Chapter Five
“I do not want to go!”
Persephone recognized Artemis’s anguished voice, and her heart hurt at the sound. She turned toward the enormous wooden doors of Falstone Castle, where Athena was attempting to strong-arm their youngest sister into stepping outside and into the waiting carriage.
“Let me speak with her.” Persephone took Athena’s place beside Artemis. She took the girl’s tiny, eight-year-old hand in hers. “Let’s walk for a minute or two.”
Artemis nodded, and Persephone led her down the stone steps to the gravel drive.
Papa seemed to understand and told the driver to wait for a bit.
Persephone and Artemis stepped off the drive and onto the grass that surrounded the closest of the formal gardens.
When they were far enough from the carriage to not be seen, Persephone knelt on the ground, heedless of the damage she was no doubt doing to one of the dresses provided for her by her husband, and faced Artemis directly.
“Oh, my dear girl.” She touched Artemis’s face. “You’re crying.”
“He cannot make you stay here!” Artemis threw her arms around Persephone’s neck.
By “he,” Artemis certainly meant Adam. It must have been unfathomable to such a young child to have a sister, who had been more of a mother to her, leave their family home for good.
A painful lump seemed to suddenly form in Persephone’s throat.
She hugged the girl back, squeezing perhaps tighter than she ought to have.
“No one is making me stay here, dearest.” Persephone forced her voice to not waver or break.
“Falstone Castle is my home now. But I shall send you letters, perhaps with a guinea under the seal.” The bribe didn’t loosen Artemis’s embrace.
“And you and I shall visit back and forth. You could come here and we could explore the castle together.”
“He won’t let me,” Artemis answered petulantly.
“Of course he will, and we will have grand adventures. Perhaps there is a tower room where we could imagine all sorts of wonderful stories, the way we always did at home.”
“Promise?” Artemis asked with a hiccup.
“I promise.”
“Who will take care of me when you’re gone?” Artemis stepped back a little and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Papa will engage a governess for both you and Daphne, I imagine.” Persephone tried to sound encouraging. Papa could afford a governess now, and Persephone hoped he would remember that one was needed. “And a companion for Athena when you are all in Town.”
“Will you visit us there?”
“Of course.”
The slightest rustling sound drew her attention a little behind Artemis.
Adam stood there, watching, with a look of contemplation, mingled with the wearied impatience she’d seen on his face most of the day before.
Persephone forced herself to concentrate on Artemis, knowing the girl needed reassurance.
“Persephone?” Artemis asked with a sniffle.
“Yes, my dear?”
Artemis reached out and touched Persephone’s cheek, a gesture she’d employed almost from infancy, as if she needed the human contact. “Who will take care of you?”
The lump in her throat increased tenfold, and tears suddenly pricked at her eyes. Persephone pulled Artemis back into the circle of her arms and hugged her once more.
“Will you be happy even though we are gone?” Artemis asked, her head resting against Persephone’s shoulder.
“When have you known me to be unhappy?” Persephone answered.
That gained her an extra squeeze from her sister. “Then I will be happy, too,” Artemis declared in a voice of determination. She pulled away from Persephone, with a look on her face that was so fierce it was comical. “But if I don’t leave now, I will cry again, and I do not want to cry anymore.”
“Let us promise each other not to cry,” Persephone suggested.
Artemis nodded then bit down on her still-quivering lip.
“I will see you soon,” Persephone said. “Be good for Papa.”
“I will,” Artemis promised.
“I love you, dearest.”
“I love you, too, Persephone,” Artemis answered, a betraying quaver in her voice. “You’re the . . . b-best mama I ever had.”
She wrapped her arms around Persephone’s neck once more before abruptly pulling away and running back to the waiting carriage.
Persephone stood and walked slowly back in the same direction.
She stood on the edge of the lawn and waved as her family disappeared under the arch of the inner wall.
Only after she was certain they were out of sight did Persephone allow a tear to slide down her cheek, followed by another.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to cry,” came a male voice from not very far behind her.
Persephone had all but forgotten about Adam in her distress over Artemis.
“Artemis is crying as well, I guarantee it.” Persephone wiped the two trickles of moisture from her eyes.
“Then why make the promise?” From the sound of Adam’s voice, Persephone would guess he was rolling his eyes, though she didn’t look back at him.
“To lessen her pain,” Persephone replied. “If my sister knew I was crying, it would break her heart.”
“But you know she is crying,” Adam pointed out, still remaining behind her. Persephone couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation with someone from that position.
“I know her better than she knows me.”
“Ah, yes. The best mama she ever had.”
Now why had Artemis gone and said that? She could have borne almost anything other than the reminder that she was to be separated from the girl whom she thought of as her own child. Persephone had raised her from the day she was born. They had never been separated.
The enormity of what she’d done by accepting Adam’s proposal suddenly hit her. She’d done this, almost exclusively, for the benefit of her family. But she hadn’t truly understood that in doing so, she would have to let go of them. She was leaving Artemis.
Tears streamed at an alarming rate down her face. “I’ve lost my baby,” she cried in an anguished whisper.
