“How fortunate for the ladies of London that I’m unlikely to be any lady’s matrimonial ‘problem.’” He wanted to believe it was possible, but he was not precisely a lucky person. Fate tended to laugh at him.
The sound of two very familiar voices pulled them to their feet. Ellie and Artemis stepped into the corridor, walking arm in arm toward them. Their appearance of happiness didn’t fade as they approached.
Ellie slipped free and rushed to Newton. They were immediately locked in an affectionate embrace.
“Charles.” Artemis greeted him in the same cold tone she always used when addressing him.
“Artie,” he answered back. She didn’t care for the nickname he’d fashioned for her when they’d last been in company together, which was why he used it. She, after all, knew he didn’t care to be called Charles, but she called him that more often than not.
She eyed him with subtle criticism. “I had hoped to see you dress with a bit more care than usual, considering this is such a significant occasion.”
“And I had hoped you would abandon your usual pretense of superiority, considering this is such a significant occasion.”
In a tone of theatrical innocence, she said, “But do you not realize, Mr. Jonquil... it is not a pretense.”
Charlie had, on a few occasions, seen glimpses of a very different Artemis hiding behind the performer’s mask she wore almost constantly. There was a lot about Artemis that he didn’t care for, but her constant deception was top of the list. Few things bothered him more than duplicity. She wasn’t a terrible person—he even enjoyed her company in small doses—but her fallacy could not be ignored.
“Miss Ellie must be pleased that you took time from your campaign of conquering thetonto acknowledge her happiness,” Charlie said.
“And your fellow dullards must be disappointed that you’ve left the echoing corridors of academic boredom to celebrate Newton’s happiness.” Though the words were anything but complimentary, she offered the observation in an overly sweet tone that rendered the criticism more obnoxious than hurtful.
Charlie held his hand out to her. “Shall we call a truce for the evening, Miss Lancaster?”
“For the sake of our friends,” she said. Artemis took his hand and shook it firmly. “I shall make avoiding you my most important goal for the evening.”
“It is already mine.”
With that agreement between them, they went their separate ways—Artemis remained in the vestibule awaiting the arrival of guests, and Charlie slipped into the still-empty ballroom to enjoy the momentary silence.
This was going to be a very long night.
* * *
Artemis had spent the entirety of every social gathering since before she’d made her entrance into Society looking for someone she couldn’t even describe. Though she’d crossed paths with him only five times in Heathbrook, her Papa, as she still thought of him, was, in some ways, quite clear to her: the kindness in his voice, the way he’d held her as if she were the most precious treasure, the nickname of Princess that he’d given her. But many things had grown vague or entirely absent in her memory. She remembered how soft the fabric of his coat and cravat were, but she could not recall any specifics of his clothing, whether he’d dressed in the first stare of fashion or in styles from an earlier era. He spoke much like her father had, proper and articulate, but she could not recall the sound of his voice. She remembered him being about her father’s age. Sometimes she imagined he’d had dark hair, like Persephone’s. Sometimes she was certain it had been golden, like hers.
Artemis had found, in fact, that her memories of him tended to take on the characteristics of people she knewnowwho had some qualities in common with the gentleman she remembered. If she met someone who was soft-spoken or thoughtful or particularly kind to children, their appearance began to melt into what she remembered of her Papa. She hadn’t the first idea which bits of the mismatched picture she had of him in her mind were actual memories and which were inventions of her imagination.
The one thing she recalled without the slightest doubt was that he’d loved her. He’d loved her. She knew, because he’d told her so. He’d said to her the words her own father had never once uttered. The five times she’d seen him had been idyllic and hope-filled encounters. Five days that had changed her life. Five moments in which a lonely and heartbroken little girl knew—absolutelyknew—she was loved.
He’d known her every time and had asked about things they’d spoken of the time before. She’d watched for him every week for two years before life had pulled her away from Shropshire to live with Persephone and Adam.
Now she watched for him all Season, during every visit back to her childhood home, at every house party, every roadside inn. He had been a grown gentleman when she’d encountered him, and he’d already had children. She assumed he would now be about the age her father would have been if he were still alive. She watched the faces of every person who remotely matched what little she knew of him, desperate to see a flash of recognition, a whispered “Princess.” She would never recognize him—the memories of such a young girl were too vague and broken—but she knew, she simply knew, he would remember and recognize her if ever he saw her again. She was depending on it.
Person after person passed by at the betrothal ball, offering their greetings and stepping into the ballroom. None of them spoke of Heathbrook or a lonely, little, green-eyed, golden-haired princess.
Plenty of the guests were known to her though: fickle admirers from Seasons past, gentlemen who saw her as a means to a fortune, hangers-on who hoped her clout in Society would add to theirs, petty gossip-mongers who spoke kindlytoher but viciouslyabouther behind her back. Every Season, she attracted a crowd but never the one person she wanted to see.
Nearly half an hour after the guests had begun to trickle in, Lord and Lady Lampton arrived in line. They were Charlie’s brother and sister-in-law, though she didn’t hold that against them.
“Do you suppose the earl has come to claim his feeble-minded brother and take him back home to the nursemaid?” she asked Ellie under her breath.
“Stop it,” Ellie whispered with a laugh. “Charlie is a fine person and an intelligent one, no matter your opinion.”
Artemis shrugged a shoulder and assumed an expression of innocent confusion. “If he is so clever, why is it he dislikes me?”
Newton clearly had to work to hold back a grin. Artemis truly liked Ellie’s beloved. He was a deeply good gentleman.
“Never you fear, Mr. Hughes,” she said. “I will not tell Mr. Jonquil that you agree with my assessment that he’s a bit bacon-brained.”
