Chapter Eight
She was not up to the challenge of following Hadrian’s enthralling stories of the Orient. The afternoon had flown by on the wings of his tales. At times Artemis felt as if she’d been transported out of the rattling post chaise to the rail of a great ship rounding the Cape of Good Hope or a merchant’s godown listening to the patter of rain on the palm-frond roof. She fancied she could smell the tang of fresh cinnamon bark and gambier pepper, taste the elusive sweetness of a mangosteen.
Until today the thought of travel had not appealed to her in the least. She preferred familiar surroundings and experiences to novel ones, especially anything exotic. In her, familiarity had never bred contempt but rather a sense of order, continuity and safety. Anything foreign carried a whiff of danger.
Hadrian Northmore was unlike any man she’d ever met before and this marriage of theirs was foreign territory to her. She never knew what to expect. At every turn, she found her safe, familiar assumptions challenged. It kept her in an unwelcome state of turmoil. And yet she could not deny there was something curiously exhilarating about it, all the same.
Worried that his penetrating stare might probe her thoughts, she scrambled to divert him. “If you wish to be lulled to sleep, I can tell you how I have spent the past twenty years—caring for my brother and sister, doing needlework, playing the pianoforte, reading books, going to church. The only remotely exciting thing I’ve ever done was go up to London two summers ago for the coronation.”
“There you are, then,” said Hadrian. “A spectator of history. That is a story you can tell your grandchildren…I mean Lee’s children. Let us hear every grand detail.”
Was he mocking her? Artemis feared so, but she could not be certain. “It was a magnificent affair. His Majesty never does anything on less than a grand scale.”
When Hadrian continued to watch her expectantly, Artemis plundered her memory for something to tell him. “It was a very hot day. The Abbey was like a huge stone oven. The whole place was buzzing with rumors that Queen Caroline meant to force her way into the Abbey to be crowned, but she never did get in. Daphne and I were so proud to see our brother walking in the procession with the other peers.”
Her voice trailed off. She was making a miserable hash of it. When Hadrian had given an account of getting to shore through the roaring surf of India’s Coromandel Coast, she’d hung on his every word. But when she tried to relate the events of a splendid royal coronation, she made it sound so commonplace.
“Go on.” Hadrian seemed more interested than her story warranted. “There must have been more to it than that.”
“There was a banquet afterward. I never smelled so much delicious food in my life.”
“How did it taste?”
Artemis gave a sour chuckle. “You would have to ask one of the gentlemen who fell on it like a herd of starving swine, while we famished ladies could only watch from the balconies. Between the heat, fatigue and hunger, I was afraid poor Daphne would swoon.”
“What about you?” Hadrian demanded. “Were you not tired, hot and hungry, too?”
It was clear he considered her sister a pampered little tyrant, the way some people accused Lee of being spoilt. Could nobody understand how much she loved them both? She’d tried so hard to make up for the great losses in their lives, always afraid she would fail them.
“Those were minor deprivations I could easily bear. My sister felt things more keenly, both good and bad. After all that has happened, I know you must think very ill of my sister. But if you’d ever met her, I do not believe you could have resisted her charm.” Artemis nuzzled her cheek against Lee’s tousled curls as she held Hadrian’s remorseless gray gaze, willing him to relent. “Any more than you can resist your nephew’s. He has her smile, her laugh, her eagerness.”
“And his penchant for trouble?” The granite severity in Hadrian’s eyes softened. “Did he inherit that from his mother, too?”
Part of Artemis wanted to rap out a defensive reply, but somehow she did not feel the need to protect her sister and brother so fiercely from Hadrian. She only wanted to make him understand.
“I must admit Lee comes by his recklessness honestly. But not from his mother alone. I believe he inherited an ample measure from my brother…and yours.”
For the first time in many months, Artemis thought of Julian Northmore with something other than soul-gnawing revulsion. How could she continue to hate the young man when his blood ran in her beloved Lee?
Was Hadrian entertaining the same sort of thoughts about Daphne? With all her heart, Artemis hoped so.
Part of Hadrian wished he could continue to despise the young woman whose thoughtlessness had nearly put an end to his family. But, as Artemis had reminded him, it was thanks to her sister he still had his nephew to carry on the Northmore name and see through his plans for the future.
And if he could not hate Daphne, how could he bear any ill will toward Artemis? She was guilty of nothing more than loyalty and devotion to her family, virtues he’d long held in the highest regard.
For the next two days, as they journeyed north through the Vale of York and into his native County Durham, those thoughts did battle with Hadrian’s anger and pride. In spite of his conflicted feelings, he took great pains to be agreeable to Artemis, and he sensed she was doing the same. Were her efforts all for the child’s sake or was she also trying to make amends for deceiving and insulting him?
