Charming Artemis by Sarah M. Eden

Chapter Nine

Charlie didn’t know what Artemis wanted out of life, but he doubted it was a forced marriage to someone she despised. He had given her time and space to adapt. And that time and space had grown and expanded until they hardly ever saw each other.

He had promised Mater he would try to make a success of this unlooked-for marriage. Perhaps he simply wasn’t trying hard enough. But then again, he had spent his entire life trying hard to do and be what he thought he ought and had fallen short far too often.

He passed the entirety of their fifth day at Brier Hill desperately searching for a way to spend time with his wife that was unlikely to lead to an argument or even greater resentment between them. The closest they’d come to a moment of lighthearted easiness the past weeks had been in the church moments before they’d been married. It had been a bit of absurdity, which had cracked a portion of the ice between them, and that, it seemed, was a good approach with Artemis. At least he hoped it was.

So that was what he decided on: a bit of absurdity, allowing for a moment’s lightheartedness, in the form of a breakfast in the small, circular sitting room that joined their bedchambers. They would have a bit of privacy, where she might feel safer to let down those walls the duke had told him never crumbled. And eating a meal not on a tray or in a room designated for that purpose was just odd enough that they would have a ready topic of conversation. She might find it an amusing lark. It had to work; he had no other ideas.

Early the next morning, Charlie made his way across the back grounds to his father’s garden. Climbing roses covered one entire section of wall, blooming with healthy abandon. Several tall trees sat at pleasant intervals, offering bits of shade in the midst of the sun-kissed garden. There was a single looped flagstone path with several narrow, pebbled paths jutting off, leading to quiet corners and carved stone benches. Alongside healthy green shrubs were flowers in dozens of varieties: lilies and snapdragons; forget-me-nots and fleur-de-lis; even rarer varieties, like love-in-a-mist and queen-of-the-meadow.

The family had often spent time at Brier Hill in the years before Father had died. Memories followed Charlie all over the estate, but none were stronger than those that filled this walled garden. He’d walked its looped path with his father daily when they’d been in residence. They’d talked, though Charlie didn’t remember many specifics of their conversations. He did, however, recall how very much his father had known about flowers and how much time he’d spent choosing which ones to pluck and take to Mater. He’d brought her flowers almost every day, whether at Brier Hill or Lampton Park.

It was the closest thing to matrimonial advice he had from his father. Every morning he and Artemis had been at Brier Hill, Charlie had gone to the garden, selected a handful of blooms, and asked Mrs. Giles to take them with her when she tended Artemis’s room, refreshing the bouquet in there with newly plucked flowers. His new wife never mentioned his offerings, but he hoped she found some joy in the blooms.

Mr. and Mrs. Giles were in the circular sitting room when he returned with the small bouquet he’d gathered that morning. A table had been brought up, and the two faithful retainers were setting it with the needed plates and utensils and a small spread of breakfast foods.

Charlie set his flowers in a vase he’d asked Mrs. Giles to include in the arrangement.

“That’s a lovely handful,” she said. “Your father also had a knack for creating a pleasing collection of blooms.”

He hoped Artemis agreed, even if she did so silently. She used to be almost overwhelmingly present in every moment. Yes, she had often been playing a part, but she had at least been a participant. He could generally sort through the facade to identify what lay beneath. Now, though, she kept herself so firmly tucked away that he felt like he knew nothing. It was like living with a statue of the ancient Greek Artemis instead of with the lady who was now his wife.

Mrs. Giles set the last of the utensils in place as her husband carefully adjusted the breakfast foods.

“Will you be requiring anything else?” the butler asked.

“Requiring?”

“Wishing for, then, sir.”

Charlie pushed out a tense breath. “Brandy, Giles.”

They all three smiled at that.

“All will be well, Mr. Jonquil,” the housekeeper said. “You’ll see.”

“And if not,” her husband said, “I’ll have a decanter waiting.”

Charlie laughed. “Good of you.”

The couple slipped out through his bedchamber.

Charlie sat in the circular sitting room, waiting for Artemis. If this little scheme of his didn’t do any good, he hadn’t any other ideas. He’d chosen casual attire, assuming that was appropriate for a private tête-à-tête over breakfast. If that assumption was a poor one, Artemis would likely let him know. She put a lot of store in appearances. She likely found his off-putting. He hadn’t Philip’s flair for fashion. He also didn’t have Philip’s income.

