Chapter Seven
The Earl and Countess of Castledown’s spring ball, one of the first major events of the Season, was a crush and the ballroom was simply dazzling. At least Artemis thought so. The gaslit chandeliers illuminated a massive, opulently appointed chamber. A profusion of bright spring blooms all but spilled from enormous porcelain vases, and the window embrasures and gilt-framed mirrors were festooned with cascading floral garlands.
The fact that Aunt Roberta had managed to secure invitations for all of them at short notice was apparently an absolute feat, according to Phoebe who was abuzz with nervous excitement as they hovered on the edge of the dance floor, watching as waltzing couples spun past, the silk and satin of skirts shimmering, and jewels at wrist and throat and ear sparkling.
“You don’t think I’m overtrimmed? Like I’m trying too hard?” she asked, plucking at one of the silk roses on the buttercup-yellow bodice of her ball gown. “I hadn’t expected Madame Blanchard to add quite so many embellishments. I don’t want everyone to think I resemble a flower bed at Kew Gardens.”
Given the veritable whirlpool of color in front of them, Artemis remarked she hardly thought so. Indeed,shedidn’t feel particularly flowerlike. More like a trussed Christmas goose, considering she was stuffed into a tightly cinched whalebone corset and a suffocating ball gown constructed of acres of crimson silk skirts, frothy petticoats, and a wire-cage crinoline. And then, of course, there were a million pins stuck into her head to keep her cascading sausage curls in place.
Aunt Roberta gave her niece a reassuring pat on the arm. “There’s no need to be anxious, Phoebe.Bothyou and Artemis look beautiful and are sure to attract the attention of quite a few eligible gentlemen. You’re both going to have such capital fun. But not too much…” She directed this last comment straight at Artemis. “Don’t think I don’t recall your troublesome habit of sneaking off in pursuit of mischief during your first Season. The last thing I need is for you to create a scandal that will besmirch your reputation or your sister’s.”
Artemis bit back the retort dancing on the tip of her unruly tongue. If she wanted a dalliance, she’d indulge in one, thank you very much. She wasn’t a naive girl anymore who’d lose her heartorend up in the family way. She’d learned her lesson long ago and knew how to guard against both eventualities if the right opportunity for a bit of fun presented itself. But it would have to be someone special indeed to convince her to risk all for a few moments of fleeting passion. Someone like Mr. Dominic Winters perhaps…
Although, she should focus on why she was really here. To support Lucy—she was supposed to be at the Castledown’s ball tonight too—and to find a benefactress for her college. As if her thoughts had conjured her up, Lucy suddenly materialized out of the crowd along with her father, Sir Oswald, her dashing brother, Monty, and a tiny silver-haired woman in black bombazine who was introduced as Lucy’s cousin and chaperone, Miss Mabel Babbington.
Once the customary greetings and pleasantries had been dispensed with, Lucy pulled Artemis aside. “I’m so happy to see you,” she whispered. “I’ve been such a bundle of nerves all day. Actually, I almost cast up my accounts in the carriage just before we arrived.” She gave a little shiver, then placed a trembling hand upon her belly. “If I had, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Compassion welled inside Artemis’s heart, and she gave her friend’s gloved hand a gentle squeeze. “Youcando this. And I promise that I will stay by your side. You can count on me. I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. And if I suspect any of the men are scoundrels, or you simply don’t like them, I’ll chase them off with my scorching she-devil stare.” She narrowed her eyes, affecting a fulminating glare, and Lucy laughed.
“Oh, Artemis, you are too funny. And yes, that glare would burn them to a crisp. You always know how to make me feel better.”
Artemis smiled. “I’m glad. All jokes aside, remember that when any gentlemen do wander your way, I shall encourage my aunt to introduce them to Phoebe. My sister is such a chatterbox, she should keep them busy. I mean, look…” She nodded in Phoebe’s direction. “She’s already making eyes at any bachelor within striking distance.” Indeed, her sister’s eyelashes were fluttering faster than her silk fan as she cast longing glances at a pair of handsome young bucks across the room.
