by Deborah Hale
“I do not doubt it,” he muttered, galled to admit he’d been wrong yet again. “Not anymore. I’ve watched you with the lad ever since we set out on this journey. I’ve seen the way you hold him and talk to him, the way you know what he wants even though he cannot tell you. And I’ve seen how he responds to you. Those are not things that can be playacted.”
“Indeed they cannot,” replied Artemis in a voice choked with relief. A featherlight touch on his sleeve trailed downward until her hand came to rest upon his. “Thank you for being willing to keep an open mind about me.”
“You needn’t sound so surprised. I’m a fair man and I treat people as I find them.” Hadrian fought the urge to raise her hand to his lips, fearing she might misunderstand the gesture. “Is it too much to ask that you keep an open mind about me, as well? Or are you someone who trusts their first impressions absolutely and refuses to alter them on any account?”
She pulled her hand back, as if his touch scalded her fingers. “If I did that, I would be very foolish indeed. Even with someone I thought I knew well, I have been deceived.”
Who had deceived her—a man she’d cared for? Hadrian was not prepared for the flare of protective indignation that blazed within him. Was that part of the reason she’d resented and mistrusted him? Not only because of the tragic conflict between their families and the way he’d treated her?
His desire to know her better intensified. Next winter he would return to Singapore, leaving her to raise the child on whom all his future hopes depended. He needed to be certain he could trust her.
Where was she?
Artemis woke with a violent start the next morning from a dream-riddled sleep. The moment she felt Lee’s warm, sturdy little body beside her, the worst of her alarm faded. As long as he was nearby, safe and happy, it did not matter much where they were.
As that thought calmed her, memories of the previous night flooded back. Their late arrival—servants scrambling about in their nightclothes fetching baggage, lighting candles, warming beds. Someone had tried to take Lee, but Artemis insisted on keeping him with her for the first night in a strange place. As much for her sake as for his.
Then another memory ambushed her. It felt more imagined than real—words swirling around in the darkness, then one brief but significant touch. Yet she could not dismiss it as a dream. She had spoken to Hadrian of the most painful humiliation of her life. It had been only a passing reference, but that was more than she’d ever confided in anyone else, even her dearest Daphne. What had possessed her to speak of it to Hadrian Northmore?
He might be her husband in name, but in fact he was a virtual stranger she’d known for barely a week. A man who had uprooted her from everything familiar to drag her the length of England. She had promised to make a fresh start on their acquaintance, but that did not mean she was prepared to tell him her most intimate secrets.
To divert herself from those distressing thoughts, Artemis nuzzled her nephew’s ear. “What do you think of this place, Lee?”
She swept a glance around the spacious, handsomely appointed bedchamber. “It is a far cry from the little seaside cottage I had in mind for us. I miss Bramberley’s fine old wood paneling, but I must admit this flower-sprigged wallpaper is quite cheerful to wake up to. Don’t tell anyone I said so, will you?”
Lee chuckled as if he understood.
Artemis sat up and stretched. “Are you as hungry as I am? I believe I smell coffee and bacon. Let’s get dressed and go find some breakfast.”
As she rifled through her trunk in search of clean clothes for them both, her hand passed over the smooth old woodand-brass fittings in a homesick caress. Once she and Lee were decently attired, she took him by the hand and ventured forth into the strange house that was to be their home.
It did not take long to locate the wide main staircase and descend to the lower floor. As Artemis peeped into a large room near the entry hall, a middle-aged woman standing inside turned toward her.
“Good morning, ma’am.” The woman made an impeccable curtsy, but her dark eyes flicked over Artemis and Lee with cool disapproval. “We met for a moment last night when you arrived. I am the housekeeper, Mrs. Matlock. I trust your quarters met with your satisfaction?”
“Indeed they did,” replied Artemis, acutely conscious that the housekeeper was better dressed than she. “Is Mr. Northmore up yet?”
“For hours.” It was clear from her tone that the housekeeper approved of early risers. “He wanted to make certain the house was in good order for you and the child.”
Something about the way Mrs. Matlock said “the child” affronted Artemis. Did the woman disapprove of Lee’s illegitimate birth? It was not something the poor little creature could help.
Hoisting him into her arms, she answered in a tone of icy courtesy. “Everything I’ve seen so far has been quite satisfactory. Now, if you will excuse us we are in rather urgent need of some breakfast.”
“I will not detain you any longer, ma’am.” The housekeeper beckoned a young maidservant. “Mr. Northmore instructed me to engage a nursery staff for the child. In the meantime, Cassie can take charge of him. She is the eldest of a large family and has a great deal of experience minding young children.”
“But—”
Before Artemis could protest, the girl gathered Lee from her arms. “Isn’t he a handsome wee lad? How old is he, then?”
Artemis could not resist sincere words of praise for her darling boy. “He turned a year not long ago.”
“He’s a fine size for his age. Our Isaac is three months older and not near so big. Can he walk yet?”
“Cassie—” Mrs. Matlock interrupted before Artemis could reply “—the mistress wants her breakfast. She hasn’t time to listen to tattle about your family. Fetch the child to the nursery and feed him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl whisked Lee away, cooing over him, while he did not make a speck of fuss at being separated from his aunt.