While Charlie wasn’t hoping for a fashion critique with his morning meal, at least it would be a conversation. And if his manner of dress was important to Artemis, he couldn’t entirely neglect it without adding to the difficulty of their current circumstances. He didn’t want her to be more unhappy than she already was.

The door that led to Artemis’s bedchamber opened, and she stepped into the sitting room. She held herself as regally as ever, but she was attired casually. He’d made the right assumption on that score.

Somehow, her simpler hairstyle and clothing made her even more beautiful, which was admittedly a feat. Perhaps it was that she was less intimidating. When she wielded all of the weapons in her arsenal—wit, confidence, fashion perfection—she could seem somehow not quite human. Seeing her now, he could almost believe she was someone who could be a friend.

Almost.

“I have to admit, Charlie, I have been intrigued by this idea since you suggested it last evening. I have not ever eaten breakfast anywhere other than a breakfast room or on a tray.” She looked over the table with its spread of food. “This is rather nice, isn’t it?”

He could have shouted with relief. This hadn’t proven a horrid miscalculation.

“This seemed a nice place to begin one’s morning.” He kept himself calm and dignified as he crossed to her. She smelled of something similar to evergreen but not quite. And citrusy but not exactly. It wasn’t unpleasant, not in the least, but he couldn’t begin to identify it.

He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat. Seeing her situated, he sat as well.

“I do think there is something to be said for breaking one’s fast while being treated to a view of those mountains,” she said. “It is far superior to the unbroken walls one usually finds in a breakfast room.”

They were keeping themselves to topics usually reserved for those who had nothing to say to one another. Yet, it felt like a triumph.

“The countryside is particularly beautiful in this corner of the country,” Charlie said. “Though I was quite young during our visits here, I do remember that about Brier Hill.”

“Some childhood memories can be very vivid,” she said. “While others seem to be broken or missing entirely.”

Indeed. His memories of his father were often vague and unhelpful. But mixed in with the broken bits were some recollections as clear as if they’d occurred mere days earlier. Father tending to the flowers in the Brier Hill garden and the Lampton Park conservatory. Bringing handfuls of those flowers to Mater. Father running around the grounds of Lampton Park, playing games with all the brothers. Father holding Mater in his arms.

But Charlie only remembered what Father looked like because he’d seen portraits. He couldn’t remember the sound of his voice. He hadn’t any true reassurance that his father had loved him. He believed he had. He hoped he had. But he couldn’t actually remember.

“My sisters and I had a picnic not long before Persephone left home,” Artemis said. “She was very pensive, but I didn’t know why. I was convinced something was wrong with the food, but since I had helped make it, I was particularly afraid to ask. I tried to force her to eat more and more and more, needing reassurance that I’d not made a mull of everything. Looking back, I realize she was probably nervous about her upcoming wedding. But I was too young to understand that.”

“Layton was the first of my brothers to marry,” Charlie said. “I can’t recall whether or not he was nervous, though I was eleven years old, old enough to have been a little more observant than I was.”

Mostly, Charlie remembered that he himself was afraid. At that point, the only time he recalled so many people being at Lampton Park was for his father’s funeral. Though he had been old enough to have known how illogical the fear was, he’d been terrified that someone else in his family was going to die.

But that was too personal a recollection to share.

“I was old enough for all the other weddings to understand what was happening,” he said. “My brothers and their wives were always nervous and excited and, generally speaking, rather nauseatingly in love.”

“My siblings as well,” Artemis said. “Even Adam and Persephone are now.”

Though it was without question the longest conversation they’d had since arriving at Brier Hill—indeed, since leaving London—it was a topic rife with potential pitfalls. They, after all, had not been feeling the slightest bit of excitement, nor were they nauseatingly in love or happy. They weren’t likely to ever be. Things were not stable enough between them to risk that discussion.

Charlie chose something different. “I warned Newton that if he proved too much to endure, I would never go visit him and his new wife. I hope he took that very seriously.”

She smiled a little bit at him. “I have every faith they are going to be as impossible to endure as every other happily married couple I have ever encountered.”

“Well, then,” he said, feigning a breezy response. “That friendship, I suppose, has run its course.”

