Page 9 of Charming Artemis

“I hope you have a strategy in mind for keeping the peace between the two of you now that your paths are destined to cross regularly.” Sorrel looked away from the attendees and directly at him. “I am not saying you have to suddenly decide she is your favorite person, but the future Mr. and Mrs. Hughes ought not be made to either endure a feud for decades to come or choose between the two of you.”

Especially since Charlie wasn’t entirely certain he would be the one chosen.

“That is a theorem I have pondered quite a lot of late,” he said. “I will not be in London as often as Artemis will be. During the Season, she and her group of particular friends can spend every evening possible with Newton and Ellie. I’ll come down from Cambridge now and then when the Huntresses have retreated from Town. We would likely do best to keep the peace by avoiding each other.”

Sorrel didn’t laugh often, and when she did, it was quick and quiet and subtle. “I never will grow any less impressed by Artemis’s decision to call her group of friends the Huntresses. Such a brilliant nod to the mythological goddess she’s named for.”

“A fittingly arrogant nod as well,” Charlie said.

“Perhaps adamantly avoiding each other really is your best strategy,” Sorrel said.

Charlie tapped a finger against his temple. “I’m an intellectual, you know.”

Sorrel leaned a bit closer to him. “Philip brags to anyone and everyone how he will have a brother who is a don and destined to be legendary in the field of mathematics.”

Philip hadn’t said anything like that to him. “He’s not embarrassed that I’m choosing something so... sedate?”

Sorrel shook her head. “He enjoyed school, but he was never truly academic. He’s baffled by how intelligent you are.”

“Baffled because he can’t believe I’m not entirely bacon-brained?”

“Far from it,” she said. “He is impressed.”

One of the many things Charlie disliked about being the only one of his brothers with a bit of ginger to his hair and complexion was how easily and obviously he colored up. Escape was always best when he was turning red. “Would you like me to fetch you a glass of raspberry shrub?” he asked. “I understand the duchess’s recipe is considered the very best in London.”

“I would appreciate that, Charlie. Thank you.”

He was grateful for the excuse, but he was also pleased to be of use. The Jonquil family had not merely an heir and a spare, as the saying went, but an heir and six spares. He wasn’t often needed or helpful.

Careful to avoid Newton and Ellie on account of Artemis and her Huntresses gathered there, Charlie made his way around the room. A few people stopped him to offer greetings as he passed. Though he was not in London often, nor did he interact a great deal with theton, his family was well known and respected. They all looked enough alike that he would never be able to be in Society without being identified as one of them.

Toss cornered him briefly to suggest Charlie join the group he’d spent the past few sets with. If not for his promise to Sorrel, Charlie might have agreed. He didn’t dislike people or socializing. It was London’s ready acceptance of hypocrisy that bothered him.

At last, he managed to find a footman with a tray of glasses and obtained two. If Sorrel had been thirsty before, she would be parched now. Moving quickly but carefully, he wove through the crowd back in her direction. He did his best to keep an eye on the people around him and carefully evaluate the steadiness of the glasses of deep-red liquid in his hands. His family teased him endlessly about his tendency to find himself in unintentional scrapes. He wanted to believe he’d finally outgrown that, but his brothers certainly didn’t think so.

He dipped back around the outer edge of the room. It seemed the most logical place to find a clearer path. As he reached the open doors of the ballroom, someone jostled him. He firmed his grip on the crystal glasses, watching them with worry. He managed not to spill any.

Then someone else bumped into him with greater force than the first. The cups slipped in his hands. He fumbled with them, not wishing to see them break. That effort managed to save the glasses, but he could not save the contents... or his clothing. The deep-red raspberry shrub spilled all down his front.

“Blast it all,” he muttered.

“Adam says far worse with far less provocation.” Artemis. Of course.

He looked up from his red-stained jacket, waistcoat, and shirtsleeves directly at the one person who could actually make his current predicament worse than it already was. “I should have known you would be the one who knocked into me.”

“It was an accident.” An immediate note of annoyance filled her words. “One that might have been avoided if you had been watching where you were walking.”

“This is my fault, is it?” He motioned with an empty glass toward the unsalvageable state of his clothing.

“It was an accident.” She emphasized each word.

Could he not get through a single evening without being involved in a disaster?

He shoved the empty cups into her hands. “Pardon me, Miss Lancaster. I need to go address the consequences of youraccident.”

She followed him out of the room. “You are, without a doubt, the grumpiest person I’ve ever known, and that is not a designation I recommend one aspire to.”

“AndIdo not recommend aspiring to be the one person with whom even the most cordial of people grow grumpy.”

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