“Just like who?” the countess echoed. “Why, only turn to see for yourself.” She waved toward Artemis, and the gentleman pivoted. “Does she not look just as her mother did so long ago? Or do you not remember her? You were awfully young, Orion.”
“Orion?” Artemis blurted and turned toward the countess. “This is your son, Lady Lindenshire? The one born on the same day as I?”
The lady nodded, and the gentleman bowed. “Lord Logic at your service once more,” he said. His waist still bent, he looked up at her, and an impish smile played about his mouth and eyes—the same impish grin that had pricked her temper a thousand times before.
“It is uncommonly good to see you again, Gypsy.”
He was Orion, sure as the signs. Her heart gave another leap—and then plunged lower than a whale’s belly, for her situation seemed only that much worse. It was embarrassing enough having to apply to Lady Lindenshire for a meal and a bed, but now, with him here—
He was staring at her, waiting for her to say something.
She gathered her dignity—or as much of it as she had left—and said, “I ... I hadn’t imagined you would be in residence, my lord.” No, she had imagined him married and living at one of his other estates. In her travels, she had glimpsed three others. Stonechase was the smallest of the lot.
He waved a dismissive hand. “The fashionable time to appear in Town is past,” he said, “and the Earliest of the Yuletide house parties will not commence before another week. Does our meeting displease you?”
“By no means! I am very glad to see you again, my lord.” In spite of my utter humiliation, she amended to herself.
“Why so Friday-faced at my appearance, then? Not to worry; I have no salamanders in my pocket with which to torture you.” He dimpled and crooked an eyebrow. “Yet,” he added mischievously.
Her breath caught in her throat, for his expression looked exactly as it had when they were children and he’d toyed with her. A flood of remembrance washed over her. It was good to see him.
He bobbed his head. “Has my appearance startled the words from your head, Gypsy?”
“Well,” she said, trying hard not to return his mischievous smile, “your appearance is rather startling, my lord. Your physical appearance, that is, for I am a little disconcerted with how you have grown.”
He puffed up, proud as a peacock, as she expected he would. As children, she had remarked upon his intellect, but she certainly hadn’t complimented him for his scraggly, boyish looks—not that he had cared one fig or even noticed the discrepancy at the time. As a young man, however, he would be pleased to be noticed, and he had good reason, after all. He was quite striking.
“I suppose I have become taller and broader in the intervening years,” he said with obvious pride and false humility.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head and pasting on a deliberately perplexed look. “No, that is not it at all. In truth, you look much the same as you did long ago.” His expression fell, and she pounced for the kill. “I should have recognized you immediately but for your startling lack of skinned knees and spectacles. Apart from those things, you have not changed—not in the least.”
“Oho!” Lady Lindenshire laughed. “Parry and riposte! Touche, my dear.” She turned to Orion. “You had best be on guard while Artemis stays with us.”
Orion turned to Artemis, his eyes dancing. “Are are staying?” He looked pleased. “And how long will we have the pleasure of your company, Miss Rose? Or is it Mrs. ... ?”
She shook her head and held up her palm. “Miss. But, pray, I do not think I can bear such formality from you. Call me Artemis, as you did when we were children, please.”
“Very well.” He nodded. “And you will call me Orion, I trust?”
“Indeed. Unless I call you ‘Lord Logic.’” She chuckled, and a smile passed between them, like a rare warm breeze on a cold afternoon. How she wished she could stay for more than one night. It would be lovely to pass a few days in the Lindenshires’ company. She found the countess as she remembered and just as her mother had so often described: warm and merry. Slanting a glance at Orion, Artemis couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to get to know him through the eyes of an adult.
Reluctantly, she turned herself from such thoughts. “I must away to London as soon as I can,” she said. “I ... have an engagement there that cannot be put off.” In truth, there was nothing awaiting her in London. No friends, no lodging, no employment. Nothing. She hoped to make a life there for her and Anna. The baby awaited her back in a dilapidated old wagon encamped outside of Truro. But there was no need to tell her hosts any of that. What good would it do? She straightened and said, “I will be taking advantage of your hospitality for only one night.”
