by Deborah Hale
As soon as those words slipped out, Artemis wished she could recall them. Not because they weren’t true, but because she did not want to spoil this fragile harmony.
But instead of firing back a scathing retort, Hadrian chuckled. “So you are, and I reckon it is a good quality in others. I do not mean to boast when I say I am seldom wrong…in matters of business at least. I would not have succeeded if I’d made a great many mistakes or spent a lot of time doubting myself.”
“No.” Artemis took a sip of her wine. “I don’t suppose you would.”
“I hope you will pardon me for talking in terms of commerce, but it is what I know best. It seems to me that virtues and vices are all head and tail of the same coin.”
Artemis mulled the notion over for a moment. “I believe I see what you mean. Someone who is courageous might also be foolhardy at times. Or someone who is confident might be too proud.”
“Just so.” He seemed pleased that she’d grasped his point so readily. “I reckon the tail side of being right so often is that I have trouble admitting my occasional mistakes.”
A bubble of laughter gushed up from somewhere inside Artemis. “You even have trouble admitting that you have trouble admitting you are sometimes wrong.”
He took a deep draught of wine, as if fortifying himself for a challenging task. “It is a bit of an effort, yes.”
“Then may I assume this entire conversation is a very roundabout way of offering an apology?” Artemis scarcely recognized the note of banter in her voice. She sometimes thought such things for her own amusement, but she’d never dared say them out loud, especially to a man like Hadrian Northmore.
To her amazement, he did not take offense, but flashed her a shamefaced grin. “You might take it that way if you were minded to. Especially if it would persuade you to accept my proposition.”
“Proposition?” The word took Artemis aback, reviving memories of the previous night, when he had offered to oblige her by consummating their marriage.
“About working together to make the rest of our journey to Durham as painless as possible for young Lee. And for our ears. Remember?”
“Of course.” She felt foolish for allowing her thoughts to leap so quickly to that other matter. “I am willing to do whatever is necessary.”
“Capital!” Hadrian reached across the table, offering her his hand. “Then let us seal our agreement as I am accustomed to in business.”
As she extended her fingers, Artemis marveled at the turnabout that had taken place between them in the past twenty-four hours. Did Hadrian regret the things he’d said to her last night? Was his sudden show of cordiality another attempt to signify he was sorry, without admitting he’d been wrong? Or was it only a measure of his desperation to keep Lee pacified for the remainder of their journey?
They clasped hands for a fleeting instant before she pulled away. Even his most innocent touch flustered her.
Given the reluctant manner in which Artemis shook his hand to seal their agreement, Hadrian feared she might not keep up her end of the bargain. But as their post chaise rolled toward the market town of Stamford the next morning, he was forced to admit he’d been mistaken.
Yesterday’s rain had ended, leaving the spring air fresh and the sky a cheerful blue, dotted with tufts of cloud. All along their route the meadows were full of cows and sheep grazing. Artemis pointed them out to Lee, along with other sights of interest—a flock of geese, boats on the River Nene and the spire of Peterborough Cathedral.
When Hadrian sensed his nephew was beginning to tire of viewing the sights, he took his turn entertaining the lad. Once again, he proceeded to pull faces and to make comical noises. Lee rewarded his efforts with peal after peal of merry laughter, in which Hadrian and Artemis could not resist joining.
Now and then their eyes met, igniting the spark of desire he had come to expect but never quite got used to. Something else seemed to arc between them as well—a flicker of camaraderie that was even harder to resist.
Once again the time flew by. Before he knew it, they were stopping in Stamford for a change of horses and a bite to eat.
Afterward he suggested a stroll around the town before they set off again. “I reckon we’ll all be the better for a bit of air and a chance to stretch our legs.”
Their walk seemed to agree with the lad, for he began to nod and yawn not long after they got back on the road. Artemis rocked him in her arms, crooning a little tune until he fell asleep. A strange, tender warmth kindled in Hadrian’s chest as his gaze lingered upon the woman and child.
“Perhaps this long coach ride was not my best idea,” he admitted in a rueful murmur when Artemis stopped singing. “Once we reach Durham, though, I promise there will be no more gadding about.”
He feared she might seize the opportunity to remind him that she’d told him so.
To his surprise, she generously refrained. “A journey of a few hundred miles must seem nothing to you after traveling halfway around the world and back. This is the farthest I have ever been from Bramberley. Could I trouble you to tell me about your travels? It would help pass the time while Lee is sleeping.”
“It’s no trouble. I must warn you, though, I am better at making faces than I am at spinning tales.” He thought for a moment, searching for a story that might hold her interest. “I could start by telling you how Stamford Raffles defied the Governor of Calcutta and risked war with the Dutch to establish a trading post at Singapore.”
He began a bit awkwardly, stumbling over his words, sometimes mixing up the sequence of events. But as he continued, Artemis’s rapt expression and penetrating questions loosened his tongue. He offered up each reminiscence reluctantly at first, expecting her to scorn them. But Artemis surprised him, as she had so often in their brief acquaintance, her eyes wide and sparkling like a pair of matched amethysts.
