Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) (28 page)

CHAPTER ONE

West Sussex, England 1815

A
RTEMIS

sat down on the ledge of an arching gray stone bridge and looked at the bottom of one smarting foot. A sharp stone had finally broken through the leather sole of her left boot. That made two holes, and she wasn’t even halfway to London yet. She plucked the stone from where it was lodged and looked eastward down the lane she was traveling.

The narrow track ran through a grove of sturdy pear trees heavy with golden, sweet-smelling fruit Beyond the grove, the fields were hedged in yew and crisscrossed with tidy gray stone walls. This part of England, south and west of London, was often amazingly green even into November, and for a moment she allowed herself to fancy what it would be like to stay here in this place. Staying anyplace for more than a fortnight would be heavenly, but here ...

Below her, the brook sparkled and splashed in the slanting rays of the afternoon sunshine. Blue butterflies browsed here and there among the buttercups, and birds trilled to each other. Everything was green and golden and fragrant, and she inhaled, filling her lungs with color and sound as much as she did with the crisp, cool air.

She’d forgotten how beautiful it was here.

Climbing wearily to her feet, she wondered if she’d ever see it again. London lay fifteen leagues to the North and East, at least three more days’ walking. Once she found a position there and sent for Anna, she wouldn’t be taking many pleasure trips.

She walked between the tracks so the grass would pad her tired feet Who was she bamming? She’d never be taking any pleasure trips. Not anymore.

She could remember going to Brighton when she was very young, back when Papa was alive and she and Mama were still welcome at Branleigh. She looked to the North, trying to catch a glimpse of her childhood home, but couldn’t spot Branleigh’s brick through the thick leaves of the pear trees.

It was no matter. Some years ago, her grandmother had died and the estate had passed to a distant cousin of hers. Artemis doubted anyone living there now had even heard of her.

She looked away. A moment later, a dove cooed nearby, directly in her line of sight toward Branleigh, and her eyes strayed toward her old home once more.

A low rumbling far behind her heralded an approaching carriage. She gave way fleetly, stepping off the lane and between two rows of pear trees. The coach slowed as the four blacks pulling it climbed the bridge and then picked up speed as they came down the other side.

As the coach passed Artemis at speed, she heard a lady within laughing gaily, and then, with a curious jingling, two somethings sailed out the coach window in twin flashes of blue. One of the objects landed right at Artemis’s feet, and those in the coach rolled on, oblivious—or uncaring—of the loss. She suspected the latter, since she could plainly hear the woman singing a rousing rendition of “
Greensleeves.
”

Artemis looked down. On the dark green grass at her feet lay one of the most outrageously ornate stockings she had ever seen. It was enough to make even a Gypsy blush. Their white cotton knit was trimmed with a cuff of blue and gold brocade, row upon row of blue lace, splashes of blue and silver silk embroidery, short silver tassels, and—most amusing of all—a dozen tiny silver bells. The bells jingled merrily when Artemis lifted the thing. How strange that such a thing should fall right at her feet!

Is it a sign
?

What does it mean
?

The thoughts occurred naturally to her. The signs, after all, were always there, if only one looked, and Artemis did. The signs guided her, comforted her, kept her from harm. She wondered which they were doing now. What were they telling her?

She looked around. The air was heavy with the lazy warmth of late afternoon. The western sky was beginning to glow orange, and the deepening shadows were slanting lower and lower. A flock of sparrows had settled
en masse
into a nearby pear tree, where they noisily vied for the best perches upon which to pass the night.

It would soon be time for Artemis to seek her own place to roost for the night. She’d thought to continue on to the next village and beg a spot on someone’s hearth or, at worst case, to sneak into someone’s hayloft. But the next village was still two leagues away.

Is that why the stocking had come to her? To help her decide what to do, where to seek shelter? She turned it over, looking for an answer, and the bells jingled once more.

She shook her head in wonder at the cascade of tiny silver bells. Why, they were well-nigh Romany! She’d seen such things on Gypsy scarves or skirt hems. But why would anyone, Gypsy or not, sew bells to their—

Bells
?

