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“No, I suppose you’re quite right,” Artemis said slowly. The realization was rather sad.
Lady Penelope leaned forward with a seductive smile, touched the duke’s sleeve lightly, and turned toward the box’s door.
Artemis recognized Penelope’s usual farewell to a handsome gentleman and began gathering Bon Bon. “I’m afraid we’re leaving now, but it was so nice to chat with you, Phoebe.”
The other woman smiled vaguely. “Enjoy the rest of the play.”
Then Artemis was making her way to the door, trotting to try to catch up with Penelope.
“Did you see the way the duke hung upon my words?” Lady Penelope hissed when Artemis was abreast of her.
“Oh, yes,” Artemis said, not entirely truthfully.
“I think that went very well,” Penelope said with evident satisfaction.
“I am so glad.” Penelope in a good mood might just be amenable to granting a favor. She cleared her throat delicately. “I wonder if I might have the morning off this Friday?”
Penelope’s brows drew together in irritation. “Whatever for?”
Artemis swallowed. “It’s visiting day.”
“I’ve already told you that you need to simply forget him,” Penelope scolded.
Artemis kept silent, for there wasn’t anything she could say that would help her cause—she knew because she’d already tried in the past.
Her cousin heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Very well.”
“Thank you—”
But Penelope’s thoughts were already back with her own affairs. “I saw His Grace’s gaze observe my décolletage at least once. That, in any case, is something that Miss Royle cannot compete with. She’s as flat as a boy.”
Artemis’s brows drew together. “I wasn’t aware Miss Royle was competing.”
“Don’t be naïve, Cousin,” Penelope said as they made their box again. “Any lady with the possibility of success vies for the Duke of Wakefield’s attention. Fortunately, that group is very small indeed.”
Penelope sank into a red velvet chair just as the curtain rose again, and Artemis took the chair next to her. The first part of the play had been quite diverting—not to mention very risqué—and she was looking forward to watching Miss Goodfellow match wits with the male actors.
Penelope shifted next to her, glancing down at the floor and then to the table between the chairs. “Drat.”
“What is it?” Artemis whispered. The orchestra had launched into a lively tune.
“I’ve misplaced my fan.” She looked up, her brow furrowed. “I must’ve left it in the duke’s box. Too bad, because if the play had not already started, I could go back and spend more time with the duke.” She shrugged. “But you’ll have to get it now.”
“Of course.” Artemis sighed silently.
She placed Bon Bon gently on her seat before leaving the box. No one was in the corridor now, and Artemis gathered her skirts to run lightly down the hall. She paused outside the duke’s box to catch her breath and pat at her hair, and as she did so, she couldn’t help but hear the voices within, for the door was not shut fully.
“… must belong to Lady Penelope. It’s far too expensive to be Artemis’s,” Miss Picklewood was saying.
“Who?” came the duke’s bored drawl.
“Artemis Greaves,” Miss Picklewood said. “Come, Maximus, you must’ve noticed that Lady Penelope has a companion.”
Artemis put her hand up to push the door open.
“You mean that invisible little woman who trails her everywhere like a pale wraith?”
The duke’s deep, masculine voice seemed to cut straight through Artemis. In the back of her mind, she noticed absently that her fingers were trembling on the door. Quietly, she balled her fist and let it drop.
