Trials of Artemis (8 page)

Gideon
pulled her to his chest, cradling her in his arms while she cried. He rested
his cheek on the top of her head and just held on to her. They were still in
that embrace when Mr. Walters came into the room, tight lipped and silent.
Gideon raised his brows in question to the older man and Mr. Walters handed him
the paper.

Gideon
stared, the words refusing to make sense at first. Once they did he nodded
dumbly to the girl’s father. The story was out and their options were narrowed
to one. He had expected to feel enraged if trapped like this but he only felt
numb. The inside of his chest felt cold and brittle, like the top of a pond in
winter. Even breathing hurt.

"I'll
go get the special license," Mr. Walters said. Gideon nodded again.

Walters
began gently prying his daughter away. "You need to come with me,
Jackie."

"Papa,
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't
worry about that right now. Let's get you home. Harrington, do you have a
carriage we can borrow?"

"Of
course," Gideon managed to say.

With
that the Walters withdrew far more quietly than Miss Walters had arrived.
Gideon found that his arms seemed oddly empty without the warmth of Miss
Walters in them. He frowned. He had never wanted to marry. Didn’t want to
marry. Not Miss Walters, not any woman. Women were difficult, sly, and
vindictive in his experience. Manipulative. Downright evil by his estimation.
Unless he missed his guess Lady Spencer as an excellent example of the species
and had provided that tidbit to the newspaper. To what end he had no idea. But
that was a common failing for him, not understanding the subtle manipulations
of the feminine mind. He couldn’t count the number of times he had failed to
anticipate his mother’s plots.

He
rubbed his bruised shoulder. As difficult as Miss Walters might be she perhaps
wasn’t exactly sly. In fact she might be more direct than most men of his
acquaintance. But no matter her temperament, there was to be a marriage.

"Dibbs!"

"Yes,
my Lord."

"I'm
not going to Cornwall."

"No,
my Lord."

Jack
spent the carriage ride home staring listlessly out the window at the passing
town homes. Although still in a fashionable district, the Walters lived fairly
distant from the grand London address where the earl resided. When she and Sam
had toured Mayfair to gawk at the homes of aristocrats last summer, she had
never guessed that she might use the knowledge of where the Earl of Harrington
lived in just such a way. She had been furious this morning and had wrested
Tyche's reins from the groom before he'd had a chance to saddle the creature,
then rode barebacked across town like the hellion she was out in the country
and had been careful to hide while in town. How could he do this to her? She
felt the fat tears start to roll down her cheeks again, helpless to stop them.

 
If he wasn't the one to give the story to
the paper, then why would the Wynders or Lady Spencer do so after all this time?
Seven days had passed. It didn't make any sense. Besides, even if he wasn't the
one to talk to that spiteful gossip at the newspaper, all the trouble had
started with him.

And
with her, she admitted to herself with a gusty sigh that fogged the carriage
window. She always went her own way. She just
had
to sneak into Lord Wynder's library to read some of his Greek
texts and now her family would suffer for it. She knew they couldn't leave
London to escape the censure since father had leased out the country house to
help pay for both her and Sam's seasons. It wasn't something that was talked
about, but Jack knew. She knew they were living close to the fine, every inch
the impoverished genteel. She knew that both her and Sam's dowry's had been
gifts held in trust from Grandfather, their mother's father, and it had been
the shiny hook that was hoped to raise the girls above their current station in
life.

Now
Jack had compromised everything, and her lone possible path was marrying the
earl. Immediately. Even then there would be talk and speculation. Sam's
prospects would be slim until the vicious gossip blew over, provided that it
did. Her mother, never quite accepted for her bourgeois background, would be
entirely snubbed. Her father was the sole one who could hope to continue his
life without significant change, but she knew that wasn't his way. He would worry
about them all and stay close to home, because if they weren't accepted in
society then he would have no interest in engaging in it himself.

She
looked across the carriage at her dear father, tight-lipped, pale, with arms
crossed and a rigid posture. He also studied the passing town homes as though
they were vastly interesting. Feeling her gaze he glanced over to her. Her damp
cheeks and woebegone expression pulled him from his own thoughts and he offered
her a wan smile.

"I
thought you were going to kill him and save me all this trouble."

Jack
gave a watery laugh that turned into a sob. "Oh papa. I'm so sorry."

With
a sad sigh he opened his arms to her. "Come here, pumpkin."

She
went into his arms like the child she had once been, who had needed comfort
after a skinned knee or broken teacup. He smelled like pipe tobacco and bay
rum. He smelled like Papa, like home. A place she knew she wouldn't be much
longer. No more tears, she promised herself. No more tears over things that
couldn't be changed.

Gideon
sat at his writing desk and stared at his quill absently. He knew he ought to
finish this letter. His future father-in-law would return presently, but that
didn't seem to motivate any action. After reading the gossip column he'd been a
bit surprised, really, that Walters hadn't finally called him out over this
stain to his daughter's reputation. But he supposed that a dead earl couldn't
marry anyone and right now the best way to reduce the damage was a quick
marriage followed by a retreat to the country in order to ride out the storm of
censure sure to follow. Not to Cornwall, though, but to his seat in Kent. His
business in Cornwall would have to wait until after this fiasco was
appropriately handled. Though it was hard to imagine a time when Jacqueline Walters
wouldn't be causing him trouble. She was headstrong, smart, independent, and
volatile. Honestly if he had written a list of the characteristics that he
didn't want in a wife, those attributes would have all been on it. Nor did she
want him, another item that would have made the list now that he thought of it.
No, if he had to have a wife at all he would want a gentle creature. Compliant.
Sweet and lovely. Not that he believed such a creature existed.

He
sighed. Perhaps she would be content if he gifted her with one of his smaller
estates where she could live as she pleased. Perhaps he had something near
where her parents lived. If he didn’t, then perhaps he could acquire something.
Hearing voices in the hall, most likely Walters returning, finally spurred him
to dash a few lines on the parchment in front of him.

“Quince
- After this morning's society page I must say the good news is that I am not
calling on you to be my second. The bad news is that I must prevail upon you
for something else. Could you be the best man at my wedding in the morning?
Sorry for the short notice, old man, but I'm sure you can find something to
wear.

-
G”

He
could only hope that Quince would grant an old friend the advantage of what
amounted to a ducal blessing of the wedding. It would take much more than that
to counteract the damage of this morning’s society article, but it would be a
start.

Jack
packed her trunks with a numb, automated efficiency. Sam and mother tried to
help but mostly they fluttered at the edges of the room and behaved as though
they were afraid of upsetting her further. Since the family had leased out the
country house this year, most of her valued possessions were here in London.
 
Some of them were packed up at Sabre's
house and she supposed she should send for them. She wondered where they would
live. Or at least where she would live. She had no illusions that Harrington
would want to keep her at his side in all things. She would most likely be sent
to rusticate while he came back to London to perform his duties in Parliament.
Perhaps she shouldn't complain. Being free to ride when she wanted, read when
she wanted, and generally keep to herself were among the things she liked best.
Whatever manor house he took her to was likely to be grander than the small
estate where she had grown up, perhaps even grander than the Biddlesworth's.

As
a child, she had thought of Sabre's house as being the most amazing castle but
had since learned that larger, better-appointed homes were spread throughout
England. Undoubtedly a good number of the earl’s fourteen estates featured just
such houses. And now she was to be their mistress. A sobering thought, that.

She
didn't care much for decorating, managing staff, or entertaining. She would
make a horrible countess and be miserable doing it. She briefly wondered if running
off to Scotland or throwing herself in the Thames might not more easily solve
everyone’s problems. But no. She was, if nothing else, a Haberdasher. That
meant that, as their pledge went, she could not “run from a fight, back down
from a foe, ignore someone in plight, or bring another Haberdasher woe.” She smiled,
remembering the old rhyme that Sabre had coined as their pledge of duties. She
wondered if her hasty marriage would bring woe to her beloved friends. She
hadn't received letters back from either of them yet, but it was no surprise,
what with George being up in the wilds of Scotland and Sabre touring Italy. But
she missed them desperately, so desperately, and wished that they could be
here.

The
flowers had been brought up from the front hall and decorated her room. She
very carefully pressed the duke's Canterbury Bells between clean sheets of
parchment and tucked them into one of her larger books. She gave the yellow
roses to her sister. One bright yellow petal had fallen to the floor. After a
moment's hesitation
she picked it up and pressed
that in one of her books as well. Looking around she saw that in less than four
hours every essential bit of her had been packed into three trunks. All that
remained out was the dress that she planned to wear tomorrow. It was going on
less than two o'clock and she had nothing useful left to do. As her mother took
her downstairs for an early tea she was sure that the afternoon would be
interminable. But it was better than having the morning come too quickly.

Her
father was waiting in the front parlor when they arrived, looking solemn but
not as pale and tense as he had that morning. "All is prepared then?"
he asked.

Jack
nodded, keeping her eyes downcast.

"After
I procured the license
the earl arranged for the
service to be at St. Mary's first thing in the morning. He will send a carriage
around for your trunks to be loaded before the ceremony. After the wedding you
will be repairing to Kent."

Jack
nodded again, feeling even more desolate. Kent, south of London. She had grown
up in Derbyshire, which was leagues away. She had never been to Kent. Had never
been south of London.

The
tea service was brought in and the family talk turned to inconsequential
things. Jack sat with her teacup and cake, feeling as though she were already
separated from them. She wasn't listening to the conversation but finally
cleared her throat and looked at her little sister Samantha.

"Would
you... would you do me the kindness of attending me in the morning as my maid
of honor?"

Sam's
large blue eyes welled with unshed tears and she gripped Jack's hand tightly.
"Of course I will, Jackie. Of course."

Later
that evening the family sat at dinner, their last dinner together as a family,
Jack couldn't help but think morosely, as a footman came to her father with a
message. He raised his eyebrows at the note, and then looked over at her.

"Jacqueline,
there is a package and letter for you from the earl." He turned to the
footman. "Have them brought in here."

"And
ask the lady to wait in the hall, sir?" the footman replied.

"Yes,
tell her it will only be a moment."

Jack
felt curiosity drawing her from her lassitude, and no small amount of
irritation. Why did the earl have to intrude on their last evening together as
a family? She supposed she had best get used to it. Harrington was domineering,
temperamental, intractable, and rude. He personified the worst qualities she
could think of in a man, proving in their very first encounter to be a rogue
and a rake. At the moment she couldn't recall why she had ever found herself
starting to soften toward him at all. The footman returned with a large box and
a letter, setting them both near her on the large dining table. She decided to
read the letter first, to keep whatever was in the box from being too rude of a
surprise.

"Jacqueline
- Every bride should have something new and beautiful to wear on her wedding.
Your father was kind enough to tell me the name of your modiste and although
her selection of ready-made gowns was sparse I am hopeful that this one will be
to your liking. Madame Lacress said the fit would be fair, but I have sent a
seamstress for any last minute alterations.