Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I have been so pleased to see the fashion plates in La Belle Assemblée favoring slightly lower waistlines and bolder colors.” Artemis was in absolute heaven in this deep discussion about fashion with Rose and Mr. Layton. “We are convinced that ladies’ fashions are moving permanently in that direction but wish they would make the change more quickly.”

The three of them shared this passion. Artemis had no worries that she would be looked down on for her area of interest. Rose had always been dependable in that way. Now she had Mr. Layton as well. It was freeing. She felt safe enough to be more herself than she generally ever allowed.

“If only gentlemen’s fashions were moving in an encouraging direction,” Mr. Layton said. “That dolt Brummel has convinced the lot of them to be afraid of anything but the most mundane fabrics and adornments.”

“Lord Lampton is not afraid of eye-catching choices,” Rose pointed out.

Mr. Layton smoothed his sleeves with a look of self-satisfaction. “And who do you suppose undertook his fashion education?”

Artemis made a show of pondering the question all the ton could have guessed the answer to. “Wilson?”

Amusement tugged at Mr. Layton’s mouth. He was a decidedly handsome gentleman. He had likely been entirely devastating when he first entered Society. “The same person who taught Lord Lampton how to cut a dash also taught Wilson the finer points of fashion.”

“That someone was you, of course,” Rose said.

“They both already possessed a knack for such things,” Mr. Layton said. “I simply showed them how to improve upon their talents.”

“My uncle did much the same for me,” Rose said. “I’m grateful he did.”

“As am I,” Artemis said.

“And I, Miss Narang.” Mr. Layton dipped his head to her.

Rose, Artemis had discovered over the past almost two years, didn’t allow sentimentality to last long. “Artemis and I believe the lowered waistlines would be best complimented by a widening of necklines and dropping of sleeves. We, unfortunately, do not have the ears of those who decide such things.”

“For my part,” Mr. Layton said, “I believe you should be those ears.”

“Not possible.” Artemis knew that perfectly well. “Society forbids a lady of my position to be involved in any sort of venture. And the deeply engrained prejudices of this country prevent Rose from doing so.”

“Artemis.” Charlie quite suddenly arrived in the room, his gaze eager and excited. “The little ones are gathered in the portrait gallery, eager for some games on this rainy day. Will you come play with us?”

“You count yourself amongst the ‘little ones’?” Mr. Layton asked.

“I have always been counted amongst the little ones,” Charlie said. “I can’t imagine better company could be found anywhere.”

Mr. Layton smiled. “Your father felt the same way.”

She had heard that about the late earl. “Do all of the Gents share that ideology?”

“I cannot say there is one among us who, upon seeing a child in need, even if that need were simply to be cheered, would not immediately commit ourselves to the undertaking,” he said. “I cannot say we are saints—Henri is likely the closest—but we’d not any of us be able to turn away from a child in need.”

Artemis studied him a moment, trying to imagine his face years earlier, attempting to picture him in the fashions of more than a decade ago. He would have come to the aid of a lost and lonely child; he had said as much. But had he? Had he found a little girl in Heathbrook? Had he held her? Told her he loved her?

“You should go join the children for their games,” Mr. Layton said. “They are the most enjoyable of companions.”

It seemed so possible that he might be the gentleman she searched for, and yet, he didn’t seem to recognize her as the little girl he had once shown such love and devotion. Perhaps he assumed she didn’t remember him. Or perhaps he wasn’t the person she sought. How she wished she had answers.

Charlie had crossed to them. “Do come, Artie. They’re calling for a rousing game of huckle buckle beanstalk, and it promises to be an absolute ruckus of an afternoon. You can’t miss it.”

“You want me to join in?” She waited for the answer with bated breath.

“You were brilliant at catch us, catch us. We need your game-playing expertise.” His eyes danced. He was, in that moment, utterly endearing. And undeniably handsome. “Kendrick is proving rubbish at it. So disappointing.”

“He is only one year old.”

Charlie shook his head theatrically. “No excuse.”

Artemis looked once more at Rose and Mr. Layton, reluctant to inflict offense at abandoning their conversation and wanting some bit of direction. So much with Charlie was uncharted territory.

“Go,” Rose said.

Mr. Layton shooed her away. “It is the very best way you could spend your afternoon.”

“You won’t be upset that I’ve abandoned the both of you?”

“On the contrary,” Rose said in her typical dry manner.

“This is a matter of utmost importance,” Mr. Layton said. “Learning that the tiny Lord Jonquil not only has very little hair—something I’d hoped he’d outgrow—but is rubbish at huckle buckle beanstalk is a disappointment I was not prepared to endure. You must go salvage the Jonquil name, my dear.”