Whatever her reasons, the result was the same—Lee remained cheerful and content, delighting in their efforts to entertain him. Artemis prevailed upon Hadrian to tell more stories of his experiences abroad, while he managed to coax forth a few recollections about her life at Bramberley. Those accounts usually featured her late brother and sister, with Artemis an admiring observer in the background. To Hadrian’s ears, her every word rang with abiding love for Leander and Daphne.
Whoever was to blame for the tragic strife between their families, Hadrian could not deny her loss had been heavier than his. And not only because she’d lost two family members to his one. She grieved a brother and sister she’d known and loved well. Part of him wished he could mourn his brother that way, but it had been a great many years since he’d last set eyes on Julian. Apart from their ties of blood, his departed brother had been little better than a stranger.
On learning of Julian’s death, Hadrian had feared the extinction of his family, lamented the failure of a vow and mourned the end of a dream. But he had not been ravaged by the intense, personal bereavement he’d experienced twice before and had sworn never to suffer again.
Artemis had.
Was it any wonder she’d been wary and hostile toward him? Or that she’d been willing to do anything to hold on to the child who bore her brother’s name and her sister’s likeness?
That child now nestled on her lap. The rhythmic buzz of his slumbering breath filled the silence inside the darkened carriage as it sped through the moonlit countryside. This was the first night they’d driven on after stopping to eat dinner and change horses. Hadrian was determined to sleep under his own roof tonight, free from the prospect of more miles to travel the next morning.
“Have we much farther to go?” Artemis echoed his thoughts in a voice faint with weariness.
A pang of guilt struck Hadrian as he remembered what she’d said at the beginning of her journey about Lee being cold, tired, cramped and bored. Had she suffered all those vexations, but been too proud to complain on her own account? Or had she thought he would not care?
Glancing out the window, he recognized the shape of old St. Oswin’s church. An unexpected embrace of homecoming swiftly vanished into a bottomless pit of loss. “Only another mile.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “Before we get there, I have something to say.”
His sense of fairness demanded he speak. And he must do it now, while the darkness veiled her reproachful gaze.
Though Artemis made no reply, he sensed a guarded stiffness in her posture as if she expected his words to be disagreeable. After the way he’d behaved, could he blame her?
“I reckon we got off on the wrong foot, you and me.” Those words were hard to say. Yet each one he forced out seemed to lift a heavy stone from his chest. “I don’t know if you can understand. I came home from Singapore a week ago, expecting to see my brother again after a long separation. Instead I was told he’d been dead for more than a year. To you and everyone else, it must have seemed like ancient history. But to me it was as if Julian had just been killed that day. And the people responsible were beyond my power to reckon with. All except you…and me. I see now that I took out my anger on the wrong one of us.”
“I understand better than you suppose.” The voice issuing from the shadows scarcely sounded like hers. “You had too little time to come to terms with what had happened. I had too much. For months, I’d been so anxious and angry, with no one on whom I dared vent those feelings. When you came along, threatening to take Lee away from me, I felt justified in heaping accusations and insults upon you, regardless of whether there was any truth in them.”
Her admission staggered Hadrian. He thought she’d had plenty of time to accept what had happened and carry on with her life. Recalling his past experiences with grief, he realized that had been a heartless assumption.
“Do you reckon we can put all that behind us and begin our acquaintance again with a clean slate?”
“Perhaps.” She sounded doubtful. “Does that mean you no longer believe I used Lee to secure my own comfort? I know I was wrong to mislead you about my family’s circumstances, but I swear I did not wed you for your fortune. All I’ve ever wanted is to care for Lee and keep him with me. Hold me responsible for Julian’s death if you must, but I cannot bear to have you doubt my affection for his son!”
She fairly radiated passionate maternal devotion. Hadrian might have congratulated himself for breaking through her secretive reserve, except that it made Artemis even more dangerously appealing.
“I do not doubt it,” he muttered, galled to admit he’d been wrong yet again. “Not anymore. I’ve watched you with the lad ever since we set out on this journey. I’ve seen the way you hold him and talk to him, the way you know what he wants even though he cannot tell you. And I’ve seen how he responds to you. Those are not things that can be playacted.”
“Indeed they cannot,” replied Artemis in a voice choked with relief. A featherlight touch on his sleeve trailed downward until her hand came to rest upon his. “Thank you for being willing to keep an open mind about me.”
“You needn’t sound so surprised. I’m a fair man and I treat people as I find them.” Hadrian fought the urge to raise her hand to his lips, fearing she might misunderstand the gesture. “Is it too much to ask that you keep an open mind about me, as well? Or are you someone who trusts their first impressions absolutely and refuses to alter them on any account?”
