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Chapter Twenty-Six
It was just after nine o’clock in the evening when Artemis arrived back at Cadogan Square. Even though she and Dominic seemed to have called a truce after their tense exchange in Ashburn’s library, there were long periods of strained silence on the journey back to London. Horatia, who’d decided to return too, had done her best to make conversation, but at best, it was stilted. When Artemis alighted from Dominic’s carriage, she’d simply farewelled him and Horatia rather than invite them into her aunt’s house. But she had promised to speak with Dominic on the morrow.
“She’s in her bedroom,” said Aunt Roberta without preamble as soon as Artemis set foot in the drawing room.
“How is she?” asked Artemis, pulling off her gloves and bonnet and dumping them on a chair. Trepidation tripped through her when she took in her aunt’s slightly disheveled appearance—lace cap askew, iron-gray hair sliding from its pins, no jewelry at her throat or upon her fingers. Such a look was completely out of character even for this relatively late hour. “What’s Gascoyne done?”
Aunt Roberta absently patted Bertie who sat beside her on the sofa. “She won’t say precisely, though I fear that the blackguard has stolen her virtue,” she said in a voice that was weak and frail rather than brimming with self-assurance. “But it’s even worse than that, I’m afraid.”
The barely restrained fear inside Artemis bolted clean away. She had to inhale a lungful of air before she could make her voice work. “Please speak plainly, Aunt Roberta.”
Her aunt gestured at a pile of newspapers beside her crystal bowl of sweetmeats. “Take a look for yourself. It’s on page seven in the gossip…I mean the ‘social’ column of theLondon Tatler. The whole family’s reputation is ruined.”
Oh no.
Artemis picked up the infamous scandal rag and flipped to the page her aunt had indicated. And then her heart stuttered and all but stopped.
Miss P.J. of C. Square forsaken by the Dastardly Duke’s nemesis!
But who will have the last laugh?
She couldn’t bear to read any more than that. “How did this happen?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger.
Aunt Roberta shrugged. Her wrapper slipped down her arm, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I have no idea. Whenever I try to talk to Phoebe, she bursts into tears. But I’m sure she’ll speak with you. She sent for you after all.”
Artemis started toward the door but as she reached for the handle, her aunt spoke again. “I don’t blame you, you know. In case you were wondering. You did try to warn us.”
“How very gracious of you,” returned Artemis over her shoulder. “It’s just a pity that neither of you believed me until it was too late.”
***
Artemis found her sister slumped in an armchair by the fire. And she was in an even worse state than Aunt Roberta.
Her cheeks were pale, but her eyes and nose were red. Her brown hair hung in limp tangles about her sagging shoulders, and in one hand she clutched a linen kerchief.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Phoebe murmured, then sniffed. “I wasn’t sure if you would, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, Phoebe.” Artemis rushed to her sister’s side and gathered her into a hug. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. And of course I was going to come home as soon as you messaged me.”
When she drew back, she sank onto the ottoman at Phoebe’s feet and took one of her sister’s pale hands in hers. “Aunt Roberta has shared a little about what’s happened. If you want to tell me more, I’m here to listen.”
Phoebe nodded and a sigh shivered out of her. And then a tear slid down her cheek. “It’s not fair, Artemis. All I ever wanted to do was marry and have children, and I’ve been waiting for so, so long. But now that will never happen. Who will have me now?” The expression in her eyes was nothing but haunted. “What if I’m with child?” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “Every time I think about it, I feel sick.”
“Are you sure that he—”
“Yes, he did, Artemis. I’m not stupid,” Phoebe snapped, making Artemis jump. And then she immediately looked contrite for her outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. None of it is.”
Apprehension squeezed her chest as Artemis asked gently, “This question may be difficult for you to answer, Phoebe, but Lord Gascoyne didn’t hurt you, did he? Force himself on you?”
Phoebe sniffed again and then dabbed at her red eyes. “No, no he didn’t. Well, it hurt a little when he first… When he began to, you know… I’d expected it to though. But that’s not the worst part.” She lifted her chin. “It’s the betrayal and the humiliation and the fact I was such a gullible little fool that stings the most. Because I wanted todoit with him after he told me that he adored me, and of course, he knew a lie like that would work. We were at a rout at Lord and Lady Everton’s, and when he asked me to meet him in the gardens, I did. I was so swept up in the moment. I was in love, and it was all so wild and wonderful and exciting and romantic, and I thought that helovedme—” She broke off and drew a shallow breath. “Have you seen theLondon Tatler?”
“Yes. Aunt Roberta showed me the article.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t know what possessed me. To follow him to his club and to make such a public to-do that it all ended up in that horrid paper. When he didn’t respond to my messages the day after the Evertons’ rout, or the next, I was just so desperate to see him again. His silence confused me. I was so certain that he would be here on the doorstep, first thing in the morning after we…” A crimson blush stained her cheeks. “I thought he would ask to speak to Aunt Roberta and then seek a private audience with me to ask for my hand. But when he didn’t, I sent him a message. And then another. And then I thought that perhaps some horrible, pernickety servant at Gascoyne House simply hadn’t passed my messages on. Hetty swore she deliveredallof them. But it turned out that wasn’t the problem at all.
“Late yesterday afternoon, one of the footmen told Hetty that his master was avoiding me and that if I went to his club, Brooks’s in St. James’s, in the early evening, I might catch him. So I did.” Her eyes glinted and her mouth flattened. “When I confronted Gascoyne in the street before he went inside, he laughed at me and claimed that the mere idea of someone like him, a viscount, marrying someone like me, was delusional. That he’d never cared for me. That it was all in my head. We’d had our fun, but now it was time for both of us to move on.”
Fury gripped and twisted Artemis’s gut. The sick bloody bastard had said almost the exact same things to her a whole decade ago. Somehow, she managed to keep her tone even and relatively gentle as she said, “Someone in the street must have overheard your exchange and sold the story to theLondon Tatler.”
