The Privilege of the Sword (42 page)

Artemisia sat up straight, her arms on the chair. “What have you to say, then, Robert?”

Robert drew a deep breath, went to the window, and then let it out and turned to her. “Do you know what I really want to say? I want to say that I wish you’d grow up and stop behaving like the queen in some tragedy. You made a stupid error, and now you refuse to admit it and face the consequences. Listen, Artie, do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“
Lucky?
Lucky to be forced against my will?”

“By your intended, just a few weeks before your wedding night. What’s the difference?”

She said, “You make me sick. I thought you’d understand, but you’re on
their
side now.”

He shouted, “I’m on
your
side, but you’re just too stupid to see it!”

“If you really cared for me, you’d fight for me! You’d be out there defending my honor, instead of sucking up to Father so he’ll raise your allowance so you and your stupid friends can hire swordsmen to fight over women you—you aren’t even related to.”

“If you weren’t such a romantic bubble-headed idiot, you’d know that your honor isn’t compromised unless this gets out.”

“Robert,” she said. “My honor was compromised the moment that monster laid a hand on me. If you don’t see that, there’s others who do.”

“Enough!” he said, brandishing the letter heavy with blobs of sealing wax. “Who is this
Tyrian
?”

“A friend. A true friend, and willing to fight for me.”

“My god,” he groaned. “How many of them are there? It’s not enough that you drag Ferris off to some sleazy ball for your fun, but now you’ve got some punk swordsman on your string as well?”

His sister threw the nearest thing to hand, a small table. “How dare you? I’ll have her kill you next, see if I don’t!”

“You’ve hired a
woman
to kill Lord Ferris?”

“She’s a girl, a girl like me. She’s brave and bold and true, and no one could ever make her do a thing that she despises, or harm the innocent. She’s not one of your swaggering bullies who fight for money; she’s a
real
swordsman. Like Fabian.”

“Oh, lord.” Her brother looked pale. He put his hand against the wall, oblivious that it covered a frolicking nymph. “Who’s Fab—”

“Never mind about Fabian.” A tight-lipped Lady Fitz-Levi had entered the room. “That’s quite enough nonsense. I don’t know where you managed to meet this heroic young lady, but unless you’re planning to marry
her,
you’d better tell her to keep her heroics to herself, and leave us all alone. Here, put this on.” She held up a gown of soft pink silk, ruffled to perfection.

“I
hate
pink.”

“It will give you color, which you sadly lack. Dorrie—” Artemisia’s maid appeared. “The hair, please.”

“What—”

“Sit still, you’ll knot it.”

“I don’t—”

“Daughter, be still. You will be made presentable, and you will go out. Whether or not you enjoy yourself is entirely up to you, but I urge you to try. (Robert, turn your back.) All the city knows is that you’ve been ill and fretful, and that Lord Ferris is pining for you. (No, Dorrie, the pearls.) Before we leave, you will write to your heroic friend, telling her she is on no account to make a fuss of any kind.”

“It’s not a ‘fuss,’ Mama,” Artemisia protested, even as she felt the cool weight of the pearls settle around her neck. “It’s a challenge, for my honor.”

“Your ‘honor’ is no one’s business but ours, child. More particularly, honor is the business of men.”

“But men are supposed to fight for a woman’s honor. If Papa and Robert—”

“If your father and brother feel insulted, of course they will fight for you; isn’t that so, Robbie?”

“Naturally, Mama. How could I do otherwise?”

“There, you see? (The curls a little higher—where is the butterfly pin?) Your honor is tarnished only if theirs is. And we have all made very sure that there is no breath of scandal, so no tarnish. (Don’t tight-lace, Dorrie, she’s thin enough as is.) Do you understand, now, dear?”

“Do try, Artie,” her brother added encouragingly. “You’ve always been game. I’m sorry what I said about your champion before—you see, I do take your honor most seriously, on my word I do. I’m your brother, I’m supposed to protect you. I know it’s been tough on you, old girl, but you must realize we care a lot for you. While you’ve been up here soaking your handkerchiefs, we’ve been making sure there’s nothing
to
fight about. Do you see?”

“I think so.”

“Of course she does. She knows how much we love her and want what’s best for her.” Lady Fitz-Levi pinched her daughter’s cheeks evenly, to bring out the glow. “Oh, look at her; doesn’t she look pretty?”

“A picture, madam.”

“Just so. We can all be proud of our little girl, and I know you will never do anything to make us feel otherwise. Now, which slippers do you like, the rosettes with the little heels, or the satin grey?”

“I wore those last year.”

“The rose, then. Stand up. Yes, you’re quite right about the heels, dear. The line is better so. Turn around. Robert, isn’t she a picture? Oh, Dorrie, look at that ruffle, it’s uneven—get your sewing kit, quickly. Yes, Kirk, what is it?”

“The carriage, my lady.”

“Dear me, already? I’ll just go change my gown—no one minds what I look like—and you sit and write that note.”

“But Mama—”

Covered in a muslin robe to protect her toilette, Artemisia wrote:

D
earest Fabian,

All is lost. My ruin is complete. My kind parents and brother have explained it all to me. There is no hope. Consider me as one dead and lost to the world. I will always remember you fondly, and will never forget what you were willing to do to save your—

Artemisia

“Hmph.” Lady Fitz-Levi read it over. “That will do. To whom is it addressed? Come, tell me—do not make me pump the servants for information, for I know they have delivered others.”

“To—to Lady Katherine Talbert. At Tremontaine House.”

“Oh…my…god,” her brother said feelingly.

