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Chapter Twelve
“Is His Grace in?” Artemis asked Mr. Morton as he ushered her into Dartmoor House via the servants’ entrance. Even though it was something of a cloak-and-dagger arrival—the duke’s personal secretary had arranged for an unmarked carriage to pick her up from Cadogan Square—a footman appeared to collect her hooded cloak, bonnet, and gloves as though she’d walked through the front door.
Morton shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Miss Jones. Business meetings will keep him away from the house for most of the day. But he did ask that I pass on his regards. His Grace also wishes you to know that if you require anything at all during your visit with his daughter and Miss Sharp, you only need ask and you shall have it.”
“Thank you.” It had been almost a whole week since Artemis had met with Dominic at Delaney’s, and she couldn’t suppress a ripple of disappointment. Not only would she have to wait longer to hear about the next phase of her ruination plan—whether Dominic had been able to arrange invitations for a suitable event and when that event would be—but in all honesty, she was also crestfallen that she wouldn’t see him this afternoon after all.
She wasnotbesotted, she told herself firmly as another footman led her into an enormous entry hall and then up an imposing marble staircase with exquisitely carved balustrades. No, she was simply brimming with unfulfilled lust.
The way Dominic had kissed her between the bookcases, indeed, the whole wicked encounter had fueled her erotic fantasies every single night. When he’d asked if he could use her first name and had invited her to call him Dominic, she knew at that precise moment that they would become lovers.
Because she’d decided long ago that she wouldn’t deny her sensual self if a man she truly desired came along, she wasn’t daunted by the prospect of becoming a powerful duke’s paramour—far from it. She didn’t believe in marriage or happily-ever-afters, so there was no risk to her heart. As long as she and the duke were both discreet, the opportunity to become his lover was one she would fully embrace.
Indeed, it was only society that believed an unmarried woman couldn’t eat her cake and have it too. Well, just as she always had, Artemis would thumb her nose at what society thought.
She would have as much darn cake as she wanted.
At the end of an upstairs gallery, the footman showed Artemis into a pretty, feminine parlor decorated in tasteful pastel shades.
A chambermaid appeared and bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Sharp has been expecting you, Miss Jones. If you would like to take a seat, she’ll be with you as soon as she can. Would you like some tea while you wait?”
“Ah, yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”
How odd that I should be kept waiting by the governess, thought Artemis as she drifted to the hearthside to study a landscape painting depicting a bleak moorland featuring craggy, mist-wreathed tors. She wondered if Miss Sharp had taken offense at the duke’s decision for an outsider to scrutinize her charge’s lessons. If she, Artemis, were in the same position, she would probably be chagrined too.
In any event, she would do as Dominic had asked. How could she not? She still couldn’t quite believe that hehadactually agreed to her outrageous proposition. Of course, this was a quid pro quo—his participation in her faux ruinationwasdependent upon her agreement to speak with Miss Sharp and his daughter. But she didn’t mind. Indeed, if Artemis were perfectly honest with herself, she would admit that she was curious to meet Lady Celeste. It had been her experience that when parents described their daughters as “bright” but “a little rebellious,” it generally meant their children had turned into evil, demanding witches. And any “mischief” they created was usually a coded word for “havoc.”
The tea arrived, and after Artemis had poured herself a steaming cup, she settled into a comfortable armchair by the fireside and studied the leaping flames. If she knew Miss Sharp was going to takethislong, she would have brought her notebook and continued working onLady Mirabella and the Midnight Monk. Artemis had last left her heroine on the brink of ecstasy, and the poor woman needed a release sooner rather than later. She just needed to decide upon the wicked technique the Midnight Monk would employ to help Lady Mirabella slip over the edge and what euphemisms she would use. She was always careful to only give a suggestion of what was happening beneath the sheets. Her love scenes weren’t really allthatlurid, despite popular opinion.
The parlor door snicked open, and Artemis immediately closed the mental door on her characters’ amorous shenanigans.
“Miss Jones?” A petite, attractive woman about Artemis’s age approached. She wore her smoothly parted, light-brown hair in tightly coiled braids beside her ears, and her Prussian blue gown with black military style frogging was appropriately sedate for someone of her station. “I’m Miss Rosalind Sharp, Lady Celeste’s governess. My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“That’s quite all right, Miss Sharp.” Artemis put down her cup and rose to her feet. “It has been quite pleasant sitting here by the fire, taking tea. May I pour you a cup? The pot is still quite hot.”
“Why, thank you. Yes,” replied the governess. Her manner was cordial if not altogether warm. Her smile, superficially pleasant. “I take it without sugar or milk.”
“Wonderful,” said Artemis. They sat opposite each other like combatants in a game of chess or cards. At least Artemis formed that impression. It also felt decidedly odd playing hostess when she was the visitor, but nevertheless, she dispensed Miss Sharp’s tea.
The governess took it with murmured thanks, sipped delicately, then placed the cup and saucer down upon the mahogany table between them. “Now,” she said, folding her hands together in her lap in a prim fashion, “I understand His Grace has asked you to speak with me about Lady Celeste and her studies with a view to improving their quality. For that reason, I thought it best that we speak first before you meet my lady.”
“I cannot fault your reasoning,” returned Artemis.
That insincere smile again. “That being said,” continued the governess, “I will admit that I am a trifle confused about His Grace’s request. I was not aware that there was an issue with Lady Celeste’s tutelage. And I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, Miss Jones, but I’m also uncertain what makesyouso uniquely qualified to make such an assessment and any subsequent recommendations.”
Artemis frowned. She’d been expecting Miss Sharp to query her professional credentials, but perhaps in not quite so blunt a fashion. At any rate, it was out on the table.
“I have been a governess and finishing school teacher for a number of years,” she said carefully. “Nine actually. And my last appointment was at the very well-regarded Avon Academy for Young Ladies of Quality in Bath.” Well regarded by members of the upper middle-class at least. Highly ranked peers wouldn’t deign to send their daughters to such an establishment.
Miss Sharp’s lips pursed; she clearly wasn’t impressed either. “In my two previous posts, I served as governess for the daughters of a viscount and then an earl.”
Artemis had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She didn’t have time for this sort of petty rivalry. Still, she needed to assert she had something of value to offer. She didn’t want to fail Dominic. “Most admirable.” Artemis gave a gracious inclination of her head. “But might I ask, what ages were your previous charges?”
The light in Miss Sharp’s hazel eyes hardened. “I don’t think that’s at all relevant, Miss Jones.”
“Perhaps it is. Otherwise, why would His Grace have sought my advice? It’s been my experience that young ladies in their adolescent years can be quite a different breed with their own particular set of behaviors, likes, and dislikes, when compared to younger children. Managing them can be a delicate operation, regardless of how well connected or elevated their families are.”
Miss Sharp picked up her tea and took several sips. Her eyes glittered with resentment.