“Only one night?” the countess exclaimed. “Do not say so! Orion, you must help me persuade her to stay longer—at least a fortnight. I will tolerate no less.”
Orion smiled at Artemis. “One day is much too short a time to renew an acquaintance,” he said, “and my mother and I would both enjoy your company. Your presence has breathed life into this dreary time of year. Please do say you will delay your departure.”
Artemis shook her head and opened her mouth to disappoint him, but he grinned and interrupted her. “If you will not agree to stay, I cannot be responsible for the result. My mother is a most persuasive woman.”
Artemis rather thought Orion had the market on persuasion all buttoned up. At that moment, it seemed he had all the stars in the sky in his eyes, along with all the sincerity and soulfulness in the world. She had forgotten how appealing he could be.
The mantel clock ticked away the seconds, and Artemis considered their plea to remain for a few extra days. It would be all too easy to say yes, to linger in this golden country in their company, to pretend, for one last, precious moment in time, that she belonged somewhere. She hesitated a moment before shaking herself out of such foolish reverie.
Anna needed her now, and that was that.
“I cannot stay any longer than one night, my lord—Orion.” She smiled. “I really came only because of the stockings.”
“Stockings?” Orion asked.
“Two stockings flung from a passing coach,” Lady Lindenshire explained.
“Just as I was walking past Stonechase.”
“They aligned perfectly.” Lady Lindenshire nodded.
“And led me to seek shelter here for the night.”
His mother waved her hand. “It was a sign, Orion. They pointed Artemis right to us. Thank goodness she followed!”
Artemis waited for Orion to flash another one of his amazing smiles and nod his understanding. But as he listened to the story, the Earl did not break into a smile. In fact, his face clouded over and darkened until Artemis wouldn’t have been surprised to hear thunder.
His rather sudden change in attitude did not escape his mother, either. “Orion, you look as though you have tasted sour pickles. What is the matter?”
Orion turned toward Artemis. “You were walking? Alone? On the road?”
“Orion , really!” his mother exclaimed at his bluntness, but Artemis didn’t mind.
“Normally, I would not be walking or alone, though I confess I would probably be using a road,” she said, trying to laugh, though she thought she might die of embarrassment instead. “I left the caravan in Truro and have been—”
“Caravan? Then you are still living as a Gypsy after all these years? Traveling and sleeping in a wagon?” He swept her attire from bottom to top. His eyes widened, as though only just then seeing her clearly. “I had hoped your circumstances had changed.”
Artemis tipped her head and peered at him through narrowed eyes. She was used to prejudice, but she didn’t expect it from Orion. Was he upset with her lot in life or with Gypsies in general? There was one way to find out. Slowly, she shook her head. “As of a week ago, I have no home whatsoever, wagon or otherwise. I am on my way to London to procure employment as a serving maid or seamstress or anything else that w
ill pay me enough to—” She was going to say “to support my baby sister,” but she stopped just in time. Any mention of Anna would bring on a barrage of uncomfortable questions. “ —enough to live on,” she finished. “I have been traveling on foot,” she said, and then she added defiantly, “and I have been sleeping in haystacks.”
Orion frowned. “See here, Artemis. Clearly, you sense my disapproval, but you mistake its source. I am sorry for your continued misfortune in life.”
“Thank you, Orion,” she said quietly.
“How should I put this ... ah ... your Gypsy way of life does not offend, but your Gypsy beliefs ... well, I would think you would have abandoned such nonsense along with your pigtails.”
“And I would have thought that you would have abandoned your dogged skepticism along with your spectacles. I am sorry to offend you, my lord, but your lack of faith in my Gypsy beliefs does not surprise me. If you will only look at life objectively—”
“I always look at everything objectively,” he said tightly.
“Not if you do dismiss the signs out of hand. “
“Signs—bah!”
“Bah,” she pronounced in a flat, mocking tone. “I see you still cling irrationally to illogical bias.” The second the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. If there was anything that offended Orion when they were children, it was an offence to his intellect. She almost felt ashamed. Almost.