Lucy was about to make another remark, but Sir Oswald politely interrupted. He wished to introduce his daughter and Miss Babbington to another middle-aged couple and their debutante daughter. Monty Bertram had apparently disappeared into the crowd.Lucky sod.
At loose ends, Artemis armed herself with a flute of champagne and surveyed the other guests in her immediate vicinity. She had no idea how she could easily identify members of the upper ten thousand who possessed progressive views about women’s education. She would need to tread carefully. Earning the reputation of a radical certainly wouldn’t do, not this early in the piece. The problem was, even though Aunt Roberta was a relatively well-connected baroness, Artemis couldn’t wheedle any useful intelligence out of her without giving her own scheme away.
An attractive dark-haired man on the other side of the dance floor caught her eye, and her mind immediately conjured up an image of Dominic Winters. It irked her no end that ever since their encounter at Delaney’s two weeks ago, she hadn’t been able tostopthinking about him at odd moments during the day or at night when she was alone in her bed. He wouldn’t stay put in her drawer labeled “Muse” no matter how hard she tried.
Would he be here tonight? The way he spoke, dressed, and carried himself practically screamed monied nobleman. Given the fact that half the population of Belgravia and Mayfair seemed to be attending the ball, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he might be on the guest list. Artemis’s stomach performed an odd little somersault at the mere thought of seeing him again. And then she chided herself for acting like the caper-witted debutante she used to be.
Aunt Roberta touched her arm, drawing her attention to a tall, bespectacled gentleman sporting a set of impressive muttonchop whiskers. “Artemis,” she began, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Adam Whittaker—” But then she broke off as a collective gasp followed by a strange echoing silence descended upon the room. Conversations ceased. Dancers stilled. Even the orchestra ground to a screeching halt.
And then Artemis’s gaze fell upon the commanding figure framed in the ballroom’s grand arched entrance. The gentleman that everyone else seemed to be momentarily transfixed by.
It was Mr. Byronic Hero himself. Dominic Winters.
But no, he wasn’t just “Mr.” Winters, because the Castledowns’ footman was announcing him as “His Grace, the Duke of Dartmoor.”
Ha!Artemis smiled to herself as she studied the duke’s marble-hewn profile and the way his glittering, incisive gray gaze swept about the room like a wolf scanning his hunting ground for quarry. Or a general identifying a conquest before he entered the battlefield. She’d been right all along. Dominic Winterswasa nobleman. And an exalted one at that.
The Duke of Dartmoor…Artemis frowned. Now why did that name sound vaguely familiar? For a fleeting moment, she thought the duke’s gaze settled upon her, but then his attention moved on. Even so, her pulse began to race as though a chase was about to begin.
The orchestra and the buzz of excited voices filled the air again as the duke descended the short flight of stairs to the ballroom floor. His pace was unhurried, his manner unruffled, his expression inscrutable. Immaculately dressed in black-as-midnight evening attire, he cut a fine figure as Artemis tracked his progress—he was at least half a head taller than most gentlemen in the room—before she lost sight of him.
“Well, well, well, the Duke of Dartmoor has emerged from social exile. He must be looking for a new wife.” Aunt Roberta snorted. “I doubt he’ll have much luck though. Indeed, I can’t believe the man has the temerity to set foot in polite society again.” Her aunt’s voice was stiff with disapproval as she added, “I thought Lord and Lady Castledown were quite particular about who they invited into their home.”
“What’s wrong with the Duke of Dartmoor?” returned Artemis, curiosity leaping inside her like sparking fireworks. Mr. Whittaker had faded away, so she didn’t see the harm in gathering information about the man she’d hitherto known as Dominic Winters.
Aunt Roberta sniffed, her expression smug. “I keep forgetting you’ve been away from Town so long that you wouldn’t know.”
“I don’t read the gossip columns either, so no, I wouldn’t.”
Her aunt shot her a narrow-eyed look. “Careful, my gel. I don’t like your tone. In any event, it sometimes pays to keep abreast of who’s who and what’s what. One must do what one can to stay safe.”
“Safe? Are you implying the Duke of Dartmoor is dangerous?”
Her aunt leaned in. “He hasn’t earned the soubriquet of ‘the Dastardly Duke’ for nothing. So yes, I am.”