Page 36 of Win Me, My Lord (All’s Fair in Love and Racing #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LATER

P eckishness snapping at her from an afternoon of seeing to Little Lady’s myriad needs, Artemis thought she would quickly nip into the drawing room for a light repast. Rake and Gemma had arranged afternoon tea as an informal affair, with guests encouraged to serve themselves from the buffet and to come and go as they pleased.

This room was, in fact, Somerton’s loveliest drawing room, with its grand wall of windows that overlooked the formal gardens that extended from the back of the house, leading the eye out to verdant hills dotted with puffy white sheep beyond the ha-ha.

As the house was perched atop a slight rise, the view of both land and sky was magnificent.

When there was a sky worth beholding, that was, for a soggy blanket of clouds had descended upon the estate.

Not that Artemis minded all that much—or even noticed.

For though she walked on plush Aubusson carpets as she navigated the lavishly decorated room done in the Chinoiserie style so popular in the last century, she was, in truth, walking on air.

She had been for hours.

Even when picking burrs from Little Lady’s coat.

Even when combing muck from mane and tail.

Even when checking the little donkey’s teeth for spots of rot.

She touched fingertips to her mouth.

It still tingled.

And the exposed skin of her neck.

It did, too.

The kiss.

If the past could predict the future, then the kiss should have been expected.

Yet it hadn’t been.

In a large way, the kiss conjured a feeling of guilt.

Yes, Bran was the man he was now. But the man he had been … That man had suffered betrayal. Not directly from her—but because of her. And no matter that Mother had believed—and still did—she’d done right by her daughter, Bran had been wronged.

And Artemis couldn’t escape the feeling that she was wronging him again.

Yet this other part of her was able to put all those concerns aside and glide on air.

Was it possible that she could both have this last secret from their past and have him in the present?

She considered the vast assortment of delicacies arranged on the buffet—meats, cheeses, scones, biscuits, cakes. She only meant to take a few items—a biscuit and a slice of Stilton—but soon found her plate stacked with one of everything.

Well, why not?

Heavy plate held before her, she glanced around the room. It was mostly empty, save for a few servants who were tidying up and awaiting her signal for tea service. Artemis’s gaze caught upon a female figure settled beside the best window, completely engrossed in the book she was reading.

Lady Gwyneth.

She considered finding a different spot on the opposite side of the room and leaving Lady Gwyneth undisturbed, but her feet had different ideas. The thing was, Artemis wanted to know Lady Gwyneth a little better.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked, before taking a seat.

Lady Gwyneth’s golden eyes startled up and her smile promptly followed. “I would be delighted, Lady Artemis.”

Goodness, but Lady Gwyneth was a beauty, with her high cheekbones, rosebud mouth, and delicate skin. Further, the openness of her smile suggested she was a beauty within, too.

She closed her book and set it aside. Artemis noticed the title— Sense and Sensibility . “Are you an avid reader of Miss Austen’s books?”

Lady Gwyneth’s smile turned mildly sheepish and altogether charming.

“I am,” she said. “This is my third time reading Sense and Sensibility .” She became thoughtful.

“It was my favorite of Miss Austen’s books for years, but with this reading I must confess that I find that Miss Marianne Dashwood is trying my nerves. ”

“Is that so?” Artemis reached for a ginger biscuit. “I thought all young ladies were partial to Marianne.” She certainly had been so when she’d read the novel a decade ago.

Lady Gwyneth’s brow creased with the fervor of the newly converted.

“For most of the book, she’s a complete dunderhead who lacks all care for the practicalities of life.

” A sheepish laugh escaped her, and she shook her head.

“Listen to me go on about a fictional character as if she were a real person.”

Artemis smiled along with her. “Well, we spend hours with those characters when we read, don’t we? Characters become our intimates, in a way.”

Lady Gwyneth nodded, as if giving the matter her full consideration. A quality very like her brother. “That’s an interesting way of viewing it.”

Artemis found she very much liked Lady Gwyneth and understood Bran’s need to secure her future. “Are you excited about your London season next spring?”

In the blink of an eye, Lady Gwyneth’s entire demeanor changed from open to reserved. “I am.”

Artemis felt her eyebrows wanting to lift and somehow held them in place. But really, what was this?

“Actually …” Lady Gwyneth sat forward and lowered her voice. “I don’t care all that much about having a season.”

No longer would the lift of Artemis’s eyebrows be suppressed. “That is unexpected.”

It was as neutral an answer as she was capable of.

Bran was working to move heaven and earth in service to this dream, and Lady Gwyneth didn’t want it?