“Irrational? Illogical? I—blast! You ... you cannot know the meaning of those words if you hope to apply them to me!” Orion gestured his rising frustration. “By Jove, Artemis, you seem as senseless as ever.”
“And you are as ill-mannered as ever!”
“Children!” Lady Lindenshire exclaimed.
“Ill-mannered?” Orion ignored her. “Oho! The pot is naming the kettle black, then, isn’t it, Gypsy?”
“Hardly.”
“Come now,” he said, “you cannot imagine I approve of your Gypsy manners, can you?”
“Your approval or lack of it matters not one whit to me. Arrogant man!”
“Children! Please” —the countess placed one hand on Artemis’s arm and held the other out to Orion— “please be calm.”
Orion straightened and pulled his heels smartly together. “I am calm, Mama. I am calmly walking out the door and calmly leaving you ladies to your chat.”
He turned to Artemis. “Good day to you, Miss Rose. I hope you enjoy your stay here at Stonechase Manor and that your road into London is smooth. It should be lovely weather tomorrow. Perfect for traveling.” With a curt bow, he was gone.
“The ass!” Artemis said, forgetting for a moment that Lady Lindenshire was present.
“Indeed!” the countess said. “Stubborn, too.”
Artemis whipped her gaze around to meet the older woman’s, surprised at the lady’s rather vehement concurrence. “He has not changed at all. He is still priggish.”
The countess nodded. “And much too intelligent.”
“And too opinionated.”
“Quite.” The older woman held out a cup of tea to Artemis and smiled. “You like him.”
Artemis took the cup, sat, and flicked a small smile back at her hostess. “Indeed.”
The countess laughed. “The two of you were always that way. Oil and water. Inseparable, but always separate, repelling each other even as you moved together. Louisa and I had hoped the two of you might ... ah, but it was not to be. You and Orion were at odds from birth, it seemed. The entire countryside knew early on you would never suit. Louisa and I never gave up, but I see now it is hopeless. It seems you bring out the beast in him, for I assure you, my dear, my son is always a perfect gentleman. Always! Except for today, that is.” She shook her head and gave a wry smile.
Artemis looked at her hands. “Was it always so between us?”
“Oh my, yes!” the countess said. “Always. From the day you were born, you brought out the beast and the best in him, it seemed. He was always happy when you joined him in his ramblings and always smiling when he returned.”
“Except when he was scowling?”
Lady Lindenshire laughed. “Precisely. I told you: oil and water.”
The two lapsed into silence for a few moments, and Artemis thought about the man Orion had grown to be. There was much to admire: a keen intellect, a delightful sense of humor, and there was no use denying the purely feminine reaction she had to his appearance. With his broad shoulders and considerable height, his quick, perfect smile and his friendly eyes, Orion would look well in rags. Dressed as he was, he cut a very fine figure indeed.
She knew little of the current fashion, but she recognized quality. The clothing he wore was very expensive, and it showcased his manly proportions to a nicety. Orion Chase had become a stunningly attractive man, and no woman in her right mind could fail to see that.
“I wonder,” Lady Lindenshire said idly, “if you and my son had got on better as children if your father’s family would have been so quick to cast you off.”
It was a bold, well-nigh rude thing to say, and Artemis looked at the countess sharply.
“Oh, dear,” the older woman said. “I have spoken too plainly. Forgive me, my dear. You look so like your mama that for a moment I forgot ... ”
Her kind eyes held no trace of animosity or ill grace.
Artemis waved her hand dismissively. “I do not mind in the least. Friends speak to each other with openness and honesty. I am not my mama, but I prefer plain speaking, just as she did, and I give you every leave to speak the same way to me as you did to her.”
Lady Lindenshire nodded. “Done.” She sipped her tea thoughtfully.
“Is there a new Lady Lindenshire?” Artemis asked. “If so, I should enjoy meeting her before I leave.” It would be very interesting to see what sort of woman Orion had taken to wife.
