Chapter Nine #2
She nodded minutely. “She can be very persuasive.”
“Would you have preferred not to come down?” He hoped not.
“Actually, I was pleased to be invited.” A hesitant contentment entered her expression. “I want to participate, but . . . I’m not family or a guest or anyone of significance. I never can be certain where I fit in this gathering.”
How well he understood that uncertainty. “I am family to a significant portion of this gathering, and I don’t truly know where I fit.”
“We are the misfits of this house party, are we?” She laughed lightly.
He pointedly squared his shoulders. “I believe I am equal to the challenge.”
“I have you bested there,” she said. “I was born for this challenge.”
He held back a grin. “You were born a misfit?”
She nodded solemnly. “Do try not to be consumed by jealousy.”
“I will make a valiant effort.”
She looked toward the others, and her nervous demeanor returned. “I feel so out of place.”
“We misfits must stick together,” he said.
“Are you proposing we form a club?” How easily he could bring a smile to her face. It made a man feel less pointless to be a source of joy in another person’s life.
Artemis interrupted. “Miss Hampton, are you joining us?”
“Yes. The dowager asked me if I would.” She spoke more quietly than she had only a moment earlier.
“Perfect,” Artemis said. “You can be Calliope.”
Miss Hampton looked to Linus once more. “It seems I am missing some crucial information.”
“Tableau vivant,” he said. “We are portraying the myth of Linus.”
“I am to be your mother?” She laughed almost silently. “This is proving to be an odd sort of club.”
Linus was impressed. Few people knew the details of his namesake’s myth outside of scholars and mythological enthusiasts. Did she share that interest with him?
“I was not charged with assigning roles,” he told her.
She tipped her head, barely concealing her amusement. “Do you doubt my ability to portray the illustrious muse?”
He grinned; he couldn’t help himself. Though she still rendered him a bit jelly-like, he found he enjoyed her company more every time he was granted it.
Her conversation, though he’d had only the briefest moments of it, had proven more diverting than most of what he had encountered in the months since leaving the navy.
And she’d shown herself to be in possession of a wonderfully subtle sense of humor.
“I was not able this afternoon to offer you a sufficient expression of gratitude for the service you rendered Oliver.”
“I simply found myself in a position to help.” Her tone was one of dismissal, as if her actions did not warrant acknowledgment.
“You showed him such patience and kindness,” Linus said. “He needed that tenderness likely more than you realized. I thank you for that.”
Embarrassed color touched her cheeks. “I have been in need of tenderness many times in my life. I am grateful to have offered that to someone else when he needed it.”
Artemis interrupted their conversation. Again. “Linus, you are not paying attention. How are we supposed to have a deep reservoir of theatricality if our most essential role is taken on by someone who isn’t even listening?”
He turned to fully face her and bowed quite deeply. “My most sincere apologies.”
Artemis addressed Miss Hampton. “Calliope needs to be standing with Oeagrus.”
Miss Hampton nodded. “Who is Oeagrus?”
She had known that Calliope was the mother of Linus of myth, and therefore, it stood to reason she knew perfectly well that Oeagrus was ancient Linus’s father. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “He is the mythological king of—”
She leveled him a look of such pretended offense that he laughed out loud.
Artemis eyed him as if he had lost his mind.
Her gaze slowly slid back to Miss Hampton, something very like worry entering her expression.
If he didn’t know better, he would think his usually unflappable sister was distressed.
Did she not care for Miss Hampton? That seemed unlikely.
“Mr. Jonquil.” Artemis pointed toward Charlie. “He is Oeagrus. You should go stand with him.”
Miss Hampton did so without comment. If she noticed the tactlessness with which Artemis sent her away, she did not let it show.
“You were rude,” he told his sister in hushed tones.
True to form, she took the criticism far too much to heart. “I’m simply trying to organize. We haven’t very much time for arranging our tableau, and I want to do my best. You were not helping.”
The final accusation emerged too watery for him to do anything but put his arm around her shoulders.
“I know you grow impatient when you are enjoying yourself and you feel others aren’t contributing.
” His words of intended reassurance missed the mark.
Artemis’s chin quivered. Good grief. “I promise to be very cooperative.”
She nodded, though she still looked a little hurt. “I should hope so.”
“What role do you mean to take on?”
Artemis rallied with alarming speed, as always. Linus was not certain if she was one who recovered quickly or if she made a greater show of offended sensibilities than was truly accurate.
“I will be music personified.” The declaration emerged a bit breathless.
Music personified. There really was no sensible response to that. It was little wonder the very staid Duke of Kielder found his youngest sister-in-law so exasperating.
“That, however, will mean Mrs. Blackbourne will have to be Heracles, which would not have been my first choice.” She gave the young widow a look of commiseration. “You are simply not convincing as a musical murderer.”
“I do not know whether to be proud or disappointed in myself.” Mrs. Blackbourne tossed Linus a look that felt a bit too personal for two people who’d not had a single conversation.
“Do your best,” Artemis instructed. “And stand next to Linus; that is where you are meant to be.”
Far from objecting, Mrs. Blackbourne’s gaze grew warm.
Ah, yes. His sisters had definitely settled upon Mrs. Blackbourne for that night’s matchmaking efforts.
She seemed to have embraced the role quite enthusiastically.
Linus was both flattered and a little annoyed.
He’d been the recipient of a few flirtatious gazes, especially when he’d been in uniform.
He’d not wanted for dance partners on the few occasions when Persephone had convinced him to attend a ball, but this was far closer quarters than he was accustomed to.
Did the widow know the conspiracy amongst the Lancaster women, or was she merely enthusiastic for his company?
Miss Hampton, blast the lady, