The combination lashed through her like lightning, searing her—melting her.
The fact was she hadn’t learned her lesson regarding Lord Branwell Mallory, at all.
“Artemis!”
The sound of her name issuing from a beloved feminine voice had her turning to greet her dearest friend, Lady Beatrix, who had recently become Mrs. Blake Deverill. When she’d received the letter announcing Beatrix’s elopement with the infamous Lord Devil, Artemis hadn’t been at all surprised. Though she didn’t know all the ins and outs of their romance, Beatrix was utterly besotted with the man, who Artemis suspected was actually very sweet.
Artemis took her friend into a long embrace. Mother always rolled her eyes at thethoroughly unnecessaryshow of affection, and merely endured one of her daughter’s hugs. But Artemis couldn’t help herself. She was a tactile person. She alwayshad been. When one felt affection, why couldn’t one show it? Anyway, Beatrix never pulled away from her hugs.
With one last pat on the back, Artemis shifted and held Beatrix at arm’s length, looking her up and down. “I see France has treated you well.”
The smile that shone within Beatrix’s eyes was the stuff of Renaissance paintings, so beatific it was. “Oh, it’s such a lovely country, Artemis.”
“And the marriage?” asked Artemis. “I suppose it’s lovely, too?”
Beatrix’s smile transformed into one that held secrets that were only for her and her love. “It is.”
Sheer happiness nearly had Artemis taking her friend into another embrace.
A glimmer of concern entered Beatrix’s silvery gray eyes. “I must admit to some surprise at finding you here, Artemis.”
It was a leading observation—one she was meant to answer, Artemis understood. Beatrix was referring to Dido’s death on the turf and how that loss had altered Artemis’s view of horse racing. “My neighbor, Sir Abstrupus Bottomley, has a horse in the race,” she said. “I’ve been observing his training.”
The truth could be tricky when one was carefully parceling it out.
“Ah, Radish,” said Beatrix, her smile returning. “I’m glad I’ll get to see him in action. He wasn’t sent to Newmarket for training?”
“Actually—” Artemis cleared her suddenly tight throat. Half-truths never sat comfortably inside her. “He was trained locally in Yorkshire.”
Beatrix must have sensed something in Artemis’s tone, for her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Oh? By whom?”
Best just to be out with it. “Lord Branwell Mallory.”
Beatrix’s straight eyebrows crinkled together. “Lord Branwell Mallory?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
Beatrix’s brow released. “The same Lord Branwell Mallory you danced with at every ball during your come-out season?”
“The same.”
“Then, yes, I’ve heard of him.”
“Well,erm, he’s superbly talented,” said Artemis, before adding quickly, “With horses.”
A hot blush crept through her, and Beatrix’s head tipped subtly to the side. She knew that quizzical tilt of her friend’s head. Another question was coming—several, likely.
However, at that very moment, it just so happened that a small grouping of ladies came to stand beside them at the balcony railing. Artemis was under no obligation to greet Mrs. Eloise Fairfax and the two young ladies with her—the Ladies Saskia and Viveca Calthorp, younger sisters of the Duke of Acaster and the Marchioness of Ormonde—but Mrs. Fairfax enjoyed the rare distinction of being universally liked by all in society.
So it wouldn’t be at all strange for Artemis to lift her hand in greeting and say, “Hello, Mrs. Fairfax, are you enjoying the day?”
So, she did.
And if the greeting rescued her from a conversational bind with Beatrix, well, then she would count her blessings.
“I am, indeed,” said Mrs. Fairfax, her smile reaching all the way to her luminous brown eyes. “One couldn’t ask for a more perfect September day for a race.”
Artemis felt Beatrix’s glare on the side of her face—and ignored it, as she turned toward Ladies Saskia and Viveca. “I was so disappointed to have missed your come-out ball in July.” In truth, she hadn’t been all that sorry, as she’d been contentedlybusy in Yorkshire, but it was the correct thing to say. A society nicety that had been bred into her from birth by Mother. “Are you enjoying being out in society?”
