Trials of Artemis (31 page)

“Of
course,” he said. “Dream of me?”

“Always.”

Thanks
for reading the first book in the Haberdasher’s series! Don’t miss the first
chapter of the second book,
Athena’s
Ordeal
, featuring Quince and Sabre. Although they are Jack and Gideon’s
best friends they haven’t met by the end of the
Trials of Artemis
. Let’s see how that goes, shall we?

One
of the things I particularly like when reading a historical romance is to find
history
in it. But sometimes it’s hard
to tell the difference between real history and something the author made up to
facilitate storytelling. In case you were curious what parts of this book were
references to factual history I want to give you some additional information.
Trials of Artemis
takes place February
11 to March 31 in 1815 and that nestles it right in the middle of a tremendous
amount of historical happenings.

The
early 19
^th
century was quite busy in Europe. Prior to the beginning
of our narrative we had the Napoleonic wars, which when we pick up in February
1815 our heroes might have assumed had ended with Napoleon being exiled to Elba
in April 1814. But in case you wonder why Gideon stays so busy with his Parliamentary
work it’s worth knowing that Napoleon escaped Elba on February 26, 1815. The
famous Battle of Waterloo is coming up on June 18.

Meanwhile,
in response to the chaos visited upon Europe by the Napoleonic wars (as well as
the French Revolutionary War and dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire), the
Congress of Vienna was called starting in September 1814. It was held primarily
among the “Great Powers” of Austria, France, Russia, and the United Kingdom,
and turned into a redrawing of the political map of Europe. The Final Act was
signed on June 9, 1815. Yes, shortly before Waterloo.

In
the United Kingdom a protectionist grain bill was being debated in the Houses.
It finally passed the House of Lords on March 15, 1815 and followed in the
House of Commons in June. By requiring hefty duties on imports of grains the
landowners of the United Kingdom were able to reap extraordinary profits. This
became a source of friction between landowners and merchants, and created a
significant hardship for the working class who had to pay high prices for food.

Also
in the United Kingdom the seeds of modern Women’s Suffrage were being sown. Mary
Wollstonecraft wrote
A Vindication of the
Rights of Woman
in 1792, just a few years before our lovely Haberdashers
were born. If you want to know more about the political environment of women’s
rights in the era it will be something we continue to explore in the
Haberdashers series.

Thanks
for reading!

Sue
London began writing short stories about horses and teen sleuths when she was
seven years old. After that she traveled to distant worlds, fought with swords
and sorcerers, and played with a few undead things. As you might have expected,
this means she went into accountancy. Well, maybe that was an odd plot twist,
but that’s the difference between real life and fiction – fiction has to
make sense.

In
her twenties she developed a deep affection for romance, especially enjoying
the works of Nora Roberts, Mary Balogh and, most recently, Lauren Royal, Danelle
Harmon, and Diane Farr. You can thank those authors for leading a sci-fi tomboy
into writing historical romances set in the Regency period.

Keep up with Sue
and the Haberdashers on these websites:

Sue
on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/cmdrsue

Haberdashers
on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/haberdashersfic

Sue’s
author website:
http://bysuelondon.wordpress.com

Haberdashers
website:
http://haberdashersfic.blogspot.com

For more on Sue
you can check out her
Sueniverse
or be her
fan on Facebook
.

"The essence of fencing is to give,
but by no means to receive." ~ Moliere

Chapter One

May 1815, London

Quincy
Telford, Duke of Beloin, knew the importance of discretion. Even a duke's power
wasn't absolute and at such delicate times as these a man of discretion was
invaluable. That was why, if anyone had looked, the duke would have been found
on the doorstep of Robert Bittlesworth this fine summer morning, knocking
lightly but politely, without a servant in sight. Even the best servants might
not be trusted to be discreet and on this occasion he could not risk any talk
of what he was about. A manservant too young and burly to be a proper English
butler opened the door promptly. Since Quince didn't want to present a card he
simply drew himself up in his best ducal attitude and said, "I am here to
see Mr. Bittlesworth."

The
manservant, seeing the overall look of refinement that the duke regularly
cultivated, bowed him into the hallway and asked him to wait a moment while it
was seen whether Mr. Bittlesworth might, indeed, be in to receive him. As the
hallway was better than the street Quince was content to cool his heels looking
at the paintings on display. Hearing footsteps on the stairs he turned
expecting to see Bittlesworth but instead saw a vision that made him catch his
breath. A young woman was at the landing, perfectly highlighted in a beam of
light from the second story window. Her hair was the deep, warm sable of a mink
and had been gathered at the crown to cascade in a riot of curls down her back.
She was petite in stature and her figure was a perfect hourglass, emphasized by
the low cut red dress that hugged her curves. The dress was Italian in design
if he wasn't mistaken. Expensive, no doubt, but worth every penny to any man
who was fortunate enough to look upon her. Bittlesworth was a lucky man indeed,
and brazen to have his Cyprian given free access to his home. As he stared up
at her she glanced down and saw him, stopping with a startled "Oh!"
She took the remaining steps at a stately pace. Watching those hips coming
toward him he had to admit that he would probably give her free reign of his
home, as well.

"Good
morning," she said after a moment, obviously entertained that they had
stood in the front hall staring at one another longer than was considered
appropriate in polite company.