She pulled her hand back, as if his touch scalded her fingers. “If I did that, I would be very foolish indeed. Even with someone I thought I knew well, I have been deceived.”
Who had deceived her—a man she’d cared for? Hadrian was not prepared for the flare of protective indignation that blazed within him. Was that part of the reason she’d resented and mistrusted him? Not only because of the tragic conflict between their families and the way he’d treated her?
His desire to know her better intensified. Next winter he would return to Singapore, leaving her to raise the child on whom all his future hopes depended. He needed to be certain he could trust her.
Where was she?
Artemis woke with a violent start the next morning from a dream-riddled sleep. The moment she felt Lee’s warm, sturdy little body beside her, the worst of her alarm faded. As long as he was nearby, safe and happy, it did not matter much where they were.
As that thought calmed her, memories of the previous night flooded back. Their late arrival—servants scrambling about in their nightclothes fetching baggage, lighting candles, warming beds. Someone had tried to take Lee, but Artemis insisted on keeping him with her for the first night in a strange place. As much for her sake as for his.
Then another memory ambushed her. It felt more imagined than real—words swirling around in the darkness, then one brief but significant touch. Yet she could not dismiss it as a dream. She had spoken to Hadrian of the most painful humiliation of her life. It had been only a passing reference, but that was more than she’d ever confided in anyone else, even her dearest Daphne. What had possessed her to speak of it to Hadrian Northmore?
He might be her husband in name, but in fact he was a virtual stranger she’d known for barely a week. A man who had uprooted her from everything familiar to drag her the length of England. She had promised to make a fresh start on their acquaintance, but that did not mean she was prepared to tell him her most intimate secrets.
To divert herself from those distressing thoughts, Artemis nuzzled her nephew’s ear. “What do you think of this place, Lee?”
She swept a glance around the spacious, handsomely appointed bedchamber. “It is a far cry from the little seaside cottage I had in mind for us. I miss Bramberley’s fine old wood paneling, but I must admit this flower-sprigged wallpaper is quite cheerful to wake up to. Don’t tell anyone I said so, will you?”
Lee chuckled as if he understood.
Artemis sat up and stretched. “Are you as hungry as I am? I believe I smell coffee and bacon. Let’s get dressed and go find some breakfast.”
As she rifled through her trunk in search of clean clothes for them both, her hand passed over the smooth old woodand-brass fittings in a homesick caress. Once she and Lee were decently attired, she took him by the hand and ventured forth into the strange house that was to be their home.
It did not take long to locate the wide main staircase and descend to the lower floor. As Artemis peeped into a large room near the entry hall, a middle-aged woman standing inside turned toward her.
“Good morning, ma’am.” The woman made an impeccable curtsy, but her dark eyes flicked over Artemis and Lee with cool disapproval. “We met for a moment last night when you arrived. I am the housekeeper, Mrs. Matlock. I trust your quarters met with your satisfaction?”
“Indeed they did,” replied Artemis, acutely conscious that the housekeeper was better dressed than she. “Is Mr. Northmore up yet?”
“For hours.” It was clear from her tone that the housekeeper approved of early risers. “He wanted to make certain the house was in good order for you and the child.”
Something about the way Mrs. Matlock said “the child” affronted Artemis. Did the woman disapprove of Lee’s illegitimate birth? It was not something the poor little creature could help.
Hoisting him into her arms, she answered in a tone of icy courtesy. “Everything I’ve seen so far has been quite satisfactory. Now, if you will excuse us we are in rather urgent need of some breakfast.”
“I will not detain you any longer, ma’am.” The housekeeper beckoned a young maidservant. “Mr. Northmore instructed me to engage a nursery staff for the child. In the meantime, Cassie can take charge of him. She is the eldest of a large family and has a great deal of experience minding young children.”
“But—”
Before Artemis could protest, the girl gathered Lee from her arms. “Isn’t he a handsome wee lad? How old is he, then?”
Artemis could not resist sincere words of praise for her darling boy. “He turned a year not long ago.”
“He’s a fine size for his age. Our Isaac is three months older and not near so big. Can he walk yet?”
“Cassie—” Mrs. Matlock interrupted before Artemis could reply “—the mistress wants her breakfast. She hasn’t time to listen to tattle about your family. Fetch the child to the nursery and feed him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl whisked Lee away, cooing over him, while he did not make a speck of fuss at being separated from his aunt.
Mrs. Matlock turned to address Artemis. “After you’ve eaten, the local seamstress will be coming to measure you for some new clothes.”
“I have a perfectly adequate wardrobe, thank you.” Artemis strove to maintain her dignity.
