“He designed and helped build it,” Mrs. Giles said. “And he chose every plant and type of flower in there. That garden was important to him.”
Her father had claimed a corner of their family home, a spot that had been important to him. He’d seldom left his bookroom. He’d been very particular about it, allowing no one to upset his studies or focus while he was inside. She’d heard a bit about the late Earl of Lampton. He didn’t seem like the sort to neglect his family. Perhaps he had managed a balance between his passion for the garden and his family’s claim on his time.
Artemis made her way around the house with Mrs. Giles. It was not a large home, but it was well proportioned and pleasantly laid out. There was room enough for hosting guests, which gave Artemis some reassurance. She could easily move some things around and render the space even more enjoyable and efficient.
She particularly liked the detailed molding in every room and around every door. The little flowers and leaves carved there were repeated on the bannister leading up to the first floor. Small details like that imbued character without taking up needed space. Decorating a home was not terribly unlike creating an ensemble. It was about balance and attention to those characteristics that ought to be emphasized and celebrated.
The first-floor landing afforded a view of a great many doors. Artemis was introduced into each of the rooms beyond: a bookroom, three guest chambers, and a pleasant antechamber with one door in each direction.
“Mr. Jonquil’s bedchamber is through this door.” Mrs. Giles motioned to the one on the left. “And yours, Mrs. Jonquil, is through this door.” She indicated the one on the right. “Your abigail is inside already. Should you require anything, please do not hesitate to send her or tug the bell pull.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Giles.”
The housekeeper took her departure. Artemis stepped into the room that was now hers.
Rose was, indeed, inside, setting out Artemis’s brush and combs on a small dressing table. Seeing someone so familiar, someone whose loyalty and kindness she could count on, brought her such a feeling of relief.
“What do you think of your new domain?” she asked Rose.
“The house is small but well maintained and offers a remarkable view.” She motioned to the tall windows.
Artemis stepped to them and looked out on the mountains in the distance and the lovely grounds below. A person could do worse than awaken to that sight every morning.
Movement caught her eye, pulling her gaze toward the back corner of the grounds, to a wall made of stone that differed from that of the rest of the walls. A tall iron gate no wider than a single doorway sat open. Charlie was just then stepping out of it.
This, then, was his father’s garden. Charlie didn’t appear particularly lightened by the time he’d spent there. If anything, he lookedmorepensive. Worrying about his state of mind would do her little good. She would do better to focus on finding her footing.
“How is your room?” Artemis asked Rose. “I cannot imagine, in a house this small, that you have quite the space you did at Falstone Castle.”
“It is smaller, yes, but not unmanageable.” Rose slipped something into a drawer of the tallboy. “I spotted a room on the ground floor that is currently empty.”
Artemis had noted it herself. “Mrs. Giles says it once was a billiard room, though it is not used for that purpose now.”
“I would suggest its purpose might now be for our sewing and designing efforts,” Rose said. “There is room enough, yet the spot will not intrude on other pursuits.”
It was a good suggestion for utilizing the space. Had someone told her mere weeks earlier that she would have a room entirely devoted to designing, making, and refining clothes and ensembles, she would have been delighted. She found, though, in that moment, she could not summon her usual enthusiasm for the enterprise.
Pursuing any future in the area of fashion had always been a rather pointless dream. She couldn’t make anything of it, but she’d enjoyed indulging in it. She hadn’t the heart for it just then.
She took one last look out the window and down at her unexpected and unwanted husband slowly meandering his way back toward the house.
I’ll live my life. And I will leave him to live his.
The difficulty was, she no longer knew what her life was meant to be.
Chapter Nine
Charlie didn’t know what Artemiswanted out of life, but he doubted it was a forced marriage to someone she despised. He had given her time and space to adapt. And that time and space had grown and expanded until they hardly ever saw each other.
He had promised Mater he would try to make a success of this unlooked-for marriage. Perhaps he simply wasn’t trying hard enough. But then again, he had spent his entire life trying hard to do and be what he thought he ought and had fallen short far too often.
He passed the entirety of their fifth day at Brier Hill desperately searching for a way to spend time with his wife that was unlikely to lead to an argument or even greater resentment between them. The closest they’d come to a moment of lighthearted easiness the past weeks had been in the church moments before they’d been married. It had been a bit of absurdity, which had cracked a portion of the ice between them, and that, it seemed, was a good approach with Artemis. At least he hoped it was.
So that was what he decided on: a bit of absurdity, allowing for a moment’s lightheartedness, in the form of a breakfast in the small, circular sitting room that joined their bedchambers. They would have a bit of privacy, where she might feel safer to let down those walls the duke had told him never crumbled. And eating a meal not on a tray or in a room designated for that purpose was just odd enough that they would have a ready topic of conversation. She might find it an amusing lark. It had to work; he had no other ideas.
Early the next morning, Charlie made his way across the back grounds to his father’s garden. Climbing roses covered one entire section of wall, blooming with healthy abandon. Several tall trees sat at pleasant intervals, offering bits of shade in the midst of the sun-kissed garden. There was a single looped flagstone path with several narrow, pebbled paths jutting off, leading to quiet corners and carved stone benches. Alongside healthy green shrubs were flowers in dozens of varieties: lilies and snapdragons; forget-me-nots and fleur-de-lis; even rarer varieties, like love-in-a-mist and queen-of-the-meadow.
The family had often spent time at Brier Hill in the years before Father had died. Memories followed Charlie all over the estate, but none were stronger than those that filled this walled garden. He’d walked its looped path with his father daily when they’d been in residence. They’d talked, though Charlie didn’t remember many specifics of their conversations. He did, however, recall how very much his father had known about flowers and how much time he’d spent choosing which ones to pluck and take to Mater. He’d brought her flowers almost every day, whether at Brier Hill or Lampton Park.
