Chapter Fourteen
“Hadrian!” Artemis ran into her husband’s study, as she never would have dared into her uncles’ library, her voice louder than had ever been permissible at Bramberley. “Mrs. Matlock just brought me the post.”
Evidently the housekeeper had delivered his correspondence, too. The moment Artemis appeared, he thrust three letters into the top drawer of his writing table and pushed it shut.
“They’re coming!” She fluttered her letter under his nose. “Lord and Lady Kingsfold and all her family. Her ladyship wrote the most gracious reply, accepting our invitation. I never expected to hear from her so soon.”
For a moment he looked preoccupied, as if his mind were elsewhere. Then a silvery twinkle lit his gray eyes. “Splendid!”
He rose from the writing table, scooped her into his arms and twirled her around. “Well done, pet!”
It lasted only a few seconds, but to Artemis it seemed longer, though not half as long as she would have liked. She felt as if she were flying—weightless and carefree. But all too soon her feet hit the floor again, and her soaring spirits with them.
It had been over a week since Hadrian had truly made her his wife. But since then, though he’d been kind and attentive, he had not visited her bedchamber again. Warmly as she would have welcomed him, Artemis could not bring herself to beg for his company. Instead, she savored this fleeting moment in his arms, hoping it might lead to something more.
They were both breathing fast when they came to a stop. Hadrian still clasped Artemis around the waist, while she clung to his shoulders. He leaned closer, until she was lost in the impenetrable gray mist of his eyes. Her lips parted. She trembled in anticipation of his kiss.
Instead he let her go and stepped back so abruptly that she almost pitched to the floor.
“We have preparations to make.” Hadrian spoke in a tone of false heartiness. “When did you invite our guests to come?”
Artemis struggled to master her voice and her sickening disappointment. “I suggested several possible dates and let Lady Kingsfold choose. She writes that they can come three weeks from now and stay for at least a fortnight.”
“Perfect.” Hadrian backed toward his writing table. “That will give us time to order provisions, and get the old nursery converted into proper guest quarters. I was thinking, perhaps we could invite Ford’s old friend, Blade Maxwell, too. Blade was in Singapore during the very early days and used to stop by our godown most evenings for a drink. I’d like to see him again. He was always good company.”
That gave Artemis an idea. “Is Mr. Maxwell a single gentleman? We could use one. Otherwise poor Susannah Penrose may feel like a complete gooseberry with three married couples.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Hadrian shook his head. “I’m afraid Blade will not suit your purpose. I heard he got married upon returning to England. He is now the Earl of Launceton.”
“Oh.” A brief pang of disappointment gave birth to a new possibility. “Then would you mind if I invite someone? If I can persuade him to come, I believe he would be an ideal addition to our house party.”
“By all means,” said Hadrian. “Who are you thinking of?”
“Jasper, Viscount Ashbury. I mentioned him to you once. He is a cousin of mine on my mother’s side.”
Hadrian chuckled. “Everyone of consequence in this country is a cousin of yours. Tell me, what makes Viscount Ashbury such an ideal guest?”
“Cousin Jasper is a Member of Parliament and a devoted abolitionist. He is something of a black sheep in our family on account of his radical Whig politics. I believe he would be as outraged as I was to hear how the mining industry employs young children. If we were to gain his support, Jasper might begin the work you intended Julian to undertake in Parliament.”
That would remove the full weight of responsibility from Lee’s small shoulders. Then perhaps Hadrian could begin to see their nephew for what he was—a little boy who needed a father’s love.
“You truly care about this cause.” Hadrian regarded her with a look of genuine admiration. “Perhaps if Julian had been raised by someone like you, he might have come to understand and care about the mission I wanted him to fulfill.”
Was that all she meant to him, Artemis wondered, a useful tool to further his plans?
“I have another reason for wanting to invite my cousin,” she explained. “For all his fiery oratory in the Commons, Jasper has always been painfully awkward with women. A vivacious girl like Susannah Penrose might be just the sort to draw him out.”
“Matchmaking, are you?” Hadrian shot her a teasing grin that lofted her spirits to dizzying heights. “That can be a dangerous occupation.”
Could anything be more dangerous, Artemis wondered, than losing her heart to a husband who might not want it?
With preparations to make for their house party, the summer days flew by faster than ever. While Artemis ordered supplies and planned menus, Hadrian drew up plans for a northern office of Vindicara. He wanted to be ready with facts and figures to discuss the venture with Ford. He also prepared for the discussion he hoped to have with Viscount Ashbury, gathering information on the numbers and ages of children employed in local mines.