She laughed a bit.

This was working. A friendly conversation, no other people hanging about to add any additional awkwardness to the situation. Perhaps this was part of the formula he’d been searching for. They would take their morning meal here in this room, talk about little nothings. In time, conversation might come easily enough for it to occur throughout the day. Dinner might stop being such a bleak affair.

“If they repent of their stomach-churning coziness,” Artemis said, “perhaps we might have them come visit here.”

That was a fine suggestion, actually.

“Indeed, if we plan carefully enough,” Artemis said, an eagerness entering her eyes, “we could host a few of our friends. This isn’t a large estate, but there’s ample room for a modest gathering.”

Having Newton and Ellie come for a visit was more than doable. Toss could come. Maybe one or two of his Cambridge friends every now and then. And Artemis would wish to see the Huntresses. But house parties, even small ones, came rather dear.

“We have to limit ourselves to only a couple of guests for no more than a few days at a time, and no more than a few times a year,” he said.

“Because you prefer to be a hermit?” A sharpness had entered her voice.

“Because I’m too poor.” It was, perhaps, putting a bit too fine a point on it, but he didn’t have a profession. His entire plan for supporting himself had been snatched away from him three weeks earlier. His income from the Lampton estate was not large. The amount provided for the upkeep of this estate did not cover repeated house parties and gatherings.

Artemis did not seem to be particularly empathetic. “I happen to know your coffers filled recently with £20,000.”

“I know you don’t think highly of me, Artemis, but I insisted when my brother and the duke negotiated our marriage agreement, that your dowry would not become our income. It remains untouched and will stay that way.”

“We are, then, to live in relative poverty so as not to injure your pride?”

He pushed out a breath. “Do not pretend that if I had arranged for us to live off your dowry, you wouldn’t find that equally upsetting.”

“There is no part of this ‘arrangement’ that I don’t find upsetting.”

He pushed back from the table. “Something you should have thought of before dumping raspberry shrub down my front.”

She stood, defiance radiating through every inch of her. “That was an accident.”

He rose as well. “It was a catastrophe.”

“You will hear no argument from me on that score.” She tossed her napkin onto the table and moved swiftly and angrily from the room, firmly closing the door behind her.

Charlie rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. Was this how it was always to be? Every little moment of progress marred by anger and resentment? He stared down at the bouquet of flowers standing ineffective in their vase. The one piece of advice he had from his father and it wasn’t doing a bit of good.

He abandoned the breakfast as well, stepping back into his bedchamber and closing the door behind him. He was more disappointed than angry. Everything was in shambles. This room had once been Father’s. This had been his home, his and Mater’s. When the family had come to visit the estate, Father had been with them. But he wasn’t there now.

No one was.

Charlie was trying not to break his promise to Mater, but nothing he did worked. The duke had said that life had been unfair to Artemis, but it had also been unfair to him. Mater had told him to be patient with his new wife, but he needed patience as well. They were both hurting and frustrated and in completely uncharted territory. They were both miserable. And they were both trapped.

He paced about the room, trying to sort out the thoughts bouncing around in his skull. All of his friends would be returning to Cambridge soon enough but without him. He knew the lectures they would be attending. Ones he would enjoy hearing. Ones he had planned to one day give. He’d had everything mapped out. It was all gone now. He would continue to study mathematics on his own, but it was more a consolation than a purpose.

He pulled himself from the room, from the house, and out once more into Father’s garden. A memory washed over him as he walked that garden path. It was during their final trip to Brier Hill. Most of his brothers were away at school, and Harold hadn’t wanted to play with him. Charlie had found Father in this corner of the grounds. His heart breaking, he’d told Father he felt very alone.

Father had pulled him into an embrace and held him close and tight. Though Charlie could no longer remember the sound of his father’s voice, he had not forgotten a single word of what he had said.

“You will never be alone, Charlie. I will always be here. Whenever you need me, wherever you need me, I will be there.”

Charlie dropped onto the stone bench where he’d often sat beside his father. A soft and solemn breeze rustled leaves throughout the garden, giving the scene a veneer of peace that did not truly exist anywhere in this estate. Neither he nor Artemis wanted to live here, where they had so little hope for the future.

“You promised me, Father. You promised. But you’re not here. You are never here.”