Duke of Midnight

Chapter Five

King Herla was married a fortnight later, and a grand affair it was indeed. One hundred trumpets blared the news from the castle rooftops, a parade of dancing lasses led the procession, and the feast that followed became one of legend. Princes and kings journeyed from all corners of the earth to witness the nuptials, yet none compared to the Dwarf King. He arrived with his retinue, all dressed in fairy finery, riding on goats, and bearing a great golden horn filled with rubies and emeralds as a wedding gift.…

—from The Legend of the Herla King

Artemis had long ago come to terms with her life and her fate. She was an acolyte, a handmaiden subject to the whims of her cousin. Her life was not her own. What might have been—what she had once dreamed of so long ago, late at night in a young girl’s bed—would never be.

That was simply how it was.

So there was no percentage in watching that afternoon as the Duke of Wakefield tucked Penelope’s hand into the bend of his elbow and led her from the dining room where they’d all just partaken of luncheon. His head was bent solicitously toward Penelope’s, dark to dark. They made a lovely couple. Artemis couldn’t help wondering if, when they were married, he’d ever let his wife know that he liked to walk his woods as the dawn lit the sky. Would he tell her the silly story about the Moon Maiden’s tower?

She looked at her hands, twisted together at her waist. Petty, jealous feelings weren’t for women such as she.

“I’m so glad you came!” Lady Phoebe Batten interrupted her thoughts by linking arms and said in a lower voice, “Maximus’s guests are so very ancient.”

Artemis glanced down at the other woman as they strolled from the dining room. Phoebe wore her light brown hair pulled back from her softly rounded face and the sky blue of her gown set off her pink cheeks and large brown eyes. Had Phoebe been allowed a coming out, Artemis had no doubt she would’ve been one of the most popular of the young ladies in society—not for her looks, but rather for her kind disposition. It was quite impossible not to love Phoebe Batten.

But Phoebe had an unbreakable fate just as Artemis did: her near blindness had kept her from the usual balls, soirees, and courting a lady of her rank and privilege should’ve had by right.

Sometimes Artemis wondered if Phoebe was as sanguine about her situation as she was with hers.

“Penelope is closer in age to you than me,” she pointed out as they neared the doors to the south terrace. Most of the guests had decided to stroll the garden after luncheon. “Watch the step here.”

Phoebe nodded in thanks, carefully placing her slipper-clad foot on the marble step. “Well, but Penelope hardly counts, does she?”

Artemis threw her companion a quick, amused glance. She wasn’t used to Penelope being the one disregarded between the two of them. “What do you mean?”

Phoebe squeezed her arm and lifted her face to the bright sunshine outside. “She’s nice enough, but she has no interest in me.”

“That’s not true,” Artemis said in shock.

Phoebe gave her a world-weary look that certainly did not belong on her girlish face. “She pays attention to me only when it occurs to her that it might help her campaign for Maximus.”

There wasn’t much to say about that since it was uncomfortably true. “Then she’s more foolish than I thought her.”

Phoebe grinned. “And that’s why I’m so glad you’re here.”

Artemis felt her lips lift. “Here are the steps down to the garden.”

“Mmm. I can smell the roses.”

Phoebe turned her head toward a trellised rose a few yards away. Unlike the rest of the primly pristine garden, the rose was rather wild and weedy looking, more suited to a cottage garden than a formal one. There was no reason for it to be here… except for the near-blind girl beside her, happily scenting the air.

“Can you see anything?” Artemis asked low.

The question was so intimate it verged on the rude, but Phoebe merely tilted her head. “I can see the blue sky and the green of the garden. I can see the shape of the rose bushes over there—but the individual flowers are lost to me.” She turned to Artemis. “I’m much better in bright light. For instance, I can see that you’re frowning at me right now.”

Artemis hastily put a more pleasant expression on her face. “I’m glad. I’d thought that you’d lost more.”

“Indoors and at night I have,” Phoebe replied matter-of-factly.

Artemis hummed to show that she’d heard. They started down one of the graveled garden paths. She’d bypassed the garden in favor of the woods this morning. Now she found it pleasant to meander in the afternoon sunshine—though of course she was properly gloved and bonneted.

A peal of laughter turned heads.

“Lady Penelope?” Phoebe asked, leaning close to Artemis.

“Yes.” Artemis watched as Penelope tapped Wakefield flirtatiously on the arm. He was smiling down at her. “She’s getting on well with your brother.”

“Is she?” Phoebe asked.

Artemis glanced at Phoebe, wondering. Phoebe had made it plain in the past that she didn’t think Penelope the best choice for her brother, but of course she had no say in the matter. Was Phoebe worried that she’d have to move out of her brother’s house if Penelope married Wakefield?

“Here’s Miss Picklewood,” Artemis told her companion as they approached two ladies. “She’s in conversation with Mrs. Jellett.”

“Oh, Phoebe, dear,” Miss Picklewood called. “I was just telling Mrs. Jellett that you’re the one who manages the garden.”

Phoebe smiled. “I only maintain the garden. Mother was the original designer.”