Was this how she would be treated while she lived under Hadrian’s roof, as a mere cipher in her nephew’s life? That was not the bargain she’d intended to make.
“Master’s orders,” replied the housekeeper as if that were the final word on the subject.
Artemis was determined it would not be. “Where can I find my husband, pray? There are some matters I wish to discuss with him.”
His decree that she must have new clothes, to begin with. And the notion of Lee being brought up by a nursery staff. If he no longer believed she was a fortune hunter, as he’d claimed, why did he insist on treating her like one?
“The master has gone out.” Mrs. Matlock no longer sounded quite so certain of herself.
“Did he say where?”
“He did not, but I saw him walking down the lane. He may have wanted a bit of fresh air after your long journey.”
“I could do with a breath of air myself.” And a little privacy. If she was going to raise her objections to their domestic arrangements, Artemis preferred not to have the servants overhear. “Kindly have someone fetch my wrap and bonnet.”
“But your breakfast, ma’am?”
Though the savory aroma of fried bacon made her mouth water, Artemis reminded herself there were more important things than food. “I will eat when I return. A bit of exercise will whet my appetite.”
A short while later, as she headed down the winding, tree-lined lane, Artemis struggled to reconcile her present mood with the promise she had made Hadrian last night. Was she putting the past behind them and endeavoring to make a fresh start?
This had nothing to do with Julian, Daphne and Leander, she told herself. The problem was Hadrian’s forceful, managing manner, which he’d demonstrated so often since they’d met—arranging everything to suit himself without a thought for anyone else. His ambition and industry made a welcome change from her indolent uncles, but could he not have consulted her before making plans that affected her and Lee?
Coming to the end of the lane, where it opened onto a narrow road, Artemis scanned the vicinity for a glimpse of Hadrian. All she saw was a boot print in the damp earth heading southward. Her growling stomach urged her to return to the house but she could not bear to face Hadrian’s housekeeper without having spoken to him.
A brisk ten-minute walk brought her to a squat stone church that looked even older than the one back in Sussex where she and Hadrian had been married. Having seen no further sign of Hadrian, she was about to turn back when she heard the deep rumble of his voice from behind an old yew tree in a churchyard.
Was he talking to the local vicar, perhaps about having Lee christened with a new name that he would find less objectionable? It was just the sort of high-handed behavior Artemis had come to expect from him.
As she drew nearer, preparing to confront Hadrian, she was able to make out his words.
“What were you thinking,” he asked, “landing yourself in that kind of trouble? Did I not tell you often enough we owed a duty to the others? Everything else should have come second to that. I worked my heart out to keep up my end, but you threw it all away.”
Artemis could see him now, standing among the gravestones with his back to her. But she could not see the person he was talking to. Baffled, she stumbled to a stop.
Hadrian must not have heard her approach, for he kept talking. “Was that my fault? Did I ruin your character with too much money and too little attention, like Artemis said?”
It brought her the most ridiculous jolt of pleasure to hear Hadrian speak her name. Then she realized he must be speaking to his dead brother.
“Perhaps I should have brought you out to India where I could have kept an eye on you. But I’d made a fresh start and I didn’t want you there to remind me of the past.”
His voice sounded so different. Not stern and masterful, but laden with anguished regret. It was the voice of a man who might need a woman’s comfort and support. It called forth something fundamental to her nature.
Yet Artemis knew she should not be there. She was trespassing on Hadrian’s most intimate thoughts. She could not have borne it if he’d overheard some of the words she’d spoken over Leander and Daphne’s graves. Things she had never been able to say to her brother and sister while they were alive.
As she took one quiet step backward then another, Artemis tried to block out what Hadrian was saying.
“Pa, I hope you can forgive me for failing Julian and you and the lads. I have one more chance to make it right and I won’t fail you again, I swear it.”
In her haste to steal away, Artemis brought her foot down on a fallen twig. It snapped with a report that rang out like a pistol shot.
Hadrian spun about to confront whoever had dared intrude upon this deeply private moment. His eyes blazed when they fell upon her. “What are you doing here? Did you come to spy on me? Did you think you might hear something to your advantage?”
“No!” Caution urged her not to get too close to Hadrian, but something stronger drew her toward him. “Please, I didn’t mean to…”
As she moved toward him, her gaze fell upon the inscription carved on the gravestone before which he stood.
Killed in the Fellbank Colliery Explosion
24th May 1808
William Northmore ae 39 yrs
Augustus Northmore ae 14 yrs
Marcus Northmore ae 11 yrs
Titus Northmore ae 9 yrs
Quentin Northmore ae 8 yrs
“Is this—” the question was wrenched out of her, though she had no doubt of the answer “—was this your family?”