There was something irresistibly flattering about engaging the interest of a woman so refined and well educated. Though caution warned him not to make too much of it, he could not help relishing his appreciative audience.
In the middle of his story about a plague of rats that had afflicted the colony in its early days, young Lee woke from his nap. But the lad seemed to take his cue from Artemis, sitting quietly in her arms, listening as if he understood every word out of his uncle’s mouth.
“After an orgy of rat killing,” Hadrian concluded with a rather theatrical flourish, “and all the money Tuan Farquhar had paid out for bounty, we were finally rid of the bloody nuisances. A few days later we were overrun by centipedes! Grimshaw said it was like the plagues of Moses, but I reckoned the rats must have been eating the centipedes. With the rats gone, there was nothing to stop them multiplying.”
Artemis shuddered. “What did you do about the centipedes?”
“Farquhar put a bounty on them next, and it was not long until they went the way of the rats. Luckily, whatever the centipedes had been feeding off did not give us any trouble. Now I have done my part. It is time you took a turn at storytelling.” He flashed his nephew a grin. “Don’t you agree, lad?”
Lee bobbed his head and giggled.
“You see?” said Hadrian. “He’s all for it.”
“But I have not led the sort of adventurous life you have.” Artemis shrank back into the corner of the seat, as if she wanted to disappear. “My sister often complained we never went anywhere or did anything.”
She would not need any great adventure to hold his attention, Hadrian reflected. He was curious about her—the intriguing woman behind her cool, polite facade. The woman of whom he’d caught such tantalizing glimpses. It would be a challenge to cultivate an acquaintance with her and discover why she kept herself hidden away.
To Hadrian Northmore, who had spent most of his life proving his worth, such a challenge was impossible to resist.
Chapter Eight
She was not up to the challenge of following Hadrian’s enthralling stories of the Orient. The afternoon had flown by on the wings of hi
s tales. At times Artemis felt as if she’d been transported out of the rattling post chaise to the rail of a great ship rounding the Cape of Good Hope or a merchant’s godown listening to the patter of rain on the palm-frond roof. She fancied she could smell the tang of fresh cinnamon bark and gambier pepper, taste the elusive sweetness of a mangosteen.
Until today the thought of travel had not appealed to her in the least. She preferred familiar surroundings and experiences to novel ones, especially anything exotic. In her, familiarity had never bred contempt but rather a sense of order, continuity and safety. Anything foreign carried a whiff of danger.
Hadrian Northmore was unlike any man she’d ever met before and this marriage of theirs was foreign territory to her. She never knew what to expect. At every turn, she found her safe, familiar assumptions challenged. It kept her in an unwelcome state of turmoil. And yet she could not deny there was something curiously exhilarating about it, all the same.
Worried that his penetrating stare might probe her thoughts, she scrambled to divert him. “If you wish to be lulled to sleep, I can tell you how I have spent the past twenty years—caring for my brother and sister, doing needlework, playing the pianoforte, reading books, going to church. The only remotely exciting thing I’ve ever done was go up to London two summers ago for the coronation.”
“There you are, then,” said Hadrian. “A spectator of history. That is a story you can tell your grandchildren…I mean Lee’s children. Let us hear every grand detail.”
Was he mocking her? Artemis feared so, but she could not be certain. “It was a magnificent affair. His Majesty never does anything on less than a grand scale.”
When Hadrian continued to watch her expectantly, Artemis plundered her memory for something to tell him. “It was a very hot day. The Abbey was like a huge stone oven. The whole place was buzzing with rumors that Queen Caroline meant to force her way into the Abbey to be crowned, but she never did get in. Daphne and I were so proud to see our brother walking in the procession with the other peers.”
Her voice trailed off. She was making a miserable hash of it. When Hadrian had given an account of getting to shore through the roaring surf of India’s Coromandel Coast, she’d hung on his every word. But when she tried to relate the events of a splendid royal coronation, she made it sound so commonplace.
“Go on.” Hadrian seemed more interested than her story warranted. “There must have been more to it than that.”
“There was a banquet afterward. I never smelled so much delicious food in my life.”
“How did it taste?”
Artemis gave a sour chuckle. “You would have to ask one of the gentlemen who fell on it like a herd of starving swine, while we famished ladies could only watch from the balconies. Between the heat, fatigue and hunger, I was afraid poor Daphne would swoon.”
“What about you?” Hadrian demanded. “Were you not tired, hot and hungry, too?”
It was clear he considered her sister a pampered little tyrant, the way some people accused Lee of being spoilt. Could nobody understand how much she loved them both? She’d tried so hard to make up for the great losses in their lives, always afraid she would fail them.
“Those were minor deprivations I could easily bear. My sister felt things more keenly, both good and bad. After all that has happened, I know you must think very ill of my sister. But if you’d ever met her, I do not believe you could have resisted her charm.” Artemis nuzzled her cheek against Lee’s tousled curls as she held Hadrian’s remorseless gray gaze, willing him to relent. “Any more than you can resist your nephew’s. He has her smile, her laugh, her eagerness.”
“And his penchant for trouble?” The granite severity in Hadrian’s eyes softened. “Did he inherit that from his mother, too?”
