AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maximus was tired, so he ignored the response. “Find out everything you can about Artemis Greaves.”
Chapter Four
“What bargain might that be?” asked King Herla.
The dwarf grinned. “It’s well known that you’ve betrothed yourself to a fair princess. As it happens, I, too, will soon be wed. If you will do me the honor of inviting me to your wedding banquet, I in turn will invite you to my wedding festivities.”
Well, King Herla thought deeply on the matter, for ’tis known that one should not enter a pact, however innocent, with one of the Fae without due consideration, but in the end he saw no harm in the invitation.
So King Herla shook the Dwarf King’s hand and they agreed to attend each other’s weddings.…
—from The Legend of the Herla King
Three days later Artemis Greaves descended from the Chadwicke carriage and looked up in awe. Pelham House, the seat of the dukes of Wakefield for the last one hundred years, was the largest private residence she’d ever seen. A massive yellow stone building with rows upon rows of windows across the facade, Pelham dwarfed the numerous carriages drawn up at its front. Twin colonnaded arms reached out from the central building, embracing the huge circular drive. A tall portico dominated the entrance, four Ionic columns holding aloft the triangular pediment with wide steps across the front leading to the drive. Pelham House was majestic and daunting and didn’t look particularly welcoming.
Rather like its owner.
Artemis was conscious that the Duke of Wakefield stood at the center of the portico, wearing a blue suit so dark it was nearly black, his immaculately white wig making him look austere and aristocratic. Presumably he was there to welcome his guests to the country party—although one would never know it from his unsmiling face.
“Do you see she’s here?”
Artemis started at the hiss at her shoulder, nearly dropping poor Bon Bon, asleep in her arms. She juggled the little dog, a shawl, and Penelope’s nécessaire box before turning to her cousin. “Who?”
There were three other carriages in the drive beside their own, and “she” could’ve been any number of ladies.
Still Penelope widened her eyes as if Artemis had become suddenly dimwitted. “Her. Hippolyta Royale. Whyever would Wakefield invite her?”
Because Miss Royale was one of the most popular ladies of the last year, Artemis thought but of course did not say out loud—she wasn’t actually dimwitted. She glanced to where Penelope indicated and saw the lady descending from her carriage. She was tall and slim, dark haired and dark eyed, a quite striking figure, really, especially in the dull gold-and-purple traveling costume she wore. Artemis noted that Miss Royale appeared to be arriving unaccompanied, and it occurred to her that unlike most ladies, she’d never seen the heiress with a particular friend. She was friendly—or at least she seemed so, for Artemis had never been introduced—but she didn’t link arms with a bosom bow, didn’t lean close and giggle over gossip. Miss Royale appeared eternally alone.
“I knew I should’ve brought the swan,” Penelope said.
Artemis shuddered at the memory of the hissing fowl and hoped she didn’t look too wild-eyed at her cousin. “Er… the swan?”
Penelope pouted. “I have to find some way to make him notice me instead of her.”
Artemis felt a pang of protectiveness toward her cousin. “You’re beautiful and vivacious, Penelope, dear. I can’t imagine any gentleman not noticing you.”
She forbore pointing out that even had Penelope been plain and retiring, she would still have been the center of attention at all times. Her cousin was the richest heiress in England, after all.
Penelope blinked at her words and almost looked shy.
Miss Royale murmured a “good afternoon” as she crossed in front of them on the way to the portico entrance of Pelham.
Penelope’s eyes narrowed determinedly. “I’ll not let that upstart steal my duke away from me.”
And so saying, she marched off, evidently with the idea of reaching the Duke of Wakefield ahead of Miss Royale.
Artemis sighed. This was going to be a very long fortnight. She crossed to the side of the gravel drive, almost in back of one of the long colonnaded arms, and set Bon Bon gently down on the grass. The elderly dog stretched and then toddled, stiff-legged, to a nearby bush.
“Ah, Miss Greaves.”
She turned to see the Duke of Scarborough striding toward her, looking rather dapper in a scarlet riding habit. “I hope your journey was a comfortable one?”
“Your Grace.” Artemis dipped into a low curtsy, a little confused. Dukes—or indeed any gentlemen—rarely sought her out. “Our journey was quite pleasant. And yours, sir?”
The duke beamed. “Rode my gelding, Samson, with my carriage behind, don’t you know.”
She couldn’t help smiling just a bit. He was such a jovial gentleman—and so pleased with himself. “All the way from London?”