He
had to admit that he was well pleased that this wasn't entirely polite company.
Taking her hand to bow over he kissed her finger tips and, looking up, enjoyed
another quite spectacular angle of her cleavage. For such a tiny thing she had
simply acres of creamy white skin to admire, from her barely covered breasts to
her shoulders exposed by the drop sleeves of the gown. "Good
morning," he responded in as silky a tone as he could muster. As he
straightened he saw that it had the desired effect, as she seemed to nearly preen
under his attentions. Her eyes were the color of sapphires and light danced in
them from her good humor.

"You
have me at a disadvantage, sir," she said, "as Bobbins has been
derelict in his duties again and not announced you."

Still
holding her hand and staring down into her beautiful face he came to an
impulsive decision. He would have her, at any price. "Whatever
Bittlesworth is paying you, I'll double it. Triple it. You'll never want for
anything again in your life." The change in her expression was so sudden
it was almost shocking. The humor was gone and she was so expressionless as to
be carved from stone.

"Pardon
me?" she asked.

As
Quince searched his mind for what to say to bring back the delightful fairy
queen she had been and, better yet, to convince her to leave with him his
thoughts were interrupted.

"You're
grace, I didn't realize it was you."

The
Duke of Beloin released the young woman's hand and turned to see Richard
Bittlesworth, who had apparently emerged from some room here on the first floor
while Quince hadn't been paying attention. "That's rather the idea, old
boy."

Bittlesworth
paused and then said, "Quite." He looked from the young woman and
then back to the Duke. "I trust my sister hasn't been too tiresome?"

The
last time Quince remembered being this lightheaded was when he let his friend
Giddy talk him into going three rounds with Gentleman Jackson. Apparently a
sharp uppercut from a man nearly twice your size had exactly the same effect as
deeply insulting the younger sister of a gentleman that you had hoped could
save you. But just as he had borne up under Jackson's pounding as best he could
the duke barely faltered in his response now. "She has been
delightful." Quince's eyes swung back to the dark-haired beauty who remained
expressionless. Holding her gaze he said, "And I trust she can be discreet
as well?"

The
young woman raised her chin a notch as though accepting his challenge while her
brother said, "Of course. Perhaps you would be more comfortable in my
study?"

"Indeed,"
Quince said. Nodding to the young woman he said, "Miss Bittlesworth."

Bowing
into a low curtsy she said, "Your grace."

Quince
doubted that he had escaped so easily after such an insult but beggars couldn't
be choosers so he let Richard Bittlesworth lead the way to a small but
well-appointed study so that he could explain his issue to the hero of the
Foreign Office.

Sabre,
or as she was more formally known Sabrina Bittlesworth, stood quite still in
the hallway for a few minutes after Richard and his guest had left. She had
heard of having your blood run cold before but had never experienced it
herself. Until today. Until this supposed duke had mistaken her for some sort
of... some trollop. When Bobbins returned to the front hall she proceeded with
her original plan to call on her friend Jack who as of earlier this spring was
now Jacqueline Wolfe, Countess of Harrington. As she rather precisely put on
her gloves, bonnet, and pelisse she thought that's what one's oldest and
dearest friends were for, someone to take comfort in when the day wasn't going
quite as planned and Jack would certainly be comforting. Looking down the
hallway toward Richard's study Sabre wondered when her other oldest, dearest
friend Georgiana would come home from Scotland. Rather than comfort George
would just sneak down the hallway and poison the dratted duke's tea. Or at
least threaten to, and that would be heartening. With a final tug to tighten
her bonnet strings Sabre sailed out the front door of her brother's house and
into the waiting carriage.

Having
shut the door Bittlesworth wasted no time on pleasantries. "How can I help
you, sir?"

"You've
gathered this isn't a social call?"

Bittlesworth
remained silent at that, waiting politely.

Quince
realized he was glancing around the room and being in general more awkward than
was his usual mien. Taking a deep breath he consciously forced himself to
relax. "I'm being blackmailed."

"I
see," Bittlesworth said. "Brandy?"

"That
would be lovely," Quince agreed. Bittlesworth indicated a comfortable set
of matching leather chairs near the fireplace and Quince settled in while the
drinks were prepared. Shortly Bittlesworth settled next to him, handing him the
glass of sweet liquor.

"Sir,
you can tell me as much or as little as you're comfortable saying and I will
help you in any way that I can."

It
was then that Quince became clear on why Bittlesworth was so valued in his
position. Sitting there polite, attentive and giving the impression that no
matter the trouble that he was the man to solve it combined that with the fact
that he was set to inherit a viscountancy, and therefore implicitly trustworthy
to any lord of the empire, was enough to give someone in Quince's position a
profound sense of relief. He found himself relaxing more naturally into the chair.
"Well, as you might imagine, it started with my father..."

Sabre
marched on the front door of the Harrington townhouse but was deprived of
giving the door a solid rap by the butler Dibbs opening it before she had even
gained the last step. The austere butler bowed her in, gathered her bonnet,
gloves, and pelisse, and then silently led her to Jack's morning room. With
Jack in the morning room that meant her husband Gideon was probably already at
his office. The Harringtons had only been in Town for a week and it seemed to
Sabre that Gideon was always at the office, sunrise to long after dark. The
fact that her best friend was still misty-eyed over the new husband that was
obviously ignoring her struck Sabre as ridiculous.

"Miss
Bittlesworth," Dibbs announced in a quiet tone, and then withdrew from the
room. Jack rose from her settle with a delighted smile that faded rapidly. The
countess was gowned in pale green muslin that set off her dark golden hair
well, and the empire waist served to make her appear even taller than she was.
Since she towered over Sabre by a head it wasn't an effect that the
darker-haired girl particularly appreciated.

"Oh
my," the countess said. "Who did what and what are we going to do
with them?"