A week before their guests were due to arrive, he met one afternoon with a pair of earnest young Methodists who were endeavoring to establish Sabbath schools in several mining villages. It was difficult to judge who left the meeting happier—the young men who received a generous endowment to assist with their work, or Hadrian who gave them the money. Bringing an end to the practice of employing children underground would be as long and difficult a task in its way as dragging those heavy-laden corves up from the coalface. Yet it heartened him to take this first small step.
He could hardly wait to tell Artemis about it over dinner. He knew she would share his enthusiasm. With a spring in his step, he bounded up the stairs and strode toward his bedchamber where he would wash up before dinner.
The nursery door stood ajar and as he passed it, the sweet gurgle of his nephew’s laughter wafted out. Lured by the sound, Hadrian approached quietly and peeped inside.
A porcelain bath basin sat on the floor, while Artemis knelt beside it cuddling their nephew. His small, plump body was swathed in towels, his skin bright pink and his wet hair a mass of soft curls. He laughed with giddy glee as his aunt kissed him again and again and blew raspberries against his cheeks.
Artemis was laughing, too. Not her usual self-conscious chuckle, but a warm, hearty gush of laughter.
“You are a silly goose, Lee Northmore.” She jiggled him in her arms, rubbing her nose against his. “A silly goose without a bill or a single feather. But you love to splash in the water, don’t you, my sweet little goosie?”
Lee squealed and giggled uncontrollably.
An almost forgotten brooding sensation swelled in Hadrian’s heart as he watched them. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen Margaret holding their infant daughter. That memory revived a host of buried regrets and fears.
He tried to steal away unnoticed. But when he stepped back, one of the floorboards betrayed him with a loud creak. Artemis glanced up and spied him. With a grimace of embarrassment, she hid her face in Lee’s towels.
Before Hadrian could retreat farther, she scrambled up from the floor and approached him, carrying the child. “Look, Lee. Uncle Hadrian has come to see you. Poor child, how old will you be before you can say our names properly? Bob and Ann would have been so much easier than Hadrian and Artemis.”
By the time the boy could pronounce his name, Hadrian knew he would be back in Singapore.
“Ba!” Lee flailed his arms toward Hadrian. “Ba-ba-ba!”
“There, you see,” said Artemis. “That could be Bob or perhaps…Papa.”
That word drove an icy blade into his heart. “I did not mean to disturb you.” He backed away. “I was just passing.”
“And a lucky thing, too.” Artemis bundled his nephew into his arms. “Lee has hardly seen you lately. I believe he’s missed you.”
“Rubbish.” Hadrian tried to resist the fresh-scrubbed smell of Lee and the warm weight that filled his empty arms. “He is too young to have any idea who I am.”
“He may not be able to say your name properly or understand what relation you are to him, but he’s taken to you in a way he has to few other people.” Artemis sounded as if she were telling him something he might want to hear. “It began that first afternoon we met you on our way back to Bramberley. Remember how he latched on to your leg and clung for dear life? I was afraid I might tear your breeches prying him off.”
“I remember.” Trying to curb the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth, Hadrian pretended to scold his nephew. “You were a naughty wee scamp, putting your poor aunt in such an awkward position.”
Some children might have thought he was in earnest and taken fright, but not Lee. He flung his arms around Hadrian’s neck, squeezing hard. “Papapa!”
“You see?” Artemis’s voice rang with a note of triumph. “He does know you. Could you not find a bit more time to spend with him?”
“What would be the use?” Hadrian’s mock scowl clenched into the real thing. “I will be gone before he is old enough to remember me.”
Artemis flinched. “So it doesn’t matter how you neglect him because he is only young? You sound like Uncle Henry.”
The warm, demonstrative woman Hadrian had come to know in the past several weeks seemed to retreat behind a stout barrier.
“That is not fair, and you know it. What good will come of encouraging an attachment, then disappearing out of his life?” Hadrian wished he’d thought of that before he made his way into her bed.
“You went to such great lengths to get Lee.” Artemis sounded puzzled and hurt. “I thought you cared about him. But all you really cared about was continuing the Northmore bloodline, wasn’t it? That and taking over the mission you set for his father.” She seized the child back from him. “Apart from those things you don’t give a damn about him, do you?”
He turned away. “You don’t understand.”
Lee did not like being taken from his uncle. He began to fuss. Hadrian fought the urge to cheer him up by making comical faces. He longed to wrap the child in his arms and protect him from anything that might harm or grieve him. But how could Hadrian do that when he was one of those hazards?
“You’re right,” said Artemis. “I do not understand and he cannot. All the same, I believe young children sense things at a deeper level than words or reason. Things that may influence how they grow to view themselves.”
Was she talking about their nephew, now, or herself? For all the deprivations of his early years, Hadrian had known deep in his bones that his parents loved him and believed in him.
