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Phoebe smiled up at her. “And you, too, of course. You’re rather an honorary member, don’t you think? Since you attend the meetings with Penelope?”
“I suppose.” Artemis’s lips twisted wryly. She certainly would never be a real member since the Ladies’ Syndicate existed to help the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children in St. Giles. Money was a rather large prerequisite for becoming a member.
“Oh, do say you’ll come,” Phoebe said, hugging Artemis’s arm close. “They’re doing Twelfth Night with Robin Goodfellow playing Viola. She’s always so funny in her breeches roles. I quite love her low voice and the droll way she speaks her lines.”
Oh, Artemis thought with a pang. Phoebe probably couldn’t actually see the actors on the stage when she attended the theater. It would all be about the speeches of the actors for her.
“Of course I’ll come,” she said warmly to the younger woman.
“That’s settled, then,” Phoebe said with a little skip. “I’ll ask the other ladies if they can attend, too.”
Artemis felt the corner of her mouth curl at Phoebe’s infectious joy. They were nearing the end of the garden and a stone seat set against the wall, and Artemis now saw that a solitary figure sat there, gazing into the distance as if deep in thought.
“You know,” she said impulsively, “I’ve heard that Miss Royale is an heiress in her own right.”
Phoebe’s brows knit slightly. “Yes?”
Artemis squeezed her arm significantly. “There’s always room for one more member of the Ladies’ Syndicate.”
“Oh!” Phoebe said.
Artemis patted her arm and raised her voice just a bit. “And here’s Miss Royale.”
That lady swung her head around as if she hadn’t noticed their approach. “Good afternoon.” Her voice was low for a woman, her expression cautious.
Phoebe smiled innocently. “Are you enjoying the gardens, Miss Royale?”
“Why, yes, my lady,” Miss Royale replied. “Er… will you both join me?”
Her words were a trifle belated as Phoebe had already settled on one side of her while Artemis had taken the other.
“Thank you,” Phoebe said sweetly. “I was just telling Miss Greaves that I do hope all the ladies of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children can join me at Harte’s Folly when we return to town.”
Miss Royale blinked at this information, but politely replied, “I don’t believe I’ve heard of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.”
Phoebe opened her eyes wide. “Haven’t you?”
Artemis privately hid a smile as Phoebe began expounding on the St. Giles orphanage and all the good works it did for the most vulnerable of children. She glanced up as she did so and saw Wakefield, still strolling with Lady Penelope and Lord Oddershaw. His face was creased in an irritable frown.
What had Lord Oddershaw said to him?
MAXIMUS WOKE FROM dreams of work unfinished and bloody tresses shining dully in the moonlight. He’d been awake until well past two of the clock in polite argument with Oddershaw. Maximus didn’t mind the intrusion of politics into his house party, but he didn’t like the other man’s insistence on bringing up the matter when Maximus had been in the garden with Lady Penelope. But, although Oddershaw was an uncouth blowhard, he was also an important political ally in order to build a strong backing for Maximus’s newest Gin Act.
Thus the dreary duty of debating the man into the small hours.
He rose and quickly donned his old coat and boots and strode through Pelham to the back of the house. Even having slept later than usual, he met only a few servants, and they were well trained enough to simply bow or curtsy without speaking as he passed by.
Mornings were the one time of day that he kept to himself.
Outside, he strode around Pelham in the direction of the long stables. Usually the dogs were waiting for him in the stable yard, eager for their ramble, but today the yard was empty.
Maximus frowned and set off for the woods.
The sun was already up as he crossed the wide south lawn, and the sudden darkness of the canopy when he entered the woods made him blind for a moment. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again she appeared before him like some ancient goddess, calm and otherworldly, standing under the tall trees as if she owned them, his dogs at her side.
Percy broke the moment first, naturally, rushing from Miss Greaves to him, muddy and excited. A small, formerly white dog darted out from behind her skirts, barking madly as it chased after Percy.
“You’re late today, Your Grace,” Miss Greaves said, almost as if she’d been waiting for him.
