Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2)

by Melynda Beth Andrews

  She troubled her mind no further with thoughts of staying at Stonechase. Optimistic by nature, Artemis believed everything would work out in the end. She always tried to live in the moment, to enjoy what the path set before her.

  And, at that moment, her path carried her into a game of chess. Not just a game, either, but a battle. A struggle. Artemis was pleased to find she and Orion were evenly matched opponents.

  Gypsies, typically, loved the game, and she’d played thousands of matches over the years. She was a good player, and she had Orion cornered before too long. She wondered if he realized it. Five moves and she’d have him checkmated, unless he anticipated and acted within the next two. She suppressed a happy-puppy wiggle of anticipation. It would feel good to best Orion. She stole a glance at his face. He was studying the board, but he looked completely unconcerned.

  Good.

  Outside, the sky had darkened and the wind had risen. It whistled through the arbor and over the manor’s gray stonework as garden flotsam tumbled over the lawn. A few ducks scurried for cover.

  Artemis was about to deliver Orion the killing blow when Lady Lindenshire sailed through the door and then, seeing them, hesitated a second before continuing to the bank of windows at the other side of the room, where she began pacing at once and waving her fan agitatedly. Orion and Artemis traded questioning looks and then slid their gazes back to the countess. A few heavy raindrops dashed themselves against the glass, but she gave no heed to the gathering storm. Clearly, her attention was focused somewhere else.

  “What is the matter, Mama?” Orion finally queried.

  She spun about, startled. “What? Oh! Oh ... ” She sighed. “It is hardly worth disturbing your game over. Do continue playing.” She began pacing once more.

  ORION’S BROW FURROWED. Mama was usually irrepressibly cheerful, so her fretful countenance had him worried. He hated to see her upset over anything, and he was in the habit of shielding her from harm—harm she often brought down upon herself with her stubbornness.

  Not that Orion would have her any other way. He admired his mother and wished there were more ladies like her amongst the ton. She was an independent lady, one who dressed at the height of fashion but who didn’t think about fashion all the time. One who held a voucher to Almack’s but who did not always attend. One who knew who had been present at Carleton House the past evening, but who did not particularly care.

  That’s the sort of lady Orion wanted for himself, but they were deucedly difficult to come by, and then, when one did manage to find oneself a female who could think of something other than fripperies and of who did or did not hold vouchers to Almack’s, she got snatched from under one’s nose by some handsome pirate—drat the blasted scoundrel Viscount Trowbridge!

  Orion scowled before noticing Artemis was casting him a quizzical look. By the devil, he had forgotten completely about the chess game and his mother!

  He turned to Artemis, mouthed “Sorry,” and silently moved her knight and bishop along with one of his pawns—the very sequence of moves she’d obviously been planning. Then he flicked a glance at his mother, gave Artemis a wink, and exclaimed, “Checkmate? I never saw it coming. Well done, Gypsy! How satisfying to find such a worthy opponent.”

  “Indeed,” Artemis said with a smile that suggested she didn’t know which pleased her more: that he had known her strategy all along or that he had sacrificed the game for the comfort of his mother. Orion fancied that, in spite of his fashionable facade, Artemis liked the man he had become. He hoped he was right.

  “I demand a rematch,” she said with a sly smile.

  He nodded and returned her smile. “You shall have one, I promise. Mama,” he said, raising his voice a notch, “the game is over. Come, tell us what troubles you.”

  His mother rang for tea and the three of them sat upon a pair of elegant sofas. Then the countess leaned close and whispered, “Florence has run away.”

  “Your companion? Where has she gone?”

  “She has eloped! With the under-gardener. It is all in here.” She pulled a crumpled note from the tiny reticule that hung at her wrist and handed it to him. “She says they are in love.”

  Orion took the note and scanned it. “Love,” he said at last, “is a delicacy, and most get only the barest taste. If Florence is able to feast, then good for her!”

  “Perhaps,” the countess conceded. “I do wish her happy, truly I do. But her romantic adventure is dreadfully inconvenient for me. I need her.”