Some of what Artemis was feeling must have shown on her face, for Lady Gwyneth said hastily, “Really, it’s gone too far.

” She exhaled a delicate sigh. “I only made a fuss over not having a season because Stoke deserves it. When he finished squandering what little fortune Papa had, he set to work on my dowry. Probably took him all of the roll of a pair of dice.” Earnestly, she continued, “I never intended for Bran to become involved and take the responsibility on himself, for he is not to blame for our family’s reversal of fortune.

Far from it, in fact. Without the monies he sent home over the years, I likely would have starved, for all the care Stoke showed me. ”

“Forgive me, Lady Gwyneth, but I don’t understand.” Artemis shook her head. “Given those circumstances, why wouldn’t you want a season?”

A light blush pinked Lady Gwyneth’s cheeks. “There is a baron—Sir Charles Hadley—whose lands adjoin Stoke’s, and he’s offered for me.”

As Artemis was trying her best to appear impartial, she adopted a light, teasing tone. “According to Stoke, every eligible gentleman within fifty miles has offered for you.”

Lady Gwyneth’s blush deepened. “Unlike those other gentlemen, Charlie is of an age with me—fewer than ten years older—and I like him enormously.”

“Like?”

Lady Gwyneth’s gaze lowered as the blush crept down her neck. “We are in love, Lady Artemis.”

Now Artemis felt she could draw breath again. Mere liking was a little too pragmatic a reason for marriage for her comfort. Lady Gwyneth was young and vivacious and sensible. Why couldn’t she be both Marianne and Elinor?

“How wonderful for you, Lady Gwyneth,” said Artemis, sincerely. “I offer you my heartfelt congratulations.”

Lady Gwyneth smiled with the happiness of a young woman in love. “I’ll be telling Bran as soon as I find the right moment.”

Artemis couldn’t help but be impressed by how sweet and sensible Bran’s sister was.

Lady Gwyneth’s head tipped to the side. “You and Bran have a past, correct?”

Artemis startled, nearly spilling the tea she’d just lifted. “What gives you that idea?”

“You don’t speak to one another like the recently acquainted.”

Well.

Before Artemis could formulate a reply—neither recently nor acquainted correctly characterized her dealings with Bran—Lady Gwyneth continued. “The way you defended him against Stoke this morning?—”

“Oh, that was less defense than me speaking my mind,” interrupted Artemis. “I can get carried away.”

Lady Gwyneth nodded, but her eyes remained unconvinced. “I loathe it when Stoke speaks to him that way,” she said. “It eats at Stoke that Bran is the best of men. It always has.”

As Artemis swallowed against a suddenly tight throat, the edge of her eye noted a figure entering the room.

Lady Gwyneth’s gaze shifted to take in the new arrival.

A shocked gasp issued from her rosebud mouth, followed by a hurried arranging of her skirts.

Brow furrowed, Artemis’s gaze cut left, and the breath stopped in her lungs.

She blinked.

But, no, her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Mother had entered the drawing room.

Like that, the atmosphere transformed from one of ease and comfort into one of alertness and activity. Duchesses had that effect on a room—especially this duchess.

“Ah, Artemis,” said Mother, as she pointed herself in their direction. Somehow, the way she moved was both elegant and commanding. Mother yet held the power to transfix.

As Artemis came to her feet, she spared a glance for Lady Gwyneth, who looked no small bit awed.

“You should stand to greet the duchess,” she said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry.

It wasn’t a rule of the ton that one must stand to greet a duchess, but this interaction would go so much more smoothly if Lady Gwyneth stood to greet Mother.

Lady Gwyneth rose with all the grace and assuredness of a newborn filly.

“Mother,” said Artemis, once Mother had come within decorous speaking distance, “Rake’s house party wasn’t on your calendar.”

Mother gave a near imperceptible shrug. “I decided to come anyway. I can toss caution to the wind as well as anyone.”

Artemis elected to keep her own counsel regarding that last point.

Mother shifted her attention toward Lady Gwyneth. “And who are you, my dear?”

Lady Gwyneth opened her mouth, but words refused to issue forth.

Artemis understood. Mother could be a lot. “Mother,” she said, “may I introduce Lady Gwyneth Mallory to you?”

Mother’s eyes narrowed with the most minimal amount of crinkling. “ Mallory? ”

Artemis had been prepared for that response. “Her brother is the Earl of Stoke.”

“And her other brother is …”

Sudden heat burst through Artemis. “Lord Branwell Mallory.”

Mother gave a nod, as if confirming a point to herself. “Shall we sit for tea?”