Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) (32 page)

“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 leaves 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

O
RION

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.

Just the same, his status within society, as any other narrow apex, was brittle, and he intended to protect it, just in case, by avoiding guilt by association. Artemis was a lady, but he would stay away from that particular lady as much as possible when in Town until he was sure she wasn’t going to do anything outrageously Gypsyish. Keeping his distance shouldn’t be difficult. In fact, it would be easy. A guinea or two in the palm of his mother’s butler would earn him all that good man’s intelligence. Orion would know which functions to attend and which to avoid. Yes. His mother was right, after all. Artemis becoming her companion was indeed the best solution for them all.

It was certainly a perfect solution for his mother and for Artemis. A slightly odd companion would suit Lady Lindenshire’s independent character, and as for Artemis ...

His mother broke into his thoughts as she turned to Artemis and said, “I fancy you and I are two peas in a pod, just as your mother and I were. I am quite certain we shall bump along together very well indeed.”

Orion quit the room on the excuse of checking on his horse.

PUZZLED, ARTEMIS WATCHED Orion go. He had capitulated too suddenly, and she wondered what had gone on in his mind. “Lady Lindenshire—”

“Belle, Artemis. You must call me Belle.”

Artemis smiled. “Belle, I ... Orion is correct. My clothing is—”

“Charming. Your clothing is charming, my dear.”

“But,” Artemis persisted, knowing the countess was merely being polite, “it is not appropriate for the christening.”

Lady Lindenshire waved her hand. “We shall have some things made up for you
posthaste
.”

“Yes, but ... when
is
the christening?”

“The christening?” the countess repeated, as though hearing the word for the first time. “Oh! I see. Yes, yes, my dear. Bless me, you are quite right. The babe is to be christened eleven days hence, and you,” she said with a tip of her delicate head, “must engage
Madame
Aneault’s services as soon as you arrive in London.
Madame
works miracles, to be sure, but she gets testy if she must perform them in less than a fortnight.”

She rang for her portable writing desk. The lovely rosewood box with a hinged and angled top was delivered promptly, and the countess sat scribbling and tapping her narrow quill thoughtfully for a few minutes as Artemis sat down to a cup of strong, sweet, fragrant tea.

“Here now,” Lady Lindenshire said at last “This is a list of the garments and accessories you will require.” She blotted the thin, cream-colored paper and handed it over gingerly.

Artemis’s eyes goggled. The list was enormous. It began with ‘
fine gauge stockings, white’
, followed by a number. Artemis goggled. She couldn’t be seeing it correctly.

“
Twenty-one
pair
?” Artemis exclaimed.

“Three per day, my dear. A week’s worth. Ladies’ feet, contrary to what they might pretend, do perspire.”

“
Eight
morning gowns?”

“One for each day of the week, plus an extra for emergencies,” Belle explained, as though it was a matter of common sense.

“And another eight dresses just for walking?” Artemis’s eyes scanned down the list. “Two riding habits, bonnets, caps, garters, night-rails and seven
ball gowns
? ... Surely I do not need all this!”

Lady Lindenshire laughed merrily. “Surely you do not question my judgment?”

“No, Belle, of course not, but—”

“But it is my taste you cannot rely upon?”

Artemis gave a roll of her eyes. “You are bamming me.”

The countess laughed again. “I certainly am, my dear. Pay no heed to the length of that list. It is not excessive. You are simply unaccustomed to having what you should have had all along.” She threw a black look out the window in the direction of Branleigh.

Artemis wondered if Lady Lindenshire’s Town friends would agree.

Artemis’s resemblance to her mother was quite uncanny. When she accompanied Lady Lindenshire at society functions, someone was bound to notice and remember. Would they be as quick to accept her as Belle had been? As quick to lay blame upon those who had cast Artemis aside?

Artemis was the granddaughter of an earl, but she was also the granddaughter of a Gypsy. She
was
a Gypsy now. Artemis knew that didn’t matter to the countess, but would it matter to her friends?

THE STORM BROUGHT with it a heavy chill, and it seemed it might snow as the pair of lumbering coaches and the baggage cart hastened to London. The Stone-chase maids she traveled with kept up a steady stream of chatter during the ten-hour trip, and Artemis joined in, except when they neared London, when she couldn’t resist staring out the window.

She’d been to Bristol once, and she’d thought that city enormous, but
this
! She’d been wrong about Bristol. It was but a village compared to London. The streets here were crowded with every type of equipage, from the most elegant barouches to the lowliest gigs and traps, from the fastest phaetons to lumbering merchants’ wagons.