Persephone knew she’d be sobbing in a moment’s time if she didn’t wrest control of her emotions. She could never do that unless she had a moment alone, away from the sight of the now empty archway and carriage drive.
She turned back toward Adam, to offer her excuses, to beg his pardon before fleeing. But he was gone. In her distress she hadn’t heard him go. And he hadn’t said a word before departing.
Her throat constricted against the sob forcing its way out.
Desperate not to disgrace herself in front of any of the staff who seemed to constantly be coming and going outside the castle but knowing she’d never get to her room in time—she had difficulty finding it still—Persephone ran as swiftly as her feet would carry her through the break in the hedgerow and into the first of the formal gardens.
She ran quickly, taking turns at random and working her way deeper, behind bushes and hedges, until her lungs and feet would not carry her further.
In a small outcropping, surrounded by bushes she imagined would be filled with blooms come spring, she found a small stone seat.
Persephone sat, lowered her face into her hands, and did something she hadn’t done since her mother’s death.
She wept with such force that she was certain her heart would break with the effort.
* * *
For a moment after she awoke, Persephone had no idea where she was. She forced her eyes open despite the burning. Hedges and plants surrounded the stone seat she was curled upon. And she was chilly.
Flashes of memory bombarded her hazy mind as she pieced together the morning. Her family had left. She had fled to the garden for refuge.
I must have fallen asleep, Persephone thought to herself. Her joints protested as she uncurled. She was tempted to close her eyes again; they stung and throbbed, as did her head. She had forgotten how miserable one could feel after an elongated bout of tears.
Persephone took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself against the slight chill seeping through even her pelisse. She must have been more tired than she realized to have fallen asleep on a stone seat. Of course, she hadn’t slept much of late, especially the night before.
She’d waited up for Adam, it being their wedding night. Hours had passed, and he’d never come. Not even to bid her good night. She’d thought he would, at least, do that.
She’d sat up until the clock in her sitting room had chimed one in the morning.
Light had flickered under the door that led to Adam’s bedchamber.
Still she’d waited. The light was eventually extinguished, and silence descended on the house.
She sat at her window, watching the door.
As the clock had struck two, she’d climbed into bed feeling completely rejected and utterly alone.
“You are no quitter, Persephone Iphigenia La— Boyce,” she told herself. “This simply needs time.” Squaring her shoulders, Persephone rose, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. “And no more tears,” she instructed herself.
Persephone had ever been the optimist in her family.
Every situation had a glimmer of hope, she’d discovered early in her life.
They’d lost Mother but had gained Artemis.
The boys had left for the sea but had become strong and sure—more so than they would have had they remained at home.
She was married to a perfect stranger who seemed to want nothing to do with her, but .
. . but . . . But, she told herself sternly, she had a home to call her own and the hope that he would turn out to be a friend, at least, and perhaps, eventually a good husband.
Rising with what dignity her stiff joints would allow, Persephone shook out her skirts, grimacing at the havoc she’d wreaked on her appearance.
She shook her head at herself. “And I wonder why my husband has no interest in my company.” More attention to her appearance, an attempt to be attractive, couldn’t hurt matters.
Persephone moved along the garden trail, her mind clamped onto that train of thought.
What else might she do to improve her situation?
She couldn’t come to know Adam if they never spoke to one another.
Adam certainly hadn’t made any attempts.
Persephone had never been terribly bold, but she did know how to hold up her end of a conversation.
After several minutes of walking, and a few wrong turns, Persephone finally reached the garden entrance. She’d been asleep longer than she’d realized. The sky had already dimmed with approaching dusk, and the air had grown colder.
Conscious of her rumpled appearance, Persephone walked up the stone steps to the front door of Falstone Castle. The door opened at her approach.
“Your Grace,” Barton the butler said, his face not revealing even the slightest surprise at her appearance.
“Thank you, Barton,” Persephone answered with a faint smile, too exhausted for enthusiasm.
She crossed the spacious entry hall, still awed by the scale of everything. “I will never fit here,” she thought morosely.
What had happened to the determined duchess she’d momentarily been in the gardens? Weariness, it seemed, had robbed her of her resolve. Her head throbbed with every step she took, her eyes burned anew, and her legs were ready to drop out from under her.
Persephone began to climb the wide stairs, determined to lie down at least for a few minutes. At the first-floor landing, she came face-to-face with Adam’s mother.
“Good eve—” the dowager duchess’s greeting ended abruptly. “Are you feeling well, child?”
“I am a little tired.”
“Of course, you are,” she answered empathetically. “You had a long and tiring day yesterday.”
Persephone nodded.
“Do not fret yourself over dinner, dear,” the dowager instructed. “I shall have a tray sent to your room. You rest.”
“Thank you.” With a wan smile, she stepped past her mother-in-law.
She only had to backtrack once before finding her room. She didn’t even bother ringing for a maid to help her undress but dropped onto her bed fully clothed.
The tears threatened to spill again, but Persephone forced them back. She was done crying. After a night’s rest she would face the future.