She appreciated the bit of humor, but she had concerns. “I don’t think the Jonquils are too pleased that I have laid claim to their name.”

He leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “I assure you, Artemis, that is not true.”

“You’ve asked them all, have you?”

His dazzling smile was the sort only a true dandy could produce. “I’ve asked the ones who matter.”

She laughed. Oh, Mr. Layton was a delight.

Charlie held out a hand to her. “Come join in the games, Artie. The family name needs defending, and you are just the person to do it.”

She liked that answer very much indeed. “You will remember from our long-ago game of lawn bowls that I take competition very seriously indeed,” she warned him lightheartedly.

One corner of his mouth tipped up. If not for their difficult history and equally difficult present, she’d have described the expression as flirtatious. “Why do you think I’ve asked you to be on my team?”

She set her hand in his, still outstretched toward her, and rose. He didn’t drop her hand, as she’d assumed he would, once she was standing but walked at her side, with her hand in his, their arms swinging between them like two old friends.

Charlie’s show of happy friendship was calming and reassuring. It may not have been the adoration and fervor she’d let herself imagine over the years, but there was something so steady in it. She was not hiding herself behind her shield of theatricality, and yet, he seemed pleased to be with her.

“Do many gentlemen take such delight in time spent with children?” Artemis asked.

“In this family, yes.” He looked over at her with a flush of embarrassment. “That likely makes us seem rather pitiful.”

She shook her head. “If more people were kind to children, were willing to make certain little ones knew they had value and were loved, what a difference that would make.”

He raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I am sorry your father did not make certain you knew that.”

Artemis leaned her head against him. Father had neglected her in every conceivable way. But Papa, her beloved, darling, elusive Papa, had given her reason to hope. He was out there, somewhere. Perhaps somewhere nearby.

How tempting it was to tell Charlie of her suspicions regarding Mr. Layton. But, then, Charlie didn’t know about Papa. No one did.

They reached the portrait gallery. All the Jonquil grandchildren were there, except for Edmund, the oldest at ten and likely feeling himself too old to indulge in games with the youngest of his cousins, and Stanley and Marjie’s little one, who had not yet arrived at Lampton Park. It was quite a gathering. They all looked over at the door, and their eyes lit. A chorus of “Uncle Charlie!” filled the high-ceilinged room. There could be no doubt they adored their youngest uncle.

“I’ve brought your aunt Artemis to join the fun,” he said. “She is an excellent game player.”

The children cheered and called the two of them over, begging for the festivities to begin.

Charlie pulled Artemis directly to the center of them all, where they sat on the floor in front of them.

“Have you decided on an object to hide?” he asked the group.

Caroline took the lead, something Artemis suspected was a well-established dynamic. “This carved horse.” She held out a small, well-crafted toy.

“Excellent choice,” Artemis said. “It’s large enough for the littlest seekers to spot without being so large that it would be difficult to hide.”

“I picked it.” Oh, how well Artemis knew the look of hesitant hope on the little girl’s face.

“Clever girl,” Artemis said.

Caroline grinned broadly, tender pride surging in her expression. Charlie put an arm around Artemis and gave her a side hug, whispering, “Thank you for that.”

“Who is hiding the horse first?” Caroline asked.

“Perhaps you could help one of the youngest ones,” Charlie suggested. “Aunt Artemis and I will help the others look.”

Caroline chose her two-year-old brother, Henry, to be her partner. He watched his sister with an eager adoration.

Charlie and Artemis gathered the others, nearly all of whom were under three years old, into a clump of childish glee. Alice, one of the older children, at likely five, set herself beside Charlie, watching him, utterly besotted. Artemis held Julia in one arm and the ebony-haired Isabella in the other. Charlie held Kendrick, with little Robert and William tucked up against him.

“No peeking,” Charlie told the lot of them. “Close your eyes.”

Alice did so immediately. None of the others seemed to understand what he was telling them.

“Have them cover their eyes with their hands,” Artemis suggested. Her nieces and nephews had been able to do that at this age, though perhaps not for long stretches of time or with any degree of reliability.

Charlie demonstrated with exaggerated movements. They watched him intently, doing their utmost to copy him. Artemis’s armfuls were too little to comprehend much of it and wouldn’t have the least idea what Caroline and her brother were up to.

The little boys watching Charlie from the floor were entranced. Repeated attempts at mimicking his actions dissolved into giggles. Robert stood and put his tiny hands on his uncle’s eyes.

“Cover your own eyes, silly,” Charlie said.

William, sitting on the floor still, giggled and pulled himself to his feet, joining his cousin in the effort to cover Charlie’s eyes.

Caroline and her brother returned in the midst of the silliness. “Did you see where we hid the horse?”