“He has you to give him all those things, Artemis. I undertook to provide for his material needs. Remember our bargain?” Sensing this was a battle he could not win, Hadrian forced himself to walk away. If he did not retreat, his gallant opponent might exact a disastrous surrender.
“Of course I remember.” Her passionate reply dogged his footsteps, harrying his resolve. “At the time, I thought it was the perfect solution. I wanted Lee all to myself to love and care for. But you have shown me he needs more than that. He needs a father’s love and guidance…and firmness when it is warranted. He needs those things more than whatever luxuries your fortune can provide.”
She’d said far worse things to him when they’d first met, but Hadrian had been able to dismiss them without a qualm. Since Artemis had come to know him so well and he’d come to value her judgment so highly, that was no longer possible.
Did Hadrian view her darling nephew as nothing but a means to further his aims? That night Artemis tossed and turned in her bed, tormented by uncertainty. There’d been a time, not so long ago, when she would have believed it without question and despised him. Now that she knew the tragedies of Hadrian’s past and his dreams for the future, her feelings were vastly more complicated and she could not be certain of anything.
After several restless hours, she rose and donned her dressing gown. Then she crept down the stairs, hoping a breath of cool night air might soothe her troubled heart.
Her hand was on the latch of the great front door, when a quiet query reached out of the darkness behind her. “Not running away, are you?”
Her heart gave a fearful jolt against her ribs. Struggling to catch her breath, she spun about to face Hadrian. “I could not sleep, so I decided to step out for a bit of air. You are a fine one to talk of running away after the way you ran from Lee and me this afternoon.”
“You’re right.” He stepped into a pool of moonlight. “I should have stayed and explained myself. But you caught me off guard. I needed some time to think about what you said. That is why I am up so late—doing a bit of thinking while the house is quiet.”
There was something about being alone with him in the darkness while the rest of the household slept. It took Artemis back to the other time they’d been alone in the dark—sharing a bed. It stirred up wanton yearnings she could not afford to indulge.
“Shall I leave you to continue thinking in peace?” She turned toward the door.
“I reckon I’ve done enough thinking for one night—too much, perhaps. It’s time I did some explaining instead. May I come out with you?”
The hushed intimacy of his tone made her heart speed up again. “If you wish.”
Quietly they let themselves out. Artemis sank onto one of the wide stone steps beneath the semi-circular portico. Hadrian stood for a moment, leaning against one of the tall pillars. Then he sat down beside her. They kept silent for a while, breathing the cool night air while the shrill chirping of frogs rose from the beck at the bottom of the garden.
“It’s not that I don’t care about the lad,” said Hadrian at last. “I do worry about him getting attached to me, and me to him.”
Could he not see that would be the best possible thing for both of them? “But he is all the family you have left.”
“And all you have left,” Hadrian replied. “Apart from your uncles, though I reckon they have never been much of a comfort.”
Artemis heaved a rueful sigh. “No indeed. Lee has been a comfort to me, though, and a great diversion. I cannot imagine how I would have borne the loss of my brother and sister without him.”
She longed for Hadrian to know that kind of consolation. “Even with him, there was still a void. I wanted so desperately to fill it, I was not very particular about what I used—anger, bitterness, blame. Those made bad patching materials.”
“At least they last.”
If anyone could understand about the emptiness of loss, it was Hadrian. His mother’s death must have gouged a deep hole in his heart. Before it had begun to heal, the sudden violent loss of his father and brothers must have blasted a bottomless crater.
“But at what cost?” asked Artemis. “They are so…corrosive. They eat away at the edges of the hole, making it bigger and bigger until it becomes impossible to fill. I believe reaching out to others provides a better remedy. After my mother died, Papa relied on me for so many things. It helped, somehow, being needed. After he died, Leander and Daphne needed me. Now Lee does.”
“All very commendable. But it can be a dangerous business, using other people to fill the void. What happens when you lose them?”
A shiver ran through Artemis at the thought of losing Lee. What would she do? To whom would she turn in the forlorn hope of filling that emptiness?
She could think of only one person. “Surely there will always be someone who needs our help, if we are willing to look. But there are other things that can fill the void. Lasting things that heal rather than harm.”
“And what might those be?” Hadrian sounded doubtful.
“You should know.” Artemis drank in a deep breath of night air fragrant with the wholesome sweetness of clover. “It was thinking of you that brought them to my mind. Hard work, for one. A worthwhile cause. Fond memories.”
“You may be right. Those first two served me well for many years. Perhaps if they had not been tainted with resentment and guilt, they might have done a better job.”
They fell silent again. Not the tense, expectant silence that had once bristled between them, but a tranquil hush in which they could ponder their thoughts.