Her eyes found the second stocking and widened. It had come to rest a few yards into the grove. If she drew an imaginary line from herself to that stocking, the line would pass right through the Stonechase estate. Stonechase Manor, where lived the widowed Countess of Lindenshire. Belle Chase was her name, and Artemis laughed. Of course! The dove—a symbol of peace and friendship—the bells, the position of the second stocking ... surely they were signs, signs that were meant to guide her to her mother’s old friend.

For a moment, she thought about ignoring the signs for once and trudging onward. After all, Lady Lindenshire could hardly be expected to remember Artemis after all these years, and it would be entirely too humiliating to appear at the door in such need. But in the end, need won out. Artemis was tired and sharp-set, and the prospect of a warm bed and a full belly was too much even for pride to render insignificant.

She would have a distance to travel before she dared leave the lane and set off toward Stonechase. She’d have to skirt Branleigh entirely. Even though no one there would remember her now, a poor traveler such as herself would not be welcome, and an unpleasant encounter would spoil the happy memories she kept locked in her heart, happy memories of her mama and papa. She finally struck off down the lane at a brisk pace.

It was close on sunset when Artemis approached the sweeping front of Stonechase. The gray fortress of a house was not beautiful, but she looked up at it lovingly anyway, remembering. She’d spent many happy hours there as a child in the company of her mama or of Orion, Lady Lindenshire’s son. They’d had the run of the place, along with the ever-present chimney swifts.

Her heart beating hard, she knocked, and a few moments later the dour-faced Stonechase butler opened the door. In the East, the sky was an inky blue, and stars had begun to appear, while in the West, the heavens looked as though they had been set on fire. The pink light made the butler’s snow-white hair appear pink, too. Artemis grinned.

“May I help you, Miss?” the butler asked, quickly assessing her appearance.

Something about his expression seemed familiar. She ransacked her memory. “Mr. ... .ah ...
Peabody
?”

His eyes narrowed. “And you are?”

“Artemis Rose.” She dropped a curtsy and grinned, suddenly and unaccountably filled with pleasure. “How lovely to see you again! I am so pleased.” And she meant it.

“Miss Artemis Rose?” he repeated, squinting at her. All at once, recognition blossomed in his features. “Upon my honor, Miss!” he exclaimed. “You cannot be half as pleased as I am. Wait until her ladyship hears you are arrived! I daresay she shall be twice as pleased as both of us! Follow me. No need to announce you. She’d likely flog me for making you wait,” he said, though the chuckle he gave belied his dire prediction.

It took no time at all to be admitted to the evening parlor, a comfortable room dominated by earthy browns and creams, bold patterns, and sturdy old furniture. It was not the sort of room in which Artemis would have expected a wealthy countess to find her leisure. Instead, she’d imagined the countess in a room full of delicate, uncomfortable chairs and pale yellow silk, crystal and gilt. But those, apparently, were not the sort of surroundings Lady Lindenshire found comforting. She had been sipping tea and reading a book there, curled up on a plump brown sofa near the fire.

“My lady, pardon the unexpected intrusion, but I was certain you would not wish to wait a second more. Presenting—”

The teacup and book lay forgotten, and the older woman rushed forward even before Artemis’s name left the butler’s lips.

“Oh, of course I know who you are! It has been so many years, but I would know those eyes anywhere. They are just like your dear mother’s. Where is she?” the countess asked, glancing eagerly behind Artemis.

The countess was a striking woman. Tall and straight of stature without seeming austere, she moved with an honest grace. She was dressed simply but elegantly in soft peach-colored muslin. Her hair was a lustrous golden brown, and her brown eyes were set in a lightly lined plane, revealing a face that smiled often.

Just like Mama
, Artemis thought, always smiling. She wasn’t surprised. Belle Chase and Artemis’s mother had been bosom friends throughout their girlhoods. It stood to reason that their personalities would coincide.

“Lady Lindenshire,” Artemis said, dropping a curtsy, “I am afraid I have sad news to impart. My ... my mother died eleven months ago.”

Instantly, the lady’s brown eyes darkened, glistened with tears, and glazed over for a moment with her own private pain before refocusing once more and returning to Artemis. “You poor dear,” she said at last in a quavery voice. “I am sorry. I ... I loved your mama very much and was simply heartbroken when she ... when you were forced to ... “ She gave a delicate shudder. “Pray accept my sincerest condolences.”

