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Chapter Six
“Alas,” said Artemis with a deep sigh, “it is a truthneveruniversally acknowledged that a single woman—whether she is in possession of a good fortune or not—doesn’t necessarily want or even need a husband. I like being a spinster. In fact, I relish spinsterhood almost as much as I relish your company”—she caught the gazes of her two childhood friends as she raised her chipped china teacup—“the books we love, and this fine Darjeeling tea.”
Lucy, Jane, and Artemis were presently gathered in Mr. Delaney’s cluttered parlor above the bookstore. Heavy curtains of claret velvet and blond lace obscured the view of Sackville Street below. On the scarred oak table in front of them sat their favorite novels—Jane Eyre,Wuthering Heights, andNorth and Southtopped the pile—along with the mismatched tea things and a delicious light-as-air sponge cake that Lucy had brought to celebrate their reunion.
“I so agree.” Lucy’s flaxen curls bobbed as she nodded. “Being a spinster has much to recommend it.” Her smile lit her lavender-blue eyes as she added, “And that’s why I’m so grateful you are here, Artemis, to help me maintain the status quo.”
Artemis’s mind immediately wandered to Dominic Winters…and then she gave herself the equivalent of a sharp mental pinch to the wrist. She certainly didn’t want or need any man in her life—even a handsome one who dispensed charm as effortlessly as a cup of tea. Although, as she, Lucy, and Jane had revisited their favorite books this afternoon, she kept transplanting Mr. Winters into each scene they discussed. Which was ridiculous because he couldn’t be Mr. Rochester, Heathcliff,andMr. John Thornton. She really must keep her thoughts of him locked up safely inside a secret drawer labeled “Muse” that was only to be opened when she was writing her own books. If her friends knew she was harboring a ridiculous tendre for such a man, there would be no end to the ribbing she’d receive.
Jane put down her cup with studied grace. The weak gray light filtering in through the curtains highlighted the strands of bronze and copper in her brown hair but did little to obscure the jagged scar arcing across her left cheek from her ear to the corner of her mouth. Or the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes. “It’s so infernally frustrating, isn’t it?” she said in her lovely, smoky voice that reminded Artemis of autumnal bonfires. “Why is it so hard for others to accept that women can be perfectly content if we are left to our own devices? That we do not wish be at the beck and call of some man or be subject to his capricious whims—whether that be husband or father or brother or guardian. My grandfather understands, but the rest of my family do not.”
She caught Lucy’s gaze, then Artemis’s. “I don’t have the same immediate pressure upon me to wed as you both do for obvious reasons”—she gestured at her ruined cheek—“but my mother, in particular, is profoundly disappointed that I’m no longer as marriageable as I once was. I’m seen as an embarrassing encumbrance despite the fact I tend to be the indispensable family drudge.” She sighed. “But such is the life of a spinster when one is strapped for funds. If only some newspaper or periodical would take a chance on me and employ me as a columnist or editor on a regular basis.”
“I’m so sorry they all take you for granted,” said Artemis. When Jane wasn’t acting as an unpaid personal-secretary-cum-companion for her mother, she was more often than not playing the part of a chaperone for several of her cousins who were “just out” and all looking for husbands. When she had any spare time for herself, she could be found here at Delaney’s helping her grandfather appraise books or penning poorly paid literature reviews for a handful of London’s newspapers, including the notorious society scandal rag, theLondon Tatler. “You know that as soon as I start my college, I’d love to have you on staff as a teacher if that’s what you would like to do in the meantime.”
Jane smiled warmly. “I would certainly consider it.”
Lucy scowled into her cup of tea. “I wish my father thought that I was unmarriageable. If only society would permit us the freedom afforded bachelors. My brother, Monty, does whatever he likes, whenever he likes. I love him to the moon and back, but I don’t see why he shouldn’t do his bit for the family cause. He could marry well too.”
“I don’t blame you for feeling frustrated.” Artemis offered her a sympathetic smile. Aside from being as knowledgeable as her father in the field of botany—despite the lack of a formal qualification—Lucy had dreams of traveling the world to conduct her own research on the medicinal properties of plants. While she was a member of the Botanical Society of London, and several of her own papers had been published in the society’s quarterly journal, she would never receive the same degree of recognition as her father.