“No,” the countess answered, “My son has not yet married, drat him. As far as I have seen—and much to my annoyance—he has not yet begun to look for a bride, though I hear rumor of his having shown some interest in a certain young lady this past summer. Even if the rumors are true, however, nothing came of it The lady in question has married, and Orion has not spoken of it, even to me, and we enjoy a rather close relationship,” she said with some pride. “Still, close or no, I shall strangle the rotter if he does not give me grandchildren. He owes me!” She dimpled just like her son. “It is high time he found another lady, I vow.”
“He is but four-and-twenty,” Artemis said gently. “There is still time.”
The countess dimpled even deeper. “Yes, of course ... but I am impatient. More tea? And—goodness, my dear!—I have forgotten my manners. Are you hungry?” Without waiting for a reply, she went on. “Pray sample these lovely biscuits Cook made, and I will ring for something more substantial.” She pressed a biscuit into Artemis’s hands. “Now, about your staying here for only one night ... I have an idea. I travel to London soon, and a number of my servants will precede me to make ready for my arrival. They depart in two days’ time, and you may travel with them, if you wish.”
“Why,” Artemis exclaimed, “that would put me in London a day or two earlier than—” She was going to say, “than if I walked” but checked herself. “ —than I had planned,” she finished.
“Precisely. And we would be able to enjoy the pleasure of your company for another day.”
“Oh, Lady Lindenshire, I am only too happy to accept!”
“Good! And, of course, I will write you a reference. You were born a lady after all, and you are well spoken, and I daresay that with my recommendation you can do much better than serving maid or seamstress, my dear. And I insist you agree to stay at my house in Town for as long as it takes to procure a suitable position.”
“Oh,” Artemis said on a sigh, “thank you so much, Lady Lindenshire!”
“Nonsense,” the countess said. “It is my pleasure. And you must call me Belle!”
“Belle.” Artemis nodded happily.
Their c
onversation turned to other things. As they chatted happily, Cook provided a delicious meal of cold chicken, warm bread, three kinds of cheese, with sweet milk and an exquisite pear tart. The countess picked at a small portion to be polite, while Artemis tried not to eat too much and failed miserably.
Midnight approached, and they were both fighting yawns as they reminisced about Artemis’s mama. Artemis missed her mother very much, and it was comforting to talk to Belle, who really had loved Mama dearly. Artemis hated to see the night end, but finally, after she’d yawned thrice in one minute, Belle sent her off to bed with the promise of more time to talk on the morrow.
A maid showed Artemis to a magnificent room, much like the one she remembered occupying at Branleigh. As a footman filled a hip bath, the young maid delivered a soft cotton night-rail that probably belonged to Lady Lindenshire, for it was much too long for Artemis. Her dusty garments were soon whisked away to be washed, and Artemis was left alone.
Outdoors, November’s chill nipped the air. She thought of Anna asleep in the wagon. The night was cold, and, though Artemis trusted her older friend Isabel to keep Anna warm, Artemis still wished the little girl could be here enjoying this lovely fire.
Artemis looked about her. The room was large and held a clothespress, a huge four-poster, a dressing table, and a window seat. The polished wood floor was covered with a thick, blue carpet, and the walls were hung with blue and gold patterned paper and lovely gold draperies. How Anna’s eyes would fill with wonder at a room such as this one. She’d never seen anything fancier than the inside of a small cottage or the common room of a wayside inn.
Artemis heaved a sigh, for it was unlikely Anna would ever see a room so fine as this one, unless she were the maid cleaning one. Anger rose inside Artemis, but she pushed it down. There was no sense in mourning or raging over that which could not be changed. As Artemis bathed, toweled dry in front of the glowing fire, dressed in the soft night-rail, and finally slid between the crisp, clean linen on the bed, the optimism that came to her naturally took over. It was best to focus on the good things. She would not have to walk to London with holes in her boots, she would have a place to stay while she found a position, and she would have a very influential letter of reference. Everything was going to work. She could feel it.
Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) Page 25