“Thank you, Lady Lindenshire. Your sincerity could never be in question. I feel I know you, for Mama spoke most highly of you until the very day she died.”

The countess gave her a sad, yet grateful smile. “How did she ... “

“It was sudden,” Artemis averred. “A fever.”

Childbed fever, to be precise, but Artemis was unprepared to explain about Anna. Though her mama really had admired her friend Belle Chase, what little firsthand knowledge Artemis possessed of the countess had been gathered through a child’s eyes. Her memories of the lady were all pleasant ones, to be sure, and yet ... and yet in spite of Artemis’s own recollection and her mother’s regard, Artemis still couldn’t be sure how the countess would take the news of Anna’s birth on the wrong side of the blanket.

The countess sank wearily to a seat on a brown damask sofa. Motioning for Artemis to sit, she asked, “What brings you here, my dear?” Her intelligent brown eyes took in Artemis’s travel-weary Gypsy clothing and threadbare portmanteau, cataloging every detail. Nothing missed her scrutiny: the lopsided red felt hat Artemis wore, the heavily embroidered yoke of her close-fitting shirt and full black skirt, the red scarf she wore about her waist, and finally, the tired old brown boots. It was a frank and unapologetic perusal, though her expression was kind. She didn’t try to hide her curiosity, and the distaste Artemis could spot from a furlong away was absent from Lady Lindenshire’s still beautiful face.

With sudden certainty, the grown-up Artemis decided she liked Lady Lindenshire as much as the little-girl Artemis had.

“Have you been to Branleigh?” the countess asked lightly, though Artemis detected a certain wariness in her eyes.

“No, Ma’am.”

She made a clucking noise. “I thought not. I am afraid you will find little welcome there, should you venture it. Your cousin, the current master of Branleigh, is an old man set in his ways and not very fond of visitors, be they family or otherwise. Do you have alternate lodgings for the night?” Her eyes flicked to the window, probably expecting to see a gaudily painted wagon and a flock of motley Gypsy folk. To her surprise, Artemis fancied she saw a flash of disappointment in the lady’s eyes at finding the fore court of Stonechase Manor devoid of any such tableau.

Artemis couldn’t help smiling. “I have come alone, on foot, and—”

“Then you must stay with us, my dear!”

“I confess I had hoped to prevail upon your kindness.”

“Pish-tosh and nonsense! You are always welcome here. Your mama and I were such dear friends. Tell me, do you follow the portents as she did?”

Artemis nodded eagerly. “It was a portent that led me to you.”

“Was it?” the countess leaned forward. “Do tell.” And Artemis explained about the amazing stockings she still had tucked into her bag. “Ah,” said the countess when she’d finished, “you are so much like your mama. She had a gift for seeing signs.” She gave a wistful smile. “A lovely woman, your mama, inside and out. Glossy hair the color of a lump of coal, the fairest skin, and eyes the color of the sky. Your papa fell in love with her at first sight, you know.” She sighed and then looked at Artemis. “And you, my dear, look just like her.”

“Just like who?” a deep, resonant voice interjected from the doorway. A large man sauntered into the parlor. He had straight, nut-brown hair and eyes to match. For one mad moment, Artemis thought he might be the countess’s son, Orion, and her heart gave a leap.

Even after all these years, the thought of seeing Orion Chase again brought with it the same mixture of joy and dismay it had when they were children. Orion had been both her closest playmate and her fiercest rival.

She watched the man advance to a place before the wide, oak mantel. The coloring was right, and there was something familiar about the eyes, but the gentleman wore no spectacles and was dressed in what she supposed was the height of fashion: a bottle-green coat with a daffodil-embroidered, white silk waistcoat beneath and an expertly tied cravat topped black Hessians with a mirrorlike shine and dove-gray breeches so tight she wondered how many valets it took to pull them on. They showed every bit of muscle the man possessed—and there was a great deal of it to show.

He was no pudding-bodied dandy, but a sporting man. Tall and broad-shouldered, the muscular gentleman shouldn’t have been able to move with any sort of grace, but he did. He looked more like he was dancing than walking as he glided to a stop before the countess and gave an elegant bow.
No
.
Definitely not Orion,
she decided.
A close cousin, perhaps
. Her heart settled like a startled dove folding herself back into her nest.

“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.