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!—she couldn’t be anything other than Lindenshire’s mistress!
Mistresses never set foot inside their protector’s homes—but 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!
About The Author
Besides writing seven published novels to date, Melynda Beth Andrews has owned a graphics and fine art company for several years and holds multiple teaching certificates in science, English, art, and other subjects. She’s extremely experiential, having tried everything from whitewater rafting to flying a plane, and loves adventure travel and the outdoors.
The author’s first novel, The Blue Devil, was a finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s sought-after Golden Heart Award. Her work has been nominated for a national Reviewers’ Choice Award from RT Book Club and often appears in reader lists of favorite humorous historical Romances.
After many years apart, she wed her first love in 2010. The pair live in Florida with two teenage daughters. Having had enough heat and humidity to last several lifetimes, they’re determined to move with all possible speed to the beautiful US Pacific Northwest, where they are certain that a perfect, white farmhouse with wide porches and a view of the water and mountains beyond awaits them and their growing menagerie. She cordially invites you to keep up with their progress and help with their search on wwwMelyndaAndrews.com.
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