“We didn’t,” Artemis assured her.

Caroline looked down at her little brother. “Don’t tell them where it is.”

He shook his head.

Getting up with so many little ones underfoot and in arm took some doing, but they managed it. After only minutes, the reality of how young most of their brood was became quite clear. They hadn’t the first idea what was happening or what they were looking for. Caroline, good sport that she was, simply laughed at her little cousins’ antics. Henry was very good about not revealing the hiding place of the toy horse.

But Alice, still clinging to Charlie’s side, was growing frustrated. “I want to find the horse. The boys are being bad.”

“Not bad, dear,” Charlie said. “They are just too little to understand the game.”

“Then why are they playing?” she asked.

He met Artemis’s eye. She managed not to laugh out loud at the exasperation in his eyes.

“Hers is a point well made, Charlie. I cannot wait to hear what your answer will be.”

“You are no help.” But he smiled at her.

Eventually, Charlie found the horse hidden beneath a chair. He then hid it, and Artemis discovered it beside a long table. The littlest ones lost interest by the time Caroline found and hid the horse once more. The two nursemaids who’d been in the room in case of just such a defection, were quick to gather up the tiniest of the cousins and whisk them away, no doubt to the nursery.

Charlie bid them each an individual farewell. He was so tenderly sweet with them. Not one of these children would ever wonder if someone cared for them.

Only she, Charlie, Alice, and Caroline remained in the large and impressive portrait gallery. The older of the two girls set out to hide the horse. Alice sat on Charlie’s lap.

“Do you think I’ll find it this time?” she asked.

“I think you might,” he said. “If I don’t find it first. I am a very good seeker.”

“I’ll find it,” she said eagerly. “I know I will.”

Caroline announced the horse well and truly hidden, and they all opened their eyes to begin the hunt. Alice ran around, searching beneath every chair and under the sparse bits of furniture. Sweet thing, she wanted so badly to emerge triumphant.

Artemis knelt in front of the child. “You keep searching, love. Caroline and I will convince your uncle Charlie to look for it on the far side of the room.”

“What if the horse is over there?” Alice asked.

Artemis met Caroline’s eye. The older girl shook her head. To Alice, Artemis said, “I am certain it isn’t on that side of the room. You look over here.”

Alice bounced a bit, eyes darting around with excitement as she took up the search in earnest.

“I’ll tell Charlie to look over there,” Caroline said.

“Excellent idea.”

While Alice searched near the windows, Caroline turned to Charlie. He, of course, would have overheard every word they’d said. Still, he played along, allowing Caroline to pull him by the hand to various pretended hiding spots.

“I can’t find it,” Alice said, frustration and disappointment heavy in her voice.

“Go help her, Caroline,” Charlie said.

“But you’ll escape and find the horse.” Poor Alice looked near to tears.

Artemis didn’t wish for Charlie to be forced to reveal that he’d been playing a role the entire time. “I’ll stop him,” she declared and rushed over, making a show of blocking his path.

Charlie laughed and pretended to try to get around her.

“I’m holding him back, girls.” She could hear giggles behind her. “Look quickly before he escapes.”

She glanced back at them. Caroline took Alice’s hand and pulled her toward the apparent hiding spot.

“They are darling little friends, aren’t they?” Charlie spoke quietly. “Caroline was the only grandchild for quite a while. She was often lonely.”

“It is so hard to be a lonely child,” Artemis said.

“Yes, it is.”

She looked at him once more. “Were you lonely, too, Charlie?”

The laughter that had been in his expression only a moment earlier disappeared. Heaviness pulled at his brows. Sadness hung in his eyes. “All my brothers were away at school. My father had died. My mother was in deepest mourning. I often felt entirely alone.”

“I wish you’d lived closer,” she said. “We could have been friends, and neither of us would have been so alone.”

He set an arm around her waist. “We could have launched paper boats in the Trent and played on the old stone bridge.” He set his other arm around her. “We would have climbed trees and caused endless mischief.”

Artemis set her hands on his chest, watching as a smile played across his lips. “I would have liked that.”

Charlie rested his forehead against hers. “We could still do all those things, you know.”

“Even the ‘endless mischief’?” she whispered.

His voice as quiet as hers, he said, “Especially the mischief.”

“What sort of mischief do you have in mind?” Her heart pounded so loudly she could hardly hear her own words.

“I have a few ideas.”

“She found it! She found it!” Caroline’s voice called out.

Charlie pulled back. In the blink of an eye, he transformed from unexpectedly enjoyable husband to fun uncle. He rushed over to his nieces, taking the game up once more.

Artemis took a moment to breathe and regain her equilibrium. He was proving a surprise. A wonderful, confusing, delightful surprise.