Page 45 of Charming Artemis

A liveried footman handed her down. She stood a moment, breathing through her uncertainty. Artemis of myth was likely never nervous. She was a warrior goddess, captain of her own ship, determiner of her own fate. The Huntresses would be appalled if they could see how far short of her namesake’s legacy she was falling at the moment.

Charlie stepped up beside her. Artemis squared her shoulders. They were in this together.

“Are you ready to resume our roles?” he asked.

“I think we had best try.”

Almost mechanically, he offered her his arm. There was no real warmth in the gesture.

“If you don’t try to look a little happy,” she whispered, “they will never believe the ruse.”

She heard him push out a strained breath. A smile appeared on his face. It was not entirely believable, but it might do.

Artemis had vastly more experience pretending to feel at ease in situations where she knew she was not wanted or welcome. She wrapped that protective cloak around her as she’d done many times before and walked at his side into the lion’s den.

Whenever she’d imagined herself married and visiting her husband’s family, she’d pictured herself a welcome part of that family. She’d imagined gaining a father and mother who loved and cherished her, siblings who considered her one of them. Instead, she was arriving as the enemy. All the playacting in the world wasn’t likely to actually change that.

The butler and housekeeper received them cordially and formally. They were offered the option of either retiring and resting from their journey or joining the earl and countess in the drawing room. Charlie deferred to Artemis.

“I should like to greet our hosts,” she said, not because it was necessarily the better or more proper choice but because she worried she’d lose her nerve otherwise. She was meant to be Artemis, diamond of Society, intimidated by no one and nothing.

They were led there, no matter that Charlie knew perfectly well where the drawing room was. It was a strong reminder that they were guests. On his own, he likely would have been welcomed as family.

At the drawing room door, the butler announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Charles Jonquil.”

Charlie groaned quietly, almost a sigh of disgust. Whether he objected more to being called Charles, a version of his name she knew from experience he disliked or from hearing her so intrinsically tied to him, she wasn’t certain.

Please don’t abandon me now, Charlie.

The earl, turned out in colorful and dramatic fashion as always, rose at their entrance. The countess did not, though she greeted them.

“You’ve arrived without murdering one another.” Lord Lampton eyed them both. “Perhaps Holy Harry’s been praying for a miracle.”

“Who is Holy Harry?” Artemis asked.

Lord Lampton’s expression turned to one of theatrical worry. “Has he not mentioned that he has brothers?”

She could play along. She would enjoy it, in fact. “Brothers?” She pressed a hand to her heart, settling her features in a look of surprised confusion. She turned to Charlie. “Do you have brothers?”

A bit of color touched in his cheeks. “Holy Harry is my brother Harold, though he does not particularly care for that nickname, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She nodded. “Any other warnings I ought to heed?”

“Don’t listen to a word Philip says.”

For that bit of cheek, his older brother gave him a shove and received one in return. There was something painfully poignant about seeing such easy familiarity between them. Though her family loved each other, they were never this at ease. At leastshewasn’t. Even amongst her siblings, she kept herself safely tucked away.

She diverted her gaze, needing a moment to regain her composure. Her eyes fell on a large family portrait above the fireplace. The subjects were easy to identify. Lord Lampton, though likely at least ten years younger in the portrait and far less brightly dressed than he was now, looked too much like himself to be confused for anyone else. The dowager countess was easily recognized. The little boy with the ginger hair was utterly unmistakable.

The gentleman sitting amongst this large family drew her attention. His friendly expression and the smile in his eyes was familiar. She’d thought so when she’d been at Lampton Park for the house party a couple of years earlier. He looked a great deal like his sons. Shockingly so, in fact. Anyone who knew them would feel instantly as though they’d known him.

“Where are the children?” Charlie asked his brother. “I’ve come to seethem, you realize. The rest of you aren’t terribly important.”

“Not important?” Philip eyed him with overblown shock. “How can anyone wearing a waistcoat of hand-embroidered yellow silk beneath a perfectly tailored coat of deepest purple be considered anything but absolutely crucial? I fear you must be unwell from your journey.” He looked to his wife. “Sorrel, have Dr. Scorseby sent for at once. Charlie is clearly delirious with some horrific illness.”

“You are going to be impossible while your brothers are here, aren’t you?” Lady Lampton said with a sigh.

“Not ‘impossible,’ dear. Utterly irresistible.”

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