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A good deal of squealing ensued.
Artemis signaled the maid for another pot of tea.
When Phoebe had at last quieted and Artemis had poured everyone a fresh dish of tea, Lady Hero sat back. “It’s just that he becomes so brooding.”
Artemis mentally thought that Lord Griffin—a rakish man who often had a grin on his face—could never touch the brooding of Hero’s brother, but she forbore pointing this out.
Phoebe piped up. “Your confinement with sweet William went well. Surely he’ll remember that?”
“I think he may have some type of wasting brain disease,” Lady Hero said darkly. “He’s been hovering.”
Phoebe bit her lip as if quelling her amusement at her brother-in-law’s worry over his wife’s condition. “Well, in any case, this explains why you were so insistent that we visit the modiste this afternoon.”
Lady Hero immediately brightened. “Yes, I ordered a dress before I knew and that will have to be altered, but besides that I’ve seen some lovely new gowns from Paris especially for ladies in an interesting way. And of course we’ll have to get something for Miss Greaves.”
Artemis blinked, nearly dropping her dish of tea. “What?”
Phoebe nodded, looking unsurprised by her sister’s non sequitur. “Maximus already instructed me this morning to make sure she had at least three new gowns as well as everything else she might need.”
“But…” A lady could never accept a gift of clothing from a gentleman. Even with her spotty education and upbringing, that one rule had been drummed into her. Only a mistress accepted such financial obligation from a gentleman.
But wasn’t that what she already was?
“It’s only right,” Phoebe was saying stubbornly. “You came to stay with me without any thought for your own schedule.”
Artemis crimped her lips, trying not to laugh. What schedule? She lived at the beck and call of Penelope. She had no plans of her own.
“Besides,” Phoebe said more bluntly, “I’m tired of looking at that brown thing.”
Artemis smoothed a hand over her lap. “What’s wrong with my brown dress?”
“It’s brown,” Phoebe said. “Not coffee or fawn or that delicious shade of dark copper, but brown. And not your color at all, in any case.”
“No,” Lady Hero said thoughtfully, “I think some shade of blue, or perhaps green, would be quite interesting.”
Phoebe looked startled, then thoughtful. “Not a light pink?”
“Definitely not.” Lady Hero shook her head decisively. “Mind, I saw a lovely cream with red, pink, and dark green embroidered flowers we might look at, but no pastel colors overall. Her own coloring is too delicate. Light shades would simply wash her out. Dark and really rather dramatic, I think.”
Both ladies swiveled to examine her, and Artemis suddenly realized what a lump of dough might feel like under the scrutiny of a master baker. She knew from this morning that though Phoebe had trouble discerning shapes, she had no trouble with colors if the object were large enough.
“I see what you mean,” Phoebe said, squinting.
For just a second, Lady Hero’s face revealed a deep sadness, then she straightened with determination. “Yes, well, I do think we ought to get started, then.”
Nodding, Phoebe sipped the last of her tea and set her teacup down.
Artemis watched the ladies as they rose. They thought they were simply giving her a present as friends, but the money for the dresses would come from Maximus, that much was clear.
She’d slept with Maximus.
Her mind caught on the thought, here in this respectable tea shop. She’d run her hands over his bare back, wound her legs over his hips, and clenched deep inside when he’d thrust his penis into her.
He was her lover.
To take a gift from him now was to make her no better than a bought woman. A bought woman was the lowest of the low. Little more than a whore. For a moment the breath stopped in her throat in panic. She’d become everything she’d been warned against. Everything she’d struggled not to be in the last four years. She’d succumbed both to her own weakness and the perils of her position.
She’d fallen.
