Artemis blushed. “I… Yes, it’s a manuscript. But—”
“But it says on the front page thatLady Mirabella and the Midnight Monkis by Lydia Lovelace. Wait a minute…” Celeste’s eyes widened in shock, and then she whispered, “Miss Jones, areyouLydia Lovelace?”
Artemis gaped. “I… No. No, I’m not,” she lied, but it seemed she wasn’t convincing enough. The entirely skeptical look on the duke’s daughter’s face clearly indicated that she didn’t believe her.
Celeste’s next words confirmed it. “You are. I know you are.” Her gaze narrowed. “I saw you writing in this book when we were on the train on the way here. When you thought I wasn’t looking. Does my father know about this? Who you are?”
Artemis swallowed. Her face was burning. “No, no he doesn’t.”
Celeste nodded once. “Good. I promise I won’t tell him because if he does learn you’re Miss Lovelace, he might stop you writing your wonderful books. And I can’t have that, Miss Jones. You are one of my favorite authors, so you needn’t worry.” She dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Your secret is safe with me. I will take it to the grave if necessary.”
Artemis released a shaky breath as she tried to rein in her runaway panic. It was no use. Now that the cat was well and truly out of the bag, she was going to have to concede defeat and put her faith in Lady Celeste to keep her word. “I… Thank you, my lady. For keeping my secret and for the lovely compliment about my writing. It means a lot to me.” Her gaze darted to the sitting room doorway, but no one was there. She trusted Miss Sharp hadn’t been eavesdropping. Surely, she would have noticed the governess lingering about the threshold.
“Do you have somewhere you can hide all these?” she added, keeping her voice low. “I’m worried Miss Sharp will confiscate them again.”
“I do.” Celeste nodded toward the other side of the room. “See that window seat? There’s a secret compartment underneath and a locked chest inside. Bring the chest here and I’ll hide the books straightaway. I’ll only read them at night after Miss Sharp has retired to her own rooms.”
Artemis fetched the chest and Celeste, who’d already retrieved the key from her bedside table drawer, unlocked it and then began to put the books away.
“I’ll need to take this one back with me, my lady,” said Artemis, picking up her manuscript.
“Understood.” Celeste’s gaze firmed. “Youmustfinish it because I want to read it. And please, do stop calling me ‘my lady.’ If we are to be family, you must call me Celeste.”
“And you may call me Artemis. Miss Jones makes me sound like some stuffy old schoolteacher or your ancient maiden aunt.”
Celeste smiled warmly. “Artemis then.” She locked the box and Artemis returned it to its hidey-hole beneath the window seat.
“I promise to gift you a signed copy of Lady Mirabella’s tale as soon as it’s published. Hopefully before Christmastide,” she said when she returned to Celeste’s bedside.
Christmastide…That seemed like such a long way away. Where would she be living by then? What would she be doing? Would she be “Miss Jones, Proprietress and Head Teacher” at her new ladies’ college somewhere in London? Alone, penning Gothic romances by the fire in her small but adequate bedroom with a single glass of sherry and a crumbling piece of plum pudding at hand to provide her with a semblance of seasonal cheer?
An image of her spending Christmas with Dominic, Celeste, and Horatia and her family leapt into her mind. They’d all be clustered around the enormous fire in Ashburn Abbey’s drawing room, and there’d be a towering Christmas tree in the corner. There’d be a wassail bowl and an extravagant roast dinner and singing and laughter and lively conversation—
A fierce, searing longing shot through Artemis’s chest, taking her breath away. What was wrong with her? Ashburn Abbey, Dominic, and indeed his entire family were starting to weave some strange enchantment over her. Before she knew it, she’d be doing something ridiculous like saying yes to Dominic at the altar.
But was it that ridiculous?
As she farewelled Celeste, then hurried back to her room—the door to the nursery still firmly shut, thank goodness—she vowed to herself that from now on, she would keep an open mind about what was to come. While she didn’t believe in love, perhaps Dominic had a good point. Theydidrub along well together. Perhaps a marriage of convenience with him wouldn’t be such terrible a thing…if she could find it in her heart to give him the heir he needed.
And if she could also find the courage to tell him about her writing career. She didn’t want a marriage based on secrets and lies. She was sure Dominic wouldn’t want that either. But under the circumstances, what choice did she have?
If shedidconfess that she was Lydia Lovelace—or if Celeste broke her promise and gave her secret away—Artemis’s musings about any sort of future with Dominic, along with her dream of establishing a college, would be all for naught. Of this, Artemis was absolutely certain. She couldn’t imagine Dominic would happily give her the funds and the moral support he’d promised, let alone marry her, when he learned the truth. When he learned she’d been duplicitous all along.
She could continue to lie to a good man and have everything she wanted. Or she could be open and honest with him and lose it all. But if she did want to marry him, there was no doubt in her mind that disclosing her secret was the one risk shewouldhave to take.