And the noise! Drivers of mail coaches, hacks, and delivery wagons hailed each other as they passed. The clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves and the jingling of their traces, the rolling and creaking. The loud calls of the baker and the pie man and their heated haggling with their customers. Shrieks of children playing, dogs barking, water splashing from an upstairs window to the street below. Church bells, cow bells, ox bells, mongers’ bells, and ships’ bells out on the Thames. Artemis had never heard such a cacophony.

And then, almost as though someone had covered her ears and eyes with something thick and woolly, the noise and crush abated, and the coaches rolled onto a quiet and shady street lined with stately chestnut trees. Buildings of plaster and wood gave way to stone, which in turn gave way to marble as the procession entered a large square with a green park in the center and enormous houses all round.

Lady Lindenshire’s fine, tall house was situated on a corner, and as they approached, the maids gathered their shawls and tied their white cap strings, making ready to disembark. Yet no sooner had the coaches stopped than a cry of dismay rose into the chill morning air. A footman had emerged from the house, smudged from head to toe in black.

There had been a fire that very morning, it seemed, a largish one, the result of an overturned lamp. The damage to the drawing room was not great, but much of the first floor of the house was coated in a greasy soot. This was very unwelcome news to the poor maids from Stonechase Manor, and Artemis felt sorry for them.

“Soot like that is terrible hard to clean off,” one remarked to Artemis, “and smoke goes everywhere. We’ll have to polish every last inch of that house.”

“I shall be glad to help.”

“Oh, Miss, you’re a right ‘un, and no mistake.” The maid smiled gratefully.

They all alighted, and Artemis was following the housekeeper inside when the butler stopped her. Peabody had traveled from Stonechase Manor to the countess’s townhouse. He was her most trusted servant, and he evidently traveled to oversee the servants wherever Lady Lindenshire was in residence. Artemis imagined he could be an imposing figure, tall and broad-shouldered as he was, gray at the temples, and full of dour authority, though she found his countenance kindly enough as he addressed her now.

“Miss Artemis,” he began, using the name she’d been called as a child.
Miss Rose
would have been the proper form of address, since she was an eldest—and, indeed, only—daughter. But, with “Master Orion” running about, she supposed no one had been able to resist pairing the two names, linked as they were in mythology, so “Miss Artemis” it had always been and still was. “The house is in disarray,” Peabody continued, “a sooty pot of chaos. It is no place for a lady. Might I suggest you—”

“Oh, but I am not a lady, I am companion to—”

“You were born a lady,” he said with an imperious sniff. “Lady Lindenshire will treat you as such, and so will I.”

Artemis gave a warm but sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

“Might I suggest you repair to Master Orion’s small town house for a day or two?”

“Without Orion’s invitation?” she asked doubtfully.

“Miss Artemis, Lady Lindenshire made it clear to the servants that she regards you more as a dear family friend than as another servant—and dear friends do not require formal invitations, especially when their need is urgent, as it is now.”

“Yes, yes. I see your point. But, in truth, Mr. Peabody, my situation is unique. I am not simply a family friend, and I really ought to stay here. You shall need every available pair of hands to help clean the soot away, and—
what now
?”

The poor man had gone quite red in the face. “Miss Artemis, either you are a guest, or you are a servant. If you are a guest, then you must stay elsewhere.”

Artemis dimpled. “Then I am not a guest,” she said and stepped past him.

“
However,
” he said loudly at her back, “if you are a servant, then you must follow my orders, and I will forbid you to do any work at all. You will stay here, and two maids will attend you instead of helping with the repairs—a state of affairs that will only create more work for the others, not less.”

Artemis turned around to face him. “Check and mate,” she said.

“I know,” the butler said with a wink and a smile. Then he bowed low. “My lady, it will be our pleasure to serve
a guest
such as you.”

She gave a wry smile. “You, Mr. Peabody, are a piece of work.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Artemis!” He looked genuinely pleased.

Artemis agreed to remove herself to Orion’s house. Staying there could do no harm. After all, she would be still be well-chaperoned by his servants, and Orion was not in Town, anyway.

WHICH WAS WHY, when George DeMoray, the Earl of Lindenshire’s fiercest social rival happened to pass through Silver Street late the next morning, the unexpected activity at the Earl’s small town house captured his attention, and why, when said gentleman decided to pay an impromptu call, he found a raven-haired beauty presiding over Lindenshire’s parlor
—sans
Lindenshire
.

She was a Gypsy!
And
—even better!—
s
he couldn’t be anything other than Lindenshire’s mistress!

Mistresses
never
set foot inside their protector’s homes
—
b
ut the comely little Gypsy obviously didn’t know that. And Lindenshire obviously didn’t know she was here!

Delicious!

It was an opportunity for mischief George simply couldn’t ignore. He let his mind peruse the possibilities.
Hmm
...
what if
... what if George stole Orion’s mistress away from him? George chuckled to himself. Wouldn’t
that
scorch Orion’s insufferable pride!