Mrs. Matlock turned to address Artemis. “After you’ve eaten, the local seamstress will be coming to measure you for some new clothes.”
“I have a perfectly adequate wardrobe, thank you.” Artemis strove to maintain her dignity.
Was this how she would be treated while she lived under Hadrian’s roof, as a mere cipher in her nephew’s life? That was not the bargain she’d intended to make.
“Master’s orders,” replied the housekeeper as if that were the final word on the subject.
Artemis was determined it would not be. “Where can I find my husband, pray? There are some matters I wish to discuss with him.”
His decree that she must have new clothes, to begin with. And the notion of Lee being brought up by a nursery staff. If he no longer believed she was a fortune hunter, as he’d claimed, why did he insist on treating her like one?
“The master has gone out.” Mrs. Matlock no longer sounded quite so certain of herself.
“Did he say where?”
“He did not, but I saw him walking down the lane. He may have wanted a bit of fresh air after your long journey.”
“I could do with a breath of air myself.” And a little privacy. If she was going to raise her objections to their domestic arrangements, Artemis preferred not to have the servants overhear. “Kindly have someone fetch my wrap and bonnet.”
“But your breakfast, ma’am?”
Though the savory aroma of fried bacon made her mouth water, Artemis reminded herself there were more important things than food. “I will eat when I return. A bit of exercise will whet my appetite.”
A short while later, as she headed down the winding, tree-lined lane, Artemis struggled to reconcile her present mood with the promise she had made Hadrian last night. Was she putting the past behind them and endeavoring to make a fresh start?
This had nothing to do with Julian, Daphne and Leander, she told herself. The problem was Hadrian’s forceful, managing manner, which he’d demonstrated so often since they’d met—arranging everything to
suit himself without a thought for anyone else. His ambition and industry made a welcome change from her indolent uncles, but could he not have consulted her before making plans that affected her and Lee?
Coming to the end of the lane, where it opened onto a narrow road, Artemis scanned the vicinity for a glimpse of Hadrian. All she saw was a boot print in the damp earth heading southward. Her growling stomach urged her to return to the house but she could not bear to face Hadrian’s housekeeper without having spoken to him.
A brisk ten-minute walk brought her to a squat stone church that looked even older than the one back in Sussex where she and Hadrian had been married. Having seen no further sign of Hadrian, she was about to turn back when she heard the deep rumble of his voice from behind an old yew tree in a churchyard.
Was he talking to the local vicar, perhaps about having Lee christened with a new name that he would find less objectionable? It was just the sort of high-handed behavior Artemis had come to expect from him.
As she drew nearer, preparing to confront Hadrian, she was able to make out his words.
“What were you thinking,” he asked, “landing yourself in that kind of trouble? Did I not tell you often enough we owed a duty to the others? Everything else should have come second to that. I worked my heart out to keep up my end, but you threw it all away.”
Artemis could see him now, standing among the gravestones with his back to her. But she could not see the person he was talking to. Baffled, she stumbled to a stop.
Hadrian must not have heard her approach, for he kept talking. “Was that my fault? Did I ruin your character with too much money and too little attention, like Artemis said?”
It brought her the most ridiculous jolt of pleasure to hear Hadrian speak her name. Then she realized he must be speaking to his dead brother.
“Perhaps I should have brought you out to India where I could have kept an eye on you. But I’d made a fresh start and I didn’t want you there to remind me of the past.”
His voice sounded so different. Not stern and masterful, but laden with anguished regret. It was the voice of a man who might need a woman’s comfort and support. It called forth something fundamental to her nature.
Yet Artemis knew she should not be there. She was trespassing on Hadrian’s most intimate thoughts. She could not have borne it if he’d overheard some of the words she’d spoken over Leander and Daphne’s graves. Things she had never been able to say to her brother and sister while they were alive.
As she took one quiet step backward then another, Artemis tried to block out what Hadrian was saying.
“Pa, I hope you can forgive me for failing Julian and you and the lads. I have one more chance to make it right and I won’t fail you again, I swear it.”
In her haste to steal away, Artemis brought her foot down on a fallen twig. It snapped with a report that rang out like a pistol shot.
Hadrian spun about to confront whoever had dared intrude upon this deeply private moment. His eyes blazed when they fell upon her. “What are you doing here? Did you come to spy on me? Did you think you might hear something to your advantage?”
“No!” Caution urged her not to get too close to Hadrian, but something stronger drew her toward him. “Please, I didn’t mean to…”
As she moved toward him, her gaze fell upon the inscription carved on the gravestone before which he stood.
Killed in the Fellbank Colliery Explosion
24th May 1808
William Northmore ae 39 yrs
Augustus Northmore ae 14 yrs
Marcus Northmore ae 11 yrs
Titus Northmore ae 9 yrs
Quentin Northmore ae 8 yrs
“Is this—” the question was wrenched out of her, though she had no doubt of the answer “—was this your family?”
Chapter Nine
For a moment Hadrian was too stunned by his wife’s sudden appearance to answer her question.