Lucy sighed. “I’m almost at the point of rubbing myself all over with stinging nettles, wild parsnips, or hyacinth bulbs, so I develop some ghastly rash. No one in their right mind will want to court a spotty spinster with a tendency to constantly scratch.”
“Oh, heavens no. Surely it won’t come to that,” said Artemis. “Even though I’m staying with my aunt and sister at the moment, just know that I’m here to help you, Lucy, in whatever way I can. The irony is,” she added, “that while both you and I are actively trying to avoid getting married, my poor sister, Phoebe, wants to wed with her whole heart.” Artemis filled Lucy and Jane in on her plan to divert Lucy’s would-be suitors Phoebe’s way, should they attend the same balls and soirees. “As Aunt Roberta has at last conceded that Phoebe may have a Season, I’m hoping she will give her blessing to any suitable offer for Phoebe’s hand because I am not likely to receive—or accept—any proposals of marriage.”
Lucy looked horrified. “Surely she won’t stop Phoebe from marrying if she really wants to and if the gentleman in question is respectable and his offer genuine. She is of age.”
Artemis shrugged. “The problem is that Aunt Roberta has a fierce, uncompromising grip on the purse strings of our not-insubstantial dowries. My real fear is that she won’t let Phoebe wed until I do. She’s effectively holding us both to ransom, and it’s all so terribly unfair.”
“And she’s pitting you against each other.” Jane’s expression was thoughtful. “I’m sure you’ve tried umpteen tactics to make your aunt see reason.”
“Oh, I have. Indeed, I’ve been racking my brain for years to come up with some sort of effective argument or method of persuasion that will change her mind. Unfortunately, Aunt Roberta is just as mulish and set in her ways as I am. Both of us are like the Rock of Gibraltar. We will not budge an inch, ever.”
A sly look crossed Lucy’s face. “Even though we’ve declared ourselves confirmed spinsters, if you were a little more mercenary, Artemis, you could find yourself a wealthy but malleable husband to fund your college rather than just a sponsor. A man who admires you for your intellect just as much as your fine brown eyes.”
“Oh, I like your idea. A philanthropic-minded Mr. Darcy sounds quite delicious,” said Jane with a twinkle in her gaze. “I’ll keep an eye out for any suitable-sounding candidates that appear in the gossip columns of theLondon Tatler. Or next time I’m out and about chaperoning one of my cousins.”
Artemis emitted a huff of laughter. “I don’t think that such a man exists, my dear friends. But if I do happen to meet someone like that, Imightbe tempted to change my mind.”Especially if he has storm-cloud gray eyes, wears snugly fitting trousers, and cologne that smells like the ocean…
Ugh. Her mind was straying tohimagain.
“Yes, but I’d warrant there are far more men resembling Mr. Collins or outright bounders like Rawdon Crawley fromVanity Fairout there,” said Lucy glumly. “I daresay the sort of Byronic heroes we swoon over only exist in the books we read. And the books you write, Artemis.”
“I think you’re both right,” agreed Jane with a sigh. “Unfortunately, life isn’t like an Austen novel or a Gothic romance.”
Artemis rallied a smile. “But at least we have each other. Along with plenty of books and dreams.”
“And tea and cake,” added Lucy. “What more do we need?”
“Nothing at all,” said Jane, and with that, she proceeded to slice several more slices of jam and cream sponge, which Artemis and Lucy accepted with alacrity.
***
“Huzzah! It’s about time you got married again.” A bright smile broke across Horatia’s face as she dispensed Dominic’s coffee just the way he liked it. They were presently sequestered in Dartmoor House’s drawing room, sharing a light luncheon. “However”—she paused to pass Dominic his cup—“I’m afraid I’m not inclined to compile a list of eligible women for you to court this Season.”
Dominic raised a brow. “Whyever not? Considering most families with suitable daughters won’t want to have anything to do with me, that should narrow down the field a bit. I can’t imagine it will take you too long.”
His sister gave him a flat look over the plates of savory pastries, cucumber sandwiches, and petit fours. “Oh, that should be easy, then, coming up with a list of well-connected, preferably titled women who are not too young or too old. Women who are paragons of propriety with a modicum of intelligence and possess the usual accomplishments, along with an even temper and physical attributes that you will find pleasing to the eye. And as you so rightly point out, they must also be willing to overlook your much maligned reputation. Am I correct?”