  His mother was very independent. After the death of her husband, Orion’s father, when Orion was only a few weeks old, the countess had never remarried. She openly espoused greater freedom and autonomy for ladies, and she practiced the same whenever she could. Though she was not one to set propriety completely to nought, she was not averse to bending it a little.

  One manifestation of that was that she eschewed the employment of a footman—or any other man—to usher her about Town, delivering packages and calling cards, opening and knocking on doors, and lending propriety. She opted instead for the presence of a female companion. Belle opened her own doors, and she either had packages delivered or she carried them herself.

  Belle sighed. “Lady Marlborough has invited me to her grandson’s christening. It would be dreadful to Miss it. Yet traveling to London alone is not the thing.”

  Orion shrugged. “You could break tradition for once and use a perfectly traditional footman.”

  “Pish-tosh!” his mother cried with a chuckle. “No, Orion, I will not use a footman, even if it means missing the christening. I am afraid I shall have to send my regrets.”

  “Come now, surely Miss Dove will not be that difficult to replace. I daresay there are any number of suitable young ladies—”

  “Did you say ‘Miss Dove’?” Artemis interrupted him, her fingers visibly trembling. Looking from one to the other of them, she set down her cup and saucer with care. “Lady Lindenshire—Belle—I ... I saw a dove when I first arrived. I interpreted it as a sign of peace, but now ... now I believe I was wrong. I believe—”

  “Oh!” the countess blurted. “Why yes ... of course!” The countess laughed. “The dove! I see.”

  “See what?” Orion asked.

  “Yes.” Lady Lindenshire ignored him. “It is a perfect solution.”

  Orion pressed his temple. “What solution?”

  “Do you not see, Orion? Miss Dove and the dove.”

  “What dove?” Orion asked.

  The countess looked at Artemis and gave a delicate shrug. “It will come to him in a moment.”

  “He does not see clearly.”

  “Never did.”

  “What am I supposed to be seeing?” Orion asked irritably, unsure which annoyed him more: that the ladies were making no sense, or that they seemed to think they were making perfect sense.

  “The signs,” the countess answered. “Do you not remember the story of how Artemis came to us? She saw a dove. It was a sign meaning she is destined to take the place of Miss Dove.”

  “Destined? Really, Mama, you do not truly believe in all that sign nonsense. It is rubbish.”

  “Then how to explain the dove?”

  “Coincidence, and not a very unlikely one at that. The countryside is full of the creatures.”

  From the moment she’d marched into Stonechase Manor and announced she had no place to go, Orion had known he would have to rescue her. He’d felt ill at the thought of what might have befallen her had she bypassed Stonechase and proceeded to London on her own.

  London would not have been kind to a young lady newly arrived with no employment, no references, and no place to stay. Especially a young lady as pretty as Artemis. Alone on the streets, she’d have ended up in St. Giles or Spitalfields at some flash house or gaming hell. Or in the clutches of a hardened procuress.

  Inside, he shuddered. She’d have been eaten alive.

  He had no intention of letting anything happen to her, and he’d thought to save her by finding
a position for her at one of his estates. He hadn’t mentioned it before now because he’d have wagered his best barouche that the stubborn wench would not accept an offer of employment from him, and then what? He would have had to take drastic measures to stop her from hieing off to London alone.

  An image of himself forcefully imprisoning her entered his mind.

  Ridiculous.

  An image of himself slipping a wedding ring onto her hand ...

  Beyond ridiculous! But how else could he have saved her?

  He knew he should be grateful for his mother’s intervention, but— He shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps another position in your household would be more suitable, Mama.”

  “Pish-tosh,” The countess said. “What would you have her be? A parlor maid, perhaps?”

  “Of course not!”

  “A milkmaid, then? A seamstress?”

  Orion looked from one to the other, at their sanguine expressions, and alarm clawed at his sense of calm. “Mama,” he said, “please think with your head and not with your heart. Engaging Artemis as your companion will not work.”

  “Why ever not?” his mother asked.

  “You do not—pardon me, Artemis!—you do not know her well enough.”

