.”

“Hare and hounds,” Charlie muttered in shock.

They laughed and nudged him forward.

“To add to your feeling of being overwhelmed,” Mr. Layton continued, “I suspect the lady you have married is remarkably intelligent as well. Her area of interest and expertise lies with fashion. I was impressed with her ideas on the topic last evening. And she was clearly excited to speak about it.”

“She spends hours sketching and sewing clothing,” Charlie said. “She has dedicated an entire room at Brier Hill to that undertaking. But I know nothing of fashion. I don’t know that I could have a one-minute conversation with her on the topic, let alone build a friendship around it.”

Mr. Barrington tipped his head in Mr. Layton’s direction. “You’ve an expert here. There’s no end to his ability to speak on the subject.”

“I think I’d do better to resurrect a few childhood games. I’m less likely to humiliate myself there.”

“You are Lucas’s boy,” Mr. Layton said by way of warning. “There will be no avoiding humiliation.”