“Then she had quite an artistic hand,” Mrs. Jellett said promptly. “I do envy you the space you have to work with. My Mr. Jellett left me only a small garden at our country house. Now can you tell me what this elegant flower is? I don’t remember ever seeing the like.”

Artemis watched as Phoebe bent and felt the flower before giving a quite academic lecture about the plant, its origin, and how it had come to be growing here at Pelham. Artemis was a bit bemused. She hadn’t known her friend was so interested in gardening.

A wet nose thrust itself into her hand and at the same time Miss Picklewood chuckled. “Percy seems quite taken with you. Usually he never leaves Maximus’s side.”

Artemis glanced down at the hunting spaniel’s adoring brown eyes and ruffled his soft ears. She was surprised to see that Bon Bon was by the bigger dog’s side, pink tongue hanging out as he panted happily. She looked up. The duke was escorting Penelope on the far side of the garden. “Where’s Mignon?”

Miss Picklewood pointed to where the little spaniel was nosing under a boxwood. “She doesn’t much like the larger dogs, unlike Bon Bon.”

“Mmm.” Artemis crouched to give the little white dog a pat as well. “I haven’t seen him so active in years.”

“I must show Lady Noakes,” Mrs. Jellett was saying in a rather-too-loud voice. “She’s such a keen gardener, though she doesn’t often have the funds to indulge.” She tucked her chin into her neck and whispered, “Noakes gambles, you know.”

Miss Picklewood shook her head. “Gambling is such an evil.” She sent Mrs. Jellett a significant look. “Have you heard the story about Lord Pepperman?”

“No!”

Phoebe gave a small groan. “If you’ll excuse us, Cousin Bathilda, Mrs. Jellett, Artemis expressed a special interest in the espaliered apricot trees.”

Artemis dutifully took her friend’s arm and waited until they’d walked out of earshot before leaning close. “Espaliered apricots?”

Phoebe stuck her nose in the air. “Something everyone should take an interest in. Besides, I’m not sure I could take the Pepperman story again.”

A shrill whistle rent the air. Percy, who had been trotting along beside them, lifted his head alertly before racing to Wakefield’s side. Bon Bon scrambled on short little legs to keep up with his new friend.

Artemis watched the dogs go and found herself staring at the duke. He was looking in her direction, and even at this distance he was commanding, almost as if he were demanding something of her.

She felt light-headed.

Then Penelope tapped him on the arm and he turned to the other woman to smile and make some comment.

Artemis shivered despite the bright sunshine.

Phoebe bumped at her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Have you?” Artemis said distractedly. Wakefield and Penelope had met up with Lord and Lady Oddershaw, and even at this distance she recognized the slight stiffening of the duke’s shoulders. He seemed displeased by something Lord Oddershaw was saying.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if all the ladies from the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children went together to see the theater at Harte’s Folly?”

Artemis blinked and looked down at Phoebe. “That does sound lovely—I’m sure Penelope would like to attend. She likes any sort of public event, even if she doesn’t always follow the play.”

Phoebe smiled up at her. “And you, too, of course. You’re rather an honorary member, don’t you think? Since you attend the meetings with Penelope?”

“I suppose.” Artemis’s lips twisted wryly. She certainly would never be a real member since the Ladies’ Syndicate existed to help the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children in St. Giles. Money was a rather large prerequisite for becoming a member.

“Oh, do say you’ll come,” Phoebe said, hugging Artemis’s arm close. “They’re doing Twelfth Night with Robin Goodfellow playing Viola. She’s always so funny in her breeches roles. I quite love her low voice and the droll way she speaks her lines.”

Oh, Artemis thought with a pang. Phoebe probably couldn’t actually see the actors on the stage when she attended the theater. It would all be about the speeches of the actors for her.

“Of course I’ll come,” she said warmly to the younger woman.

“That’s settled, then,” Phoebe said with a little skip. “I’ll ask the other ladies if they can attend, too.”

Artemis felt the corner of her mouth curl at Phoebe’s infectious joy. They were nearing the end of the garden and a stone seat set against the wall, and Artemis now saw that a solitary figure sat there, gazing into the distance as if deep in thought.

“You know,” she said impulsively, “I’ve heard that Miss Royale is an heiress in her own right.”

Phoebe’s brows knit slightly. “Yes?”

Artemis squeezed her arm significantly. “There’s always room for one more member of the Ladies’ Syndicate.”

“Oh!” Phoebe said.

Artemis patted her arm and raised her voice just a bit. “And here’s Miss Royale.”

That lady swung her head around as if she hadn’t noticed their approach. “Good afternoon.” Her voice was low for a woman, her expression cautious.

Phoebe smiled innocently. “Are you enjoying the gardens, Miss Royale?”

“Why, yes, my lady,” Miss Royale replied. “Er… will you both join me?”

Her words were a trifle belated as Phoebe had already settled on one side of her while Artemis had taken the other.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said sweetly. “I was just telling Miss Greaves that I do hope all the ladies of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children can join me at Harte’s Folly when we return to town.”

Miss Royale blinked at this information, but politely replied, “I don’t believe I’ve heard of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.”