  “Piffle! I was present at her birth—and having very early birth pains myself,” she said on a nostalgic sigh.

  “But she has lived her entire adult life away from here.”

  “That does not signify. I knew her during the most impressionable time of her life, her first eight years. I liked her then, and I like her now.” That pronouncement was accompanied by a stubborn set to his mother’s jaw. “I think her becoming my companion is the perfect solution for all of us. Artemis needs a position quite badly—forgive me, my dear—and nothing would please me more than to help the daughter of my dear friend. And you ... “

  “What about me?” Orion asked warily.

  His mother dimpled. “Well, dearest, if our Artemis leaves us, with whom will you spar?”

  Our Artemis. Orion frowned. Mama had certainly taken to Artemis. Too much so. Combine the chit’s resemblance to her mother and the fact that she was probably close to Louisa’s age the last time his mama saw her, and of course his mama had bonded with Artemis—which was irrational, of course. There was no logical reason for the two of them to have formed such a close acquaintance in so short a time. Artemis and Louisa Rose were two different people entirely—not that it would help matters to point that out to his mama. No, there wasn’t a blasted thing Orion could do about the connection now.

  “I daresay,” his mama said, “that our Artemis is the only worthy opponent you have ever encountered here in the country.”

  Prior to that moment, he’d been delighted with “their” Artemis’s cleverness. She’d nearly bested him at chess a few minutes before, which had pleased him no end. So why was the suggestion that her intellect was equal to his so irritating to him now? He didn’t know, but if he didn’t do or say something right then, he would be stuck with her blasted intellect. As Mama’s companion, Artemis would be always underfoot, both here at Stonechase and in Town—where Mama was not unknown to show up at the same functions Orion did.

  “She ... she has nothing suitable to wear as companion.” The moment Orion said it, he knew it was irrational.

  “She looks very well to me,” his mother countered.

  Artemis squinted down at her travel-weary skirt and wrinkled her nose. “I believe your son is quite right, Lady Lindenshire. I have little more than what I have on besides a few scarves, a pair of stockings, and another chemise. Such Romany attire is hardly suitable for the companion of a countess.”

  “Piffle!” The countess waved her hand. “I will provide a new wardrobe for you of course, Artemis. It will be my pleasure. And you,” she turned to her son. “You are grasping at straws, Orion. Clearly you object. Why?” Her voice hardened, and she put her hand on her hip. “In spite of her unconventional upbringing, Artemis is a pleasant enough young woman, you must agree. She is neither loud nor uneducated nor untrustworthy. I know those traits are often paired with Gypsies—in the minds of the ignorant, that is.” She threw him a scathing, challenging look. “You are not ignorant, are you, Orion?”

  Orion lowered his eyes. “I was,” he admitted, “but no more. If Artemis is any indication, the Gypsies are a civilized people, for she is a lady.”

  “Come then, what is your true objection to her becoming my companion?”

  What was his reasoning? Orion did not know. He searched his mind for a rational explanation for his unjustifiable objections but came up with nothing. Artemis, though a Gypsy in her heart and mind, had been all that was amiable and straightforward. In truth, he’d been hoping she would relent and consent to stay with them for a few days. So why did he feel in his bones this dread that she was now set to become his mother’s companion?

  The only real objection he could come up with was that business with her silly superstitions. As his mother’s companion, Artemis would appear on the periphery of Orion’s social circle. She was not the sort of person to remain there blessedly unnoticed and unremarked upon—and she was still a blasted Gypsy. He had worked hard to build his reputation amongst the ton. He had become a man of fashion, and he lived at the very pinnacle of society’s regard. His rivals would be only too delighted to encourage his mother’s companion to display her Gypsy peculiarities, which would reflect badly upon Orion. As soon as the thought occurred to him, though, he knew it to be unworthy. He should be happy for Artemis He was happy for her, by Jove!

  So why was he still feeling apprehension?

  His mother waved her hand dismissively and turned to Artemis. “Please, my dear ... please tell me your heart is not set on becoming a scullery maid.”

  Artemis laughed. “I confess it is not!”

