Beatrix sensed Artemis was withholding information, so she did what she always did—she pressed. “This colt might be racing in the St. Leger? He had a silly name. What was it?”
“Radish.”
“That’s the one.”
“Well,” began Artemis with the determined lift to her chin that Beatrix knew well. “We’ll see.”
Just as Beatrix knew when to push, she knew when to retreat. “And Rake?” She poured herself a cup of tea. “Are he and his new duchess settling into the bosom of wedded bliss?”
“Oh, Gemma is wonderful,” said Artemis with a genuine smile. “Whatever Rake did to deserve her, he needs to keep doing.”
A pair of ladies entered the room, nodded their amiable morning greetings, and seated themselves near the far window.
Artemis’s deep brown eyes narrowed on Beatrix. “But I don’t wish to discuss any of that.”
“No?”
“Grab a croissant.” Artemis came to her feet. “We’re taking a walk.”
“For the dog?” Bathsheba appeared perfectly content.
Artemis shook her head. “Foryou.”
A bemused laugh escaped Beatrix. “I don’t need to be walked, Artemis.”
“Oh, you do.”
Nerves fluttered through Beatrix. She didn’t want to discuss herself. She wasn’t sure she could lie to Artemis.
And lies would most definitely be necessary.
Next thing, however, Beatrix was outside, Bathsheba bounding ahead as fast as a three-legged dog could bound, her stride matching that of Artemis—almost. Artemis was a good five inches taller than Beatrix and possessed of much longer legs.
The grounds of Primrose Park were lovely in the morning—sunlight imbuing the air with a soft golden glow, setting the dew on the grass asparkle. The estate was like a jewel box of perfection.
Beatrix spared the sky a suspicious glance. She didn’t trust it after its behavior yesterday. The clouds appeared innocent with their puffy white indolence, but she knew better. They were wont to wreak havoc at a moment’s notice. “Let’s not venture too far from the house.”
Artemis answered with a dubious lift of her eyebrows.
“Dev and I were caught out in a rainstorm yesterday,” Beatrix explained.
Artemis remained unmoved in her skepticism.
“And soaked to the skin.”
A vulpine smile curled about Artemis’s mouth. “Dev?”
Beatrix’s stomach dropped.
“Would this be the sameDevwho is your fiancé? The sameDevwho is known in society as Lord Devil?”
“Same and…same.”
Artemis would, of course, want the details—the how and the why and the everything in between.
“Imagine my shock when an invitation to a house party celebrating the engagement of my dearest friend to one Mr. Blake Deverill arrived in the post.” Past bewilderment yet echoed through the words. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted. So, a whirlwind romance?”
“Something like that.” Beatrix was being circumspect—and Artemis would seize upon it.