The crack of that twig under her foot might have been the sound of a pistol cocking for the spasm of panic it sent through him. But when he spun around to confront the person listening in on his most guarded thoughts, the sight of Artemis had unnerved him in a different way altogether.
The robust Durham wind had blown her bonnet back, exposing her hair to its impatient caress. It whipped dark tendrils about her face and teased a rosy glow into her cheeks. It pushed her skirts tight against her slender legs, plucking up the hem to taunt him with a glimpse of her dainty ankles. Hadrian did not trust himself to watch the wind have its lusty way with her, as he could not.
The anxious, furtive set of her features drove out those bedeviling thoughts, reminding him of what she must have overheard. He felt naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Then she asked the question he could scarcely bear to answer. “Of course they’re my family. Why else would I be here?”
“And they all…died…in a colliery explosion?” The horror and pity in her voice threatened to break through a barrier he had erected around that part of his life.
He had no choice but to respond to that threat. “All except me and Julian. He was too young to work when it happened. He’s with them now, though. Your brother saw to that.”
Artemis swayed, as if she was being buffeted by something stronger than the upland wind. But she managed to stay on her feet. “Why did you not tell me what happened to your father and brothers?”
“Why should I have told you? Someone like you could not begin to understand!”
The moment those words were out of his mouth, Hadrian knew he should not have spoken them. After all, he’d been the one who wanted to put the past behind them. Now he wondered if there were some parts of his past that he could never escape—things that would haunt him until his dying day, no matter how far he ran or how deep he tried to bury them.
But what else could he say? Admit that it troubled him to tell her what he’d never been able to tell his partners or even his beloved first wife? That was something he truly could not expect her to understand, for he could not quite fathom it himself.
Artemis flinched from his bitter outburst, but her reply surprised him. “Perhaps you were right. I do not understand how your father came to be in a coal mine with four of your brothers, all so young. But I want to know, if you will tell me.”
He’d expected her to storm away or hurl an angry retort that would give him an excuse to break off this disturbing encounter. He was not prepared for her concern.
It slipped past his defenses. “My father wasn’t always a miner. He had a farm once, not far from here, land Northmores had worked for as long as anyone could remember. If only he could have held on to it until me and my brothers grew big enough to help him. But he got hit with a string of bad harvests and had to borrow money he couldn’t repay. There was nothing for it but to go to Fellbank and take work in the colliery.”
“But your brothers?” Artemis’s dark brows knit together in a baffled frown. “The youngest was only eight. That is what I cannot understand.”
“I knew you wouldn’t,” he muttered, vexed that she would not leave it alone. “You and your genteel poverty. One miner’s wages would not keep a family of four, let alone eight. Around here, all the lads go to work by the age of eight if they can get a place. Lasses, too, when there’s work enough for them.”
“That is monstrous!” Her striking eyes flashed with passionate indignation. “It is one thing for children to help out on farms, gathering eggs or herding sheep. But underground in a mine? Such practices should not be permitted in a civilized country!”
“No, they should not.” Hadrian heaved a deep, frustrated sigh. “What do you reckon I’ve worked for all these years? To raise up my family so they never again have to fear being wiped off the earth. But more than that—to keep lads and lasses out of the mines so they have a chance to go to school and learn enough to do something else with their lives, if they choose to.”
Was Artemis beginning to understand now?
In case not, he contin
ued. “Nobody with the power to change things is going to listen to a bunch of sooty, ignorant miners who talk too broad for them to understand. That was why I sent Julian down south to the best schools. That is why I wanted him to stand for Parliament. So he could speak for lads like our brothers in a way the high and mighty could understand.”
If his fierce indignation had been a bludgeon and every word struck a blow, Artemis could not have looked more stricken. Though Hadrian knew none of this was her fault, too many painful memories had been roused—too much impotent anger and gnawing guilt let loose. He could not rein it in.
“Now do you understand?” he demanded. “Do you see what your family has done?”
Intense, contradictory feelings overwhelmed Hadrian at that moment—a tidal wave of liberating release and a paralyzing undercurrent of shame. He wished Artemis would strike back, as she had when they’d first met, with regal disdain and bitter hostility.
Instead she gave a jerky nod, as if she were a puppet in the hands of an unskilled master. Her icy facade seemed dangerously brittle.
“Now I understand—” her whispered words tore into Hadrian like tiny shards of glass “—why you hate me.”
Hate her? He wanted to deny it, but his throat was too constricted with guilt to speak.
Artemis would not have heard him anyway, for she had turned and fled from him as if in terror for her life.
Artemis ran from the churchyard, desperate to escape the memory of that headstone with its heartbreaking list of Hadrian’s dead brothers. Her imagination conjured up images of those boys, all looking like Lee might when he turned eight…nine…eleven years old. How would she feel if she’d lost her precious boy five times over, along with the father she’d bashfully revered, all in one calamitous day?
Would she have had the strength to go on as Hadrian had? Somehow he’d found the courage to venture halfway around the world and make his fortune from nothing so he could provide for his one remaining brother. But he had not stopped there. He’d striven to protect other children from suffering the same fate as his brothers. Her heart swelled with pity and admiration.