“I have tried your way of filling the void,” said Hadrian at last. “Almost ten years ago. Her name was Margaret. Her father worked for the East India Company. I was young enough that the memories of what happened to my family had begun to fade. I’d gone into business and was making a success of it. So I thought, why not get married, have a family of my own, continue the Northmore line in case anything…ever happened…to Julian.”
His words knocked the air out of Artemis. She remembered him calling Margaret’s name on their wedding night when she was in his arms.
“What happened to your wife?” she whispered.
Hadrian stared up at the pale, melancholy face of the moon. “One of those infernal fevers that are the scourge of tropical countries. They come on without any warning and before you know it—” he snapped his fingers “—the person you love is gone. A young life snuffed out like a candle.”
Artemis wanted to tell him how sorry she was to hear of yet another tragic loss he had suffered. But her lips refused to form the words. Could that be for the heartless, shameful reason that she was not entirely sorry Hadrian had been free to wed her?
He gave no sign of noticing her lapse, but continued to recount his litany of heartbreak. “The baby caught it first. The doctor told us nothing could be done. He said we should let the ayah tend Elizabeth so we wouldn’t catch the fever. Margaret refused to heed his advice, said she could not bear to have her child die in any arms but hers.”
Suddenly Hadrian’s first wife was no longer a threatening shadow from his past, but a real woman with whom Artemis could not help but sympathize. The summer moon became a soft, silver blur as tears filled her eyes. “I do not blame her. I would feel the same about Lee.”
So her husband had been a father once, however briefly. He knew how it felt to place his heart and his hopes in a pair of tiny hands…then stand by helpless while a fever consumed them. She could not blame him for being reluctant to risk what little of himself he had left. Not even for the sake of her adored nephew.
As for anything she might have been foolish enough to hope for herself…
“Tell me about Margaret.” Artemis could not coax her voice above a whisper. “What was she like?”
Hadrian heaved a slow sigh. “Many of the things you told me about your sister, I could say of Margaret. She had high spirits, a strong will and a good heart. I cannot fault Julian for being smitten by a woman like that. We Northmore men must fancy the same kind.”
Artemis swallowed a pathetic whimper that rose in her throat. Why should it matter if Hadrian’s heart belonged to his late wife—a woman as different from her as her sister had been?
It should not matter at all. But it did—far too much.
Margaret. Elizabeth.
He had finally spoken their names aloud for the first time in far too many years. For Hadrian, those names were like enchanted keys, unlocking long-imprisoned memories of his young wife and daughter. With them came echoes of the profound sorrow and bitter regret their loss had caused him. But there was a strange sense of relief, too, an elusive whisper of peace.
“So you see how it is, then?” He slanted a glance at Artemis, all silvery-white in the moonlight, her arms clasped around her knees. “Caring for someone…loving them…doesn’t mean giving them everything they long for. Sometimes you have to do what you know in your heart is best for them.”
“I do see how it is,” she answered in a voice like the sigh of a midnight breeze.
“Then I reckon we ought to get back in.” Slowly he rose to his feet and offered her his hand. “We’ve been out here long enough.”
Without another word, Artemis let him help her up. Quietly they entered the house and crept through the darkened entrance hall, up the staircase and down the west gallery. Would he dream of Margaret and Elizabeth tonight? Hadrian wondered. Would he relive those anguished days in Madras? Or would his slumbering mind reach back to happier times, savoring their hopeful joy, until he woke to the crippling realization that they were gone?
When he and Artemis reached the door to her bedchamber, he asked, “Can I come in? I know I’ve no right to ask, but…”
“It is not a question of having the right,” she replied in a weary-sounding whisper. “But I do not think it is a good idea under the circumstances. Do you?”
“I don’t want to bed you.” He could not deny it was a tempting diversion, but Artemis deserved so much more than that. “I just want to be close to you. This is the first time I’ve spoken about Margaret and Elizabeth in years and I don’t want to be alone with my memories.”
She exhaled a soft sigh. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking.”
“Forgive me.” He backed away. “I am being selfish. You need your rest. It’s just that you are the only one I’ve ever been able to tell—first about the Fellbank Explosion and now about this. After all you have been through in your own life, I believe you understand better than anyone else can. Good night, Artemis.”
He turned to go.
“Hadrian?” she called softly after him. “Are you saying you need me?”
It was an unsettling admission, but how could he deny it? “I am.”
Her door swung open. “Come in, then.”
How had an acquaintance that had begun with so much mutual hostility blossomed into this? Hadrian did not even try to puzzle out the mystery as he followed her inside. Instead he cherished a sense of gratitude for all the gifts Artemis had brought into his life.
At the same time, she made him achingly aware of his emptiness and tempted him to risk filling it with the very things he had sworn to avoid.