  Lady Lindenshire laughed, too, and took Artemis’s hands in hers, pressing them and beaming. “We shall have such a lovely time choosing your wardrobe, my dear. You will adore my mantua maker. Madame Aneault is a genius, and she will be delighted with you. I am too tall, and she always complains that tall is not fashionable, as though it is a choice I have made, but you ... why, you are a tiny china doll. Madame will enjoy—” Lady Lindenshire went on enthusiastically.

  ARTEMIS WISHED HER heart could be as light as the countess’s. But in the back of her mind she was worrying over the one wrinkle in the perfect plain of her future: Anna. She knew she couldn’t put off explaining about her baby sister any longer. And though she was admittedly unfamiliar with tonnish ways, she was quite sure that hired companions with small children to care for were rare indeed. Rare, as in nonexistent She wasn’t particularly worried, though. The signs had spoken.

  She was well-nigh certain the unconventional Lady Lindenshire would allow her to send and care for Anna. Especially after she heard the story of Anna’s birth.

  And, though it had been impossible as a guest to accept Orion’s offer to stay on at Stonechase and bring Anna to stay there too, as an employee it seemed perfectly natural. After all, the housekeeper had a spouse and family. So had the head footman, the head groom, and the head gardener. Yes, it was quite proper and acceptable for her to bring Anna with her under these new circumstances.

  But just as Artemis opened her mouth to explain about her sister, lightning flashed with an almost simultaneous thunderclap. Both ladies yelped, and even Orion started.

  The storm had finally broken upon them.

  A sudden, blinding wall of gray rain swept across the lawn and lashed viciously against the windows, and with it came a wind that howled over the stonework. A second, double bolt of lightning flashed and boomed from farther away, washing the outdoors with a slash of white light. In that moment, Artemis saw that the first lightning bolt had struck a stone birdbath in clear view of the window not twenty paces away on the lawn. The stone cherub that graced the birdbath had been knocked from its pedestal. The Little statue had come to rest on the ground, where a pile of wet, windswept leave
s had covered it instantly, almost completely hiding it from view.

  “Goodness!” Lady Lindenshire said. “That was loud enough to knock the thoughts from my head. You, too, by the look.” The countess patted Artemis’s hand. “Did you wish to say something, my dear?”

  Artemis stared at the cherub. “No,” she murmured. “No, there is nothing I wish to say. Nothing at all.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ORION

  looked from his mother to Artemis. Their lovely faces mirrored their eager happiness. Inwardly, he groaned. Nothing would change their minds now. Artemis was his mother’s new companion, and that, as Artemis was wont to say, was that.

  Blast!

  Attempting to maintain his status with his disconcertingly eccentric mother a part of the London scene was difficult enough, but with Artemis at her side? He could just see it: they’d all be at some important ball, and Artemis would publicly declare she’d seen a sign—the Prince sneezing, perhaps, or Lady Jersey’s nose twitching. Good grief! And if she believed in signs, what other Gypsy rubbish did she subscribe to? Would she someday pull a crystal ball from under her skirts?

  One thing was certain, such behavior would reflect badly upon him. If her Gypsyish behavior went too far—and how could it not, with his mother to encourage such nonsense?—he’d be a laughingstock.

  But then he looked once more at her threadbare clothes, at her boots, which looked as though they were full of holes and two sizes too small, and Orion chided himself. What did a little tarnish on his reputation matter if it meant poor Artemis would be settled happily?

  She’d had enough ill treatment in her life, and she’d come out of it a fine person. She didn’t behave outlandishly. She was well spoken and had pretty manners. Except for her unfortunate preoccupation with portents, she behaved as the lady she was born to be. Perhaps he truly hadn’t anything to worry about at all.

  Really, he reassured himself, he and his mother ran in very different circles. Everyone in London thought his mama was a bit odd, but since they hardly glimpsed each other above two or three times a season, her influence upon his position in Society, for good or ill, was mitigated. Perhaps he would be but little affected by her companion’s misbehavior. Yes, surely Artemis, no matter how outrageously she behaved, could have but little effect upon him.