Page 105 of Charming Artemis

Clara was called on to offer a question or challenge to Harold. Her voice as soft as ever, she posed a question to her brother-in-law. “What was your father’s favorite sweet?” she asked him.

“He never left a sweetshop without—”

“Peppermints,” the older Jonquil brothers and Mater answered in unison.

Peppermints.Twice Artemis had chosen peppermints when she’d ventured with him into the Heathbrook sweetshop. It was one of her fondest memories.

Mater was called up, teamed with Lady Marion.

“What activity did your late husband enjoy that might surprise us?”

“Harold will not be surprised,” Mater said, “but Lucas loved to climb. He took such delight in scaling mountains and standing on the top of the world. When he was younger, he climbed peaks all over Europe. The mountains around Brier Hill were a favorite of both of ours. We spent countless happy hours walking those paths and looking out over the valley below.”

He had climbed mountains. Artemis would never have guessed.

Arabella and Mariposa were called up next, with Arabella choosing to answer the question posed.

“The late earl had seven sons, but you were like a daughter to him,” Mariposa said. “How did he feel about daughters?”

Arabella answered not in a general way but with her gaze firmly on Artemis and speaking directly to her. “He loved his daughters, though we were not with him in the way his boys were. His little girl, who died just after she was born. I, the honorary daughter who lived nearby. And his little Princess, who was far away but never out of his thoughts. He loved us all.”

This was the first Artemis had heard that Mater and Papa had lost a daughter.

“When I was with him,” Arabella continued, “he never treated me like I was less important to him than his sons or less capable or less intelligent. I was made a part of the things he did with his sons and their chaotic games and playtime. My own doubts and pains made me wonder if he forgot me the moment I was out of sight. But he never did. He never forgot any of us.”

Artemis leaned against Charlie. He set an arm around her shoulders.

“They’re doing this for me,” she whispered.

“They want you to know him,” he said. “They want him to be more to you than vague moments and uncertainty.”

On and on the game went. Papa’s sons shared memories of their father. His daughters-in-law offered insights into the family, ranging from, “Keep headache powders on hand for use after spending an afternoon with them all,” to, “Anyone in the family can be teased by any other member, but insults and unkindness from the outside will not be permitted.”

Adam was called up to accept either a question or a command from Linus. The Dangerous Duke rose and joined his brother-in-law in the midst of the gathering. He stood stoic and stiff, as usual. Nothing in his expression gave the slightest indication he was happy to be participating, yet Artemis suspected he had agreed to this ahead of time.

“I have either a terribly personal question or a very embarrassing challenge,” Linus warned.

Adam let out a breath that sounded almost like a growl. “I will choose the forfeit: sharing a memory of someone in the room.”

Linus dipped his head and retook his seat. Adam looked over them all. “I prefer not to recount my memories of thecurrentLord Lampton.”

“You wound me, Brother Adam,” Philip called out.

“Careful,” Stanley tossed back, “or he truly will wound you.”

Artemis was absolutely certain she detected a bit of laughter behind Adam’s indomitable expression. “I mean to break with the pattern,” he said, “and share a memory of the dowager countess.”

Of Mater?

“I was only just eight years old. My father was somewhat newly buried, and my mother was, as always, traveling who knew where. I was very much alone in this world when Lord and Lady Jonquil invited me to Brier Hill to spend a few weeks with them.”

He turned and faced Mater, though she would already have known this story.

“It was, without question, the happiest interval I had passed since losing my father. In their home, I was wanted and accepted. They rebuilt beneath me the foundation that had crumbled when my father died. Lady Jonquil, as she was termed then, was a mother to me when I desperately needed one, and she continued to be long after most anyone else would have washed their hands of any obligation toward a child not their own. I have not—couldnot—adequately express to her how significant her role in my life has been. I fear I have repaid her importance to me with inexcusable inattentiveness.”

Mater rose and, a look of tender fondness on her face, moved directly to him.

He watched her with a look of mingled hope and heartbreak. “When my father died, the two of you saved me.” Adam took an audible breath. “When Lucas died, I should have flown here without hesitation. I should have been with you.”

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