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King Herla and his men traveled back to the land of humankind, but what a surprise met them when at last they saw the sun. Brambles hid the entrance to the cave, and where once there had been fertile fields and plump cattle, now a strange, thorny forest had grown, and in the distance they saw the ruins of a great castle. They rode until they found a peasant to question.
“We have no king or queen here,” stuttered the peasant. “Not since noble Herla King disappeared and his queen died of grief—and that, my lords, was nigh on nine hundred years ago.”…
—from The Legend of the Herla King
Artemis could hear voices as the duke met his guests at the abbey ruins. The tones rose and then fell, and then it was nearly quiet enough that she might imagine that she was by herself in the little wood. Alone and safe.
But she was no longer a girl with fanciful dreams. She knew she must face the real world—and the rest of the guests.
She took a deep breath, smoothed down her hair, and before she could waver, made for the abbey.
It wasn’t very bad—not nearly as bad as the morning after Apollo was arrested. Then she’d had to walk through the village green to fetch a bit of beef from the butcher. He’d closed his doors and pretended not to see her outside and she’d had to walk home empty-handed, with the loud whispers of people she’d thought her friends in her ears.
The guests turned and stared as she emerged from the woods, and Lady Oddershaw and Mrs. Jellett put their heads together, but Phoebe smiled at the sight of her.
One genuine smile of friendship was worth a thousand false faces.
“Where have you been?” Penelope asked when she reached her. “And where is your fichu?”
Artemis felt the heat rise in her cheeks—and her too-bare throat—but there was nothing for it but to brave it out. Casually she put her hand to her neck—and discovered the chain with the emerald drop and Maximus’s ring was exposed as well. Had Maximus seen his ring? If he had, he’d given no indication. She tucked them both back into her bodice as casually as she could. The ring was merely a signet ring—like many others in England. Hopefully it wouldn’t be recognized.
“Artemis?” Penelope was waiting for her answer.
“I saw a bearded titmouse and wished for a closer look.”
“With the Duke of Wakefield?”
“He has an interest in nature,” she said, entirely truthfully.
“Hmm.” Penelope looked suspicious, but was distracted by a whispered word from Scarborough. The guests were gathering their things in preparation for returning back to Pelham House.
Phoebe started for Artemis, but Miss Picklewood laid her hand on her charge’s arm and directed her to accompany Miss Royale.
A confused expression flitted over Phoebe’s sweet face, but then she smoothed it into social politeness and took Miss Royale’s arm.
“Miss Greaves, will you walk with me?” Miss Picklewood asked in a tone that suggested an order rather than a request. “The path is so uneven.”
“Of course,” Artemis murmured as she linked arms with the older lady.
“We haven’t had a chance to speak in quite some time,” Miss Picklewood said softly. They were at the back of the line of returning guests, a position that Artemis felt sure the other lady had maneuvered them into. “I hope you’ve been enjoying the country party?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Artemis answered warily.
“Good, good,” Miss Picklewood murmured. “So often I’m afraid people come to these country parties and leave their, shall we say, higher principles behind in London. You wouldn’t believe, I know, my dear, but such scandalous goings-on I’ve heard about!”
“Oh?” Artemis thought herself inured to innuendo, but the problem was that she rather liked Miss Picklewood and so cared for her opinion. The older lady’s words made her ears burn.
“Oh, yes, my dear,” Miss Picklewood said ever so gently. “And of course it’s always the most innocent who become entangled in gossip’s net, as it were. Why, a married lady—especially if she’s titled—can get away with all sorts of things. I won’t enumerate them, for they aren’t for innocent ears. But a respectable young matron who might not be titled or have any weight in society must be very, very careful.”
Miss Picklewood paused as they picked their way around an outcropping of rock, then said, “And of course, it’s quite beyond the pale for an unmarried lady to engage in any sort of behavior that might seem untoward. Especially if such behavior might make her lose what was otherwise her only position.”
“I understand,” Artemis said tightly.
“Do you, dear?” Miss Picklewood’s tone was gentle, but underneath there was iron. “It’s the way of the world that the ladies in such cases are always to blame, never the gentlemen. And it’s also the way of the world that dukes—however honorable they might be otherwise—have no reason but the nefarious to take young, unmarried ladies of little means into secluded places. You must have no hopes there.”
“Yes.” Artemis breathed in quietly, making sure her voice did not shake. “I do realize.”
“I wish it were otherwise,” Miss Picklewood exclaimed quietly, “truly I do. But I think it doesn’t do for ladies such as we to be anything but utterly practical. Too many have stumbled into disaster thinking otherwise.”