L
ITTLE WAS SAID IN THE CARRIAGE, BUT WHEN
Artemisia’s mother was looking out the window, her brother passed her a flask and Lady Fitz-Levi pretended not to notice.

“A little afternoon musicale,” said her mother soothingly, “at your friends the Godwins. Your dear Lydia will be there, that will be nice for you. She has written you almost every day, you know.”

“I know.”

“And there will be no need to say much; just listen to the music, nod and smile, very simple.”

“Will—will
he
be there?”

“Oh, lord, child, how do I know? He doesn’t send me his comings and goings.”

“Don’t worry, sis.” Her brother squeezed her hand. “If he offends you in public in any way, I’ll fight him for sure.”

“Will you, Robbie?” she whispered. “Promise? If he’s there and he tries to get me alone, you won’t let me out of your sight, promise?”

“’Course I do. You’re safe as Nanny’s Hedgehog.”

She smiled at the childhood memory, and allowed herself to settle back a little.

E
VERYONE AT THE
G
ODWIN PARTY WAS CAREFULLY
pleased to see her. Lydia practically crushed all her ruffles in a fierce embrace, and whispered, “You look divine! All pale and interesting. I mustn’t let Armand catch sight of you; he’ll think me a pig by comparison.”

Her cousin Lucius was there, too, impeccably dressed as always. He took her hand and bowed and said, “It’s good to see you well,” but that was all. She saw her old beau Gregory, Lord Talbert, across the room flirting with an older woman, and wondered for a moment what would have happened if she had betrothed herself to him, and wished him well.

She sat on a velvet-covered love seat, wedged between her mother and her brother, and listened to two women playing flute and harp. The sun was coming in the tall windows overlooking the gardens. Lydia and Armand sat between them, a curtain half-pulled across them to disguise the fact that they were holding hands.

When
he
came in, she knew it.

She felt it on the back of her neck, a disturbance of the air, the disturbance of his gaze. The music didn’t stop. She gripped the edge of Robert’s jacket. She thought she could smell him, over the other people and the hothouse flowers. She found her handkerchief and a vial of geranium scent and applied some and took deep breaths through the linen, although it smelt far too sweet.

She prayed for the music never to end, but then it did. People applauded; she balled her handkerchief in her palm and did so, too. Her mother poked her; she sat up straight, and prepared to greet her promised bridegroom.

Lord Ferris was exactly as she had first met him: well dressed, well groomed, well spoken. He greeted her and her family with just the right degree of civility and warmth. Her mother was flirting like a fool; Robert was trying to be smooth and adult, and sounding prissy instead. Only Lord Ferris was acting normal: charming and considerate, just this side of conspiratorial where she was concerned, as though he shared her opinion of her family, and wanted her to know that he was being good.

“Are you feeling faint?” he asked Artemisia, all intimate concern. He leaned in so close to her that she could see the pores of his face. “Let me get you a glass of something.”

Artemisia felt like some actress in a play, and in a sense she was: anyone in the room could be watching her. Whatever she might feel about her family, she would not disgrace
herself
. But her hand was shaking, she couldn’t help it. The only way she was going to get through this was to be Stella—Stella at the country house when Mangrove comes to visit…Stella, carrying Fabian’s child, but to let Mangrove know could mean both their deaths, and so she dances and laughs and flirts with a surprised young cousin, to the disgust of Tyrian, who she doesn’t know is there to guard her…and in a feat of bravado, she goes to the races and rides her cousin’s horse to victory…. Fortunately, no dancing would be expected here, or racing either, and Robert made a poor excuse for loyal Tyrian—but she drew in a deep breath, and another, and her hand stopped shaking.

Lord Ferris returned with lemon water. “Are you enjoying the music?” he asked. For once, her mother’s tendency to answer for her was a blessing. But then he proposed to sit down next to her, and her mother’s skirts rustled as she shifted aside to let him. Artemisia was looking at the floor, thinking, It won’t be so bad if I can’t see him….

And then the most marvelous thing in the world happened: a pair of shoes appeared. Small shoes, on a girl’s small feet, but cut in a boy’s pattern, and above them were fine ankles in heavy stockings that met with breeches just below the knee, and the point of a sword hanging by them, surrounded by green velvet with a gold tassel.

“I came as soon as I could,” said Katherine Talbert.

“Oh!” Artemisia gasped in admiration. “Don’t you look wonderful!”

“Armed, and with a challenge.” Lord Ferris sighed. “Lady Godwin may not thank you for interrupting her musicale.”

“I am to convey my regrets to Lady Godwin.”

“By all means do so,” Lord Ferris said. He was still standing. He looked down at her with his good eye. “She is over by the window, the lady in blue.”

“I will,” Katherine replied, “when we have finished our business, Lord Ferris. Would you like to step outside?”

The girl with her long hair tied back, dressed in a man’s suit and carrying a sword, had not joined the Godwins’ guests unnoticed. Artemisia could feel the tension in Ferris’s stance as the ring of interested onlookers tightened around them. And she watched him make utterly the wrong choice when he replied to Katherine Talbert, “I have no business with you.”

“That isn’t true,” Katherine said clearly. “I challenged you weeks ago, and as far as I know, you have not withdrawn the offense.”

On either side of her, Artemisia’s mother clutched her hand, and her brother sat poised to do something. Artemisia admired the way Katherine wasn’t looking at her, and she enjoyed the preposterous sight the girl made in the music room. If Artemisia had known that she was grinning, she would have hidden it—but it had been so long since she had smiled with all her heart that Artemisia Fitz-Levi only knew that she was happy.