Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden
Chapter Eight
The journey from London had required several days. While Artemis had not been made privy to Charlie’s exact financial situation, she knew he was not particularly deep in the pockets. The changes of horses must have been provided by either Adam or Lord Lampton.
They would likely be living off her dowry. All young ladies with substantial dowries worried that they were being pursued exclusively for the money they would bring to a marriage. Artemis had endured more than her share of would-be suitors who’d shown themselves to be utterly uninterested in her as a person but focused, instead, on what she would add to their coffers. It had happened over and over again. Every Season. Every at-home day. She could say little for the marriage she had been tossed into, but she did know Charlie hadn’t wanted to marry her for her money. Heavens, he hadn’t wanted to marry her at all.
They’d not spoken much during their journey. They’d ridden in silence, eaten in silence, retired to separate bedchambers at every inn only to rise the next morning and sit in the carriage in silence for hours on end.
How was she to endure a lifetime of this? She’d barely survived a childhood of it.
On the afternoon of their final leg of the journey, Charlie had broken the quiet of the carriage. “We’re approaching Brier Hill. I haven’t been here since I was little, but there is no mistaking the area.”
It was at least an attempt at a cordial conversation. She grasped at it. “Why did you stop visiting?”
“My father died.” And that ended all discussions. His eyes turned to the road, and his expression and posture closed her off.
She supposed it was preferable to her father’s approach. He had made her wonder at times if she was imagining her own existence.
She set her gaze on the windows not because she was eager to see the house she was being required to make her home but to give herself a moment to regain her hold on herself. She could feel her emotions getting the better of her. She had lost her future, her hope, and her freedom; she refused to relinquish her dignity.
How confidently she had declared to the Huntresses that she would blithely ignore her unwanted husband and not give him a second thought. Mere days into the disaster of a marriage and she was falling to pieces because he was ignoring her. What a pathetic goddess she was proving to be.
She closed her eyes and counted backward slowly, a trick Adam had taught her sister Daphne and which Daphne had taught her. It interrupted her swirling thoughts, gave her a task that required concentration but not effort. It calmed her mind and slowed her heart.
Best keep to the light.
When she opened her eyes again, she had her armor firmly in place. In every bust she had ever seen of the goddess Artemis, she had worn the same expression of untouchable determination. At the age of sixteen, Artemis herself had spent countless hours in front of her mirror, practicing until she could recreate the expression perfectly. She assumed that air again now.
She eyed Brier Hill as the carriage rolled down the drive. It was small but well-maintained. The stone facade had been weathered by the passage of many years, but in a way that granted it warmth rather than rendered it ramshackle. She liked the bay towers at the corners. There were many trees, mature ones and new saplings. Effort was expended on keeping up the grounds. That was a reassuring sign.
“What do you think of it?” Charlie asked.
“It is lovely.”
“You don’t hate it?” he pressed.
She shook her head. “No one with any degree of taste could possibly hate it.”
He actually looked relieved. Perhaps he wanted her to like the house, wanted her to be happy here. That would be an unexpectedly encouraging turn of events.
An older man and woman stepped out of the front door, wearing the well-maintained but simple clothing of servants. The butler and housekeeper, no doubt. No other servants joined them. The house was small, leaving open the very real possibility that there were no other members of staff. Surely Charlie had a valet. And Rose would have arrived a bit ahead of Artemis. Was there any staff in the stables? A cook? Groundskeeper? Was Artemis meant to hire more staff? How could she do that if she didn’t know what their income was?
Dignity, she reminded herself. It had proven the most impenetrable of shields over the years. Dignity and theatrics. An odd combination but an effective one. No one could hurt her if they never met the person she actually was.
She stepped from the carriage, Charlie having taken up the role of footman and helped her descend.
“Artemis, this is Mr. and Mrs. Giles, butler and housekeeper, respectively.”
Artemis dipped her head. They offered a bow and curtsy.
To the servants, Charlie said, “This is the newest Mrs. Jonquil.”
Mercy, that was odd. So very, very odd. She’d known she would not always be Miss Lancaster, but she had never in all her nightmares imagined being Mrs. Jonquil. Just hearing him say it threatened to bring tears to the surface again.
I am Artemis, she silently reminded herself. Goddess of the hunt, slayer of men, determiner of my own fate. She’d made this promise to herself again and again in the two weeks since being set on this horrible path.
She took herself firmly in hand and walked with Charlie into the bright front entryway. The space was pleasant, clean, and appealing in its simplicity. If the rest of the house followed suit, she would find herself with a space on which to make something of a mark. She could give this house a bit of herself, and that meant a lot.
“It would be my honor to show you about the house, Mrs. Jonquil,” the housekeeper said, dipping her head deferentially.
“Yes, thank you.” Artemis turned to Charlie, proud of her dignified demeanor and the convincing job she felt she was doing at playing the role of mistress of the estate. “Do you intend to join us?”
“I have not been here in many years, but I remember the house well enough to not need to be reacquainted with it.” He addressed his next remark to the housekeeper. “The walled garden in back remains, I assume.”
She nodded. “Kept to your father’s exacting standards.”
A bit of sadness, a bit of nostalgia touched his expression. “I believe I will look in on it. I’ve not seen his garden in years.” He stiffened a bit as he turned to Artemis. “Unless you would rather I join you on your tour of the house.”
She would have liked him to, truth be told. She would have appreciated a bit of support as she stepped into this new role in this unfamiliar setting. But she needed to be as fiercely and safely independent as her namesake. I’ll live my life. And I will leave him to live his. “I have no objections,” she said. “I daresay Mrs. Giles and I can manage the thing on our own.”
His brow pulled a little but only for a moment. Whatever he’d been pondering appeared to have been settled in his mind. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat and, without another word, turned and—there was no better word for it—trudged from the house. Did he not wish to see the garden, or did he simply not wish to be inside with her?
“The garden was the late earl’s?” Artemis asked. As far as she knew, it was more common for women to claim ownership of gardens; such had been the case at Falstone Castle.
“He designed and helped build it,” Mrs. Giles said. “And he chose every plant and type of flower in there. That garden was important to him.”
Her father had claimed a corner of their family home, a spot that had been important to him. He’d seldom left his bookroom. He’d been very particular about it, allowing no one to upset his studies or focus while he was inside. She’d heard a bit about the late Earl of Lampton. He didn’t seem like the sort to neglect his family. Perhaps he had managed a balance between his passion for the garden and his family’s claim on his time.
Artemis made her way around the house with Mrs. Giles. It was not a large home, but it was well proportioned and pleasantly laid out. There was room enough for hosting guests, which gave Artemis some reassurance. She could easily move some things around and render the space even more enjoyable and efficient.
She particularly liked the detailed molding in every room and around every door. The little flowers and leaves carved there were repeated on the bannister leading up to the first floor. Small details like that imbued character without taking up needed space. Decorating a home was not terribly unlike creating an ensemble. It was about balance and attention to those characteristics that ought to be emphasized and celebrated.
The first-floor landing afforded a view of a great many doors. Artemis was introduced into each of the rooms beyond: a bookroom, three guest chambers, and a pleasant antechamber with one door in each direction.
“Mr. Jonquil’s bedchamber is through this door.” Mrs. Giles motioned to the one on the left. “And yours, Mrs. Jonquil, is through this door.” She indicated the one on the right. “Your abigail is inside already. Should you require anything, please do not hesitate to send her or tug the bell pull.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Giles.”
The housekeeper took her departure. Artemis stepped into the room that was now hers.
Rose was, indeed, inside, setting out Artemis’s brush and combs on a small dressing table. Seeing someone so familiar, someone whose loyalty and kindness she could count on, brought her such a feeling of relief.
“What do you think of your new domain?” she asked Rose.
“The house is small but well maintained and offers a remarkable view.” She motioned to the tall windows.
Artemis stepped to them and looked out on the mountains in the distance and the lovely grounds below. A person could do worse than awaken to that sight every morning.
Movement caught her eye, pulling her gaze toward the back corner of the grounds, to a wall made of stone that differed from that of the rest of the walls. A tall iron gate no wider than a single doorway sat open. Charlie was just then stepping out of it.
This, then, was his father’s garden. Charlie didn’t appear particularly lightened by the time he’d spent there. If anything, he looked more pensive. Worrying about his state of mind would do her little good. She would do better to focus on finding her footing.
“How is your room?” Artemis asked Rose. “I cannot imagine, in a house this small, that you have quite the space you did at Falstone Castle.”
“It is smaller, yes, but not unmanageable.” Rose slipped something into a drawer of the tallboy. “I spotted a room on the ground floor that is currently empty.”
Artemis had noted it herself. “Mrs. Giles says it once was a billiard room, though it is not used for that purpose now.”
“I would suggest its purpose might now be for our sewing and designing efforts,” Rose said. “There is room enough, yet the spot will not intrude on other pursuits.”
It was a good suggestion for utilizing the space. Had someone told her mere weeks earlier that she would have a room entirely devoted to designing, making, and refining clothes and ensembles, she would have been delighted. She found, though, in that moment, she could not summon her usual enthusiasm for the enterprise.
Pursuing any future in the area of fashion had always been a rather pointless dream. She couldn’t make anything of it, but she’d enjoyed indulging in it. She hadn’t the heart for it just then.
She took one last look out the window and down at her unexpected and unwanted husband slowly meandering his way back toward the house.
I’ll live my life. And I will leave him to live his.
The difficulty was, she no longer knew what her life was meant to be.
