“Uncle Henry, Uncle Edward.” She curtsied. “I have some news.”
“Found a suitable place for the child, have you?” asked Uncle Henry. “He must be gone by the end of next week, remember. I have invited Mrs. Bullworth to Bramberley and mean to propose to her in the Great Hall.”
“Lee will definitely be gone by then.” Artemis squared her shoulders. “As will I. I have accepted an offer of marriage from Mr. Hadrian Northmore. The wedding will take place as soon as he returns from London.”
“Northmore?” Uncle Henry glowered. “Any relation to—?”
Artemis nodded. “He is Julian Northmore’s elder brother. The one who made such a great fortune in the Indies with Lord Kingsfold. He is eager to take responsibility for his brother’s child. He means to make Lee his heir.”
“Then give him the child, by all means.” Uncle Henry gulped a drink of his brandy. “But you cannot think of wedding such a man. It is out of the question!”
“Why?” Artemis could scarcely believe she was challenging the authority of her uncles. “I am well past the age of consent. Mr. Northmore is willing to provide a home for me and for my sister’s child. That is more than I can find at Bramberley.”
“Remember your rank and lineage,” Uncle Henry urged.
“Remember the trouble his miserable brother made for this family,” Uncle Edward added.
The second factor weighed far more heavily upon Artemis than the first. “I am only following your maxim, Uncle Henry. Sacrifices must be made for the good of the family. Though you may not choose to acknowledge him, Lee is my family. To keep him, I would marry the devil if I had to. And Hadrian Northmore is hardly that.”
The man wanted to raise his family to the kind of prominence hers had once enjoyed. Was that so contemptible? Some distant forebearer must have had the ambition and good fortune to elevate the Dearings.
“Think of the talk.” Uncle Henry set aside his glass. “Just when the other scandal was finally dying down.”
Was he afraid her actions might cost him the rich bride he sought to snare?
“Break it off, Artemis,” he entreated her. “If you have your heart set on keeping the child, perhaps something can be done. It will not be necessary for you to wed that odious man.”
There it was—precisely the concession she’d hoped to wring from her uncle with the threat of marrying Hadrian Northmore. If she and Lee left Bramberley straightaway for some remote spot, Mr. Northmore would have little chance of finding them before he was obliged to return to Singapore. She would have what she wanted without being bound to the man who provoked far too many intense, unwelcome feelings in her. The man who would always be a reminder of what she had lost.
But as she prepared to accept her uncle’s terms, a pang of conscience made Artemis hesitate. How would she feel if Hadrian Northmore took Lee and sailed off to the Indies where she could not follow? She would consider herself wickedly wronged, of course. Then how could she contemplate doing something similar to him? Another factor also weighed on her decision. It was one even Uncle Henry could understand.
“If you had made that offer last week, sir, I would have accepted most gratefully, but now I must decline.”
“Why on earth…?” her uncle sputtered.
“Because I have given Mr. Northmore my word.” Artemis struggled to subdue her misgivings. “And you have always told me the word of a Dearing is sacred.”
“The solemnization of a marriage is always a sacred privilege.” The vicar of St. Botolph’s beamed at Hadrian as they stood on the steps of the old church awaiting his bride’s arrival. “But never more than in this case.”
“I am glad you approve.” Hadrian was not sure what the vicar meant. “To be honest, I’m relieved you are willing to perform the ceremony, under the circumstances.”
“More than willing.” The vicar pushed up his spectacles. “Honored. Delighted!”
He was a slight, middle-aged man with thinning white hair and mild blue eyes. His air of naive charity was difficult for a practical man like Hadrian to fathom, though he found it rather disarming.
His face must have betrayed his puzzlement, for the vicar offered an explanation. “Your marriage to Lady Artemis exemplifies a true Christian spirit of reconciliation after the tragic events of the past. I pray Our Lord will richly bless your union.”
Reconciliation with the Dearings? It was all Hadrian could do to keep from venting a blast of bitter laughter in the vicar’s face. At the same time, it troubled his conscience to receive undeserved praise for such virtuous motives. His marriage to Lady Artemis was based on hard necessity and cold mistrust, nothing more.
“We both want what is best for the child.” Unable to meet the vicar’s innocent gaze, Hadrian pulled out his watch and flicked it open. Then he peered up the road. “I hope Lady Artemis has not changed her mind.”
It had taken him three days haunting the Doctors’ Commons in London to secure the special license. Every hour his impatience had grown as he remembered her plea for haste. What if she had second thoughts and decided to fight him for the child?
The vicar gave an indulgent chuckle. “If I had a shilling for every nervous bridegroom I’ve heard utter those words, I could easily fill the parish poor box.”
Hadrian contorted his mouth into a mirthless grin. He doubted any other groom had such good reasons for fearing his bride might not show up for their wedding. After a final glance at his watch, he clicked it shut and stuffed it back in his pocket.
The rumble of horses’ hooves drew his gaze back to the road. He recognized the yellow post chaise he’d dispatched to Bramberley to fetch Lady Artemis and his nephew.
He strode toward the entrance to the churchyard, a wrought-iron gate set in a low stone wall. When the carriage came to a halt, he pulled the door open and prepared to hand Lady Artemis out. Instead, she bundled his nephew into his arms, then climbed from the carriage without his assistance.
The child let out a squeal of laughter and wriggled his sturdy arms and legs. It was like trying to hold a squirming piglet. Conflicting inclinations warred within Hadrian. Part of him wanted to hoist the lad in the air, like a prize he’d won after a hard-fought contest. Another part warned him to be careful. It would be far too easy to grow attached to this appealing little fellow.
Holding the lad in an awkward grip, Hadrian peered past Lady Artemis into the empty interior of the carriage. “Where’s his nursemaid?”
“He does not have one.” Her tart tone suggested the question was ridiculous, perhaps even offensive. “I told you I have cared for him from the moment he was born.”
So she had, Hadrian admitted to himself. But he could not believe she’d meant the day-to-day routines of tending a child this young: feeding, dressing, washing, changing linen, and soothing him when he was ill.
His nephew’s squeals took on a fussy note.
“Hold him up to your shoulder,” Lady Artemis advised, “so he has a good view of everything. Then perhaps he won’t be so anxious to get down and walk about.”
Turning away from him, she greeted the vicar with grave courtesy.
Reverend Curtis bowed. “As I was telling Mr. Northmore, it gives me great pleasure to preside over your nuptials. I consider this a most gratifying symbol of Christian forgiveness between two families who have—”
Lady Artemis stiffened. “Thank you for permitting the ceremony to take place here. Dearings have worshipped at St. Botolph’s for centuries. I cannot imagine being married anywhere else.”
“Will the Marquis and Lord Edward be joining us?” asked