Already seated in Rake’s viewing box, Artemis gathered within herself. She was known either by association or reputation by every member of thehaut tonpresently enjoying a day at the races; therefore, she was observed.
The fact was, behind her impersonal smile, she had a too-much feeling rioting through her veins. Everything felt too much—the atmosphere … the people … their gaiety … their sumptuous clothes … their extravagant jewels. Really, she wished nothing more than to be back at Endcliffe Grange, tending Master Goat’s oozing hoof or inspecting the hedgehog trail for Mrs. Hopper.
Instead, she was at Doncaster, waiting.
Not just waiting, she supposed. There was the grudging bit of socializing, for every lord and lady present possessed an insatiable curiosity regarding the scandalous Duke and Duchess of Rakesley. Artemis supposed she couldn’t begrudge them that. After all, her new sister-in-lawhadbeen her brother’s jockey—she’d even ridden Hannibal to victory in the Two Thousand Guineas—then he’d eloped with her to Gretna Green.
By any measure, it was a delicious bit of tattle.
Artemis was certain there were those lords and ladies who would have loved nothing more than to deliver the cut direct to Gemma for being such an upstart hussy, but the fact remained Gemma was wife to one of the wealthiest and most powerful dukes in England, making her one of its wealthiest and most powerful duchesses by extension. Adding to that power was the obvious—Gemma was carrying the Duke of Rakesley’s heir.
In theory, Artemis supposed Gemma could give birth to a daughter, but if she’d been allowed access to the White’s betting book, she would lay odds at 1,000 to 1 that Rake’s firstborn would be a son. Anyway, it would be better to get the primogeniture bit settled right away, then Rake and Gemma could have all the girls they wished for.
Artemis leaned forward and rested her elbows on the balcony railing, her gaze fixed on the racecourse below. The Thoroughbreds who had completed the weigh-in were walking onto the track, their bright silks undiminished by the mist that was beginning to accumulate into a light rain. She offered a quick prayer to the racing gods that there would be no false starts today, as the race conditions were quickly deteriorating. Within the hour, the course would be swallowed by a cloak of fog. She unclenched her hands, but it did nothing to soothe this ‘too-much’ feeling.
“You can leave, you know.”
She startled around to find Gemma already seated beside her. The sympathy in her sister-in-law’s hazel eyes nearly undid her. She swallowed and said, “I would rather stay.”
An intention that was both truth and lie.
She wouldn’tratherstay—but shewouldstay.
A touchy distinction.
Gemma tapped her silk fan open.
Artemis’s brow crinkled with sudden concern. “Are you too warm?”
“Oh, there’s no cause for alarm, I can assure you.” As Gemma fanned herself, she ran her free hand across her rounded belly. “It’s this pregnancy business. Sometimes, I get incredibly hot.”
In truth, though Artemis had known Gemma was with child, as she hadn’t seen her sister-in-law in months, she’d been utterly unprepared for the visual evidence of the pregnancy. “Have you been feeling very sick?”
The question, however, proved unnecessary. Gemma glowed from within as she smiled and continued rubbing her belly. “I have never felt better in my life. I love being with child.”
Even as a complicated pang struck through Artemis—of joy … of envy … of loss—she smiled. Gemma’s happiness was that infectious—infectious enough to cut through those jumbledfeelings Artemis kept deeply buried, for they were linked to a past that was too far gone to matter anymore.
At least, that was what she’d thought until a few weeks ago.
She reached for Gemma’s hand. “I’m so happy for you and Rake, and I can’t wait to meet my nephew. But be warned—I shall commence with spoiling him to bits with immediate effect.”
“You could have a niece, you know,” countered Gemma, her hazel eyes sparkling.
Artemis shook her head on a dry laugh. “Oh no, Rake’s firstborn will be a boy. I’m fairly certain the gods will it so.”
Gemma smiled in a way that was entirely inscrutable. A deep, interior certainty that only she knew—one shared solely with her unborn child.
“How is the animal sanctuary progressing at the Grange?”
Artemis smiled. “We have a goat now.”
“Oh, dear.” Gemma giggled. “They can be challenging.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Gemma squeezed Artemis’s hand. “But you wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I wouldn’t.”
