Actually, the rainstorm might’ve been a blessing, for the mess caused by the rain hid in plain sight the havoc wrought by thesomething more.
And yesterday had been only the first day of the house party.
Blimey.
What fresh calamities did today hold?
Her feet came to a sudden halt. She could plead headache and take her morning meal in her bedroom, a time-honored practice of delicate ladies since King Arthur’s court. After all, the Countess of Bridgewater had, indeed, arrived. Dev didn’t need Beatrix around to woo the woman. In fact, it would be better if she wasn’t.
In further shameful fact—and undoubtedly closer to the entire fact—she didn’t think she could bear to watch said wooing.
Her feet had made up their mind to return to her room when she heard it—a rather robust bark coming from the direction of the breakfast room. Was that a dog?
On its heels came another sound—a familiar feminine laugh that had Beatrix’s heart lifting in her chest. A few seconds later, she found Artemis dangling a slice of ham above a sheepdog who appeared to be missing both an eye and a leg. But the one remaining eye was fixed onto that slice of ham as if for dear life.
“Good girl.” Artemis released the morsel, and the dog snatched it from the air.
“Artemis, you came,” said Beatrix, rushing forward, unable to contain her delight—and relief. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she needed a true friend here with her.
A bright smile on her face, Artemis stood and enveloped Beatrix in a tight embrace. A hug from Artemis always contained a bit of ferocity. “Arrived at three this morning. The journey from Yorkshire cannot be overstated in its length and rigor.”
“And I see you brought a friend.” Beatrix smiled down at the dog, whose tail was wagging as if in hopeful anticipation of another piece of ham from her new friend.
“Meet Bathsheba,” said Artemis. “I hope you don’t mind her. She cannot bear to be away from me, so she comes with me everywhere. And to be clear, I shan’t restrict her access to me by putting her outside. It would be cruel.”
“Of course, she’s welcome.” Beatrix had no intention of separating them, but the way Artemis said it… She was such a privileged, doted-upon sister of a duke and took it as an absolute given that she would have her way. Somehow, her friend made it charming. “I can’t imagine Dev—Mr. Deverill would mind.”
Artemis took a step back without releasing Beatrix’s hands and gave her a thorough up-and-down. “You’re looking well.”
“As are you.”
Artemis had never been possessed of the ideal cream-and-roses English complexion, but rather of silky black hair, deep brown eyes, and lovely olive skin. In the months since Dido’s untimely tragic death and Artemis’s retreat to Yorkshire, the fresh northern air and days spent beneath the summer sun had lent her a golden glow. Her friend’s brightness had returned.
Yet she was slightly altered, too.
One might call it maturity.
But Beatrix understood.
One didn’t suffer loss without taking some damage.
“It appears Yorkshire is treating you well.”
“Oh, yes.” Artemis released Beatrix’s hands and reached for her cup of tea. “I’ve become quite the wild thing in the north.”
“It suits you.”
“Doesn’t it just?”
“And your horse sanctuary?”
Artemis snorted. “It’s attracting every animal within a ten-mile radius.” She didn’t appear to mind.
“I’ve heard a rumor about a horse up there,” said Beatrix, only now remembering. “A mythical lost Thoroughbred.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Back in the last century, a Yorkshire breeder happened to have a brother who was a merchant in Aleppo. This brother lucked upon a four-year-old Arabian stallion through one means or another—horse trading was a shadowy business—and sentthe horse on to England, where he covered any Yorkshire mare brought to his stall. This stallion came to be known as the Darley Arabian, from whom a long line of winning Thoroughbreds descended, including the greatest of them all, Eclipse. However, it was in the breeding with the other multitude of mares that the rumoredlostThoroughbreds of Yorkshire descended.