Part of Artemis wanted to rap out a defensive reply, but somehow she did not feel the need to protect her sister and brother so fiercely from Hadrian. She only wanted to make him understand.
“I must admit Lee comes by his recklessness honestly. But not from his mother alone. I believe he inherited an ample measure from my brother…and yours.”
For the first time in many months, Artemis thought of Julian Northmore with something other than soul-gnawing revulsion. How could she continue to hate the young man when his blood ran in her beloved Lee?
Was Hadrian entertaining the same sort of thoughts about Daphne? With all her heart, Artemis hoped so.
Part of Hadrian wished he could continue to despise the young woman whose thoughtlessness had nearly put an end to his family. But, as Artemis had reminded him, it was thanks to her sister he still had his nephew to carry on the Northmore name and see through his plans for the future.
And if he could not hate Daphne, how could he bear any ill will toward Artemis? She was guilty of nothing more than loyalty and devotion to her family, virtues he’d long held in the highest regard.
For the next two days, as they journeyed north through the Vale of York and into his native County Durham, those thoughts did battle with Hadrian’s anger and pride. In spite of his conflicted feelings, he took great pains to be agreeable to Artemis, and he sensed she was doing the same. Were her efforts all for the child’s sake or was she also trying to make amends for deceiving and insulting him?
Whatever her reasons, the result was the same—Lee remained cheerful and content, delighting in their efforts to entertain him. Artemis prevailed upon Hadrian to tell more stories of his experiences abroad, while he managed to coax forth a few recollections about her life at Bramberley. Those accounts usually featured her late brother and sister, with Artemis an admiring observer in the background. To Hadrian’s ears, her every word rang with abiding love for Leander and Daphne.
Whoever was to blame for the tragic strife between their families, Hadrian could not deny her loss had been heavier than his. And not only because she’d lost two family members to his one. She grieved a brother and sister she’d known and loved well. Part of him wished he could mourn his brother that way, but it had been a great many years since he’d last set eyes on Julian. Apart from their ties of blood, his departed brother had been little better than a stranger.
On learning of Julian’s death, Hadrian had feared the extinction of his family, lamented the failure of a vow and mourned the end of a dream. But he had not been ravaged by the intense, personal bereavement he’d experienced twice before and had sworn never to suffer again.
Artemis had.
Was it any wonder she’d been wary and hostile toward him? Or that she’d been willing to do anything to hold on to the child who bore her brother’s name and her sister’s likeness?
That child now nestled on her lap. The rhythmic buzz of his slumbering breath filled the silence inside the darkened carriage as it sped through the moonlit countryside. This was the first night they’d driven on after stopping to eat dinner and change horses. Hadrian was determined to sleep under his own roof tonight, free from the prospect of more miles to travel the next morning.
“Have we much farther to go?” Artemis echoed his thoughts in a voice faint with weariness.
A pang of guilt struck Hadrian as he remembered what she’d said at the beginning of her journey about Lee being cold, tired, cramped and bored. Had she suffered all those vexations, but been too proud to complain on her own account? Or had she thought he would not care?
Glancing out the window, he recognized the shape of old St. Oswin’s church. An unexpected embrace of homecoming swiftly vanished into a bottomless pit of loss. “Only another mile.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “Before we get there, I have something to say.”
His sense of fairness demanded he speak. And he must do it now, while the darkness veiled her reproachful gaze.
Though Artemis made no reply, he sensed a guarded stiffness in her posture as if she expected his words to be disagreeable. After the way he’d behaved, could he blame her?
“I reckon we got off on the wrong foot, you and me.” Those w
ords were hard to say. Yet each one he forced out seemed to lift a heavy stone from his chest. “I don’t know if you can understand. I came home from Singapore a week ago, expecting to see my brother again after a long separation. Instead I was told he’d been dead for more than a year. To you and everyone else, it must have seemed like ancient history. But to me it was as if Julian had just been killed that day. And the people responsible were beyond my power to reckon with. All except you…and me. I see now that I took out my anger on the wrong one of us.”
“I understand better than you suppose.” The voice issuing from the shadows scarcely sounded like hers. “You had too little time to come to terms with what had happened. I had too much. For months, I’d been so anxious and angry, with no one on whom I dared vent those feelings. When you came along, threatening to take Lee away from me, I felt justified in heaping accusations and insults upon you, regardless of whether there was any truth in them.”
Her admission staggered Hadrian. He thought she’d had plenty of time to accept what had happened and carry on with her life. Recalling his past experiences with grief, he realized that had been a heartless assumption.
“Do you reckon we can put all that behind us and begin our acquaintance again with a clean slate?”
“Perhaps.” She sounded doubtful. “Does that mean you no longer believe I used Lee to secure my own comfort? I know I was wrong to mislead you about my family’s circumstances, but I swear I did not wed you for your fortune. All I’ve ever wanted is to care for Lee and keep him with me. Hold me responsible for Julian’s death if you must, but I cannot bear to have you doubt my affection for his son!”
She fairly radiated passionate maternal devotion. Hadrian might have congratulated himself for breaking through her secretive reserve, except that it made Artemis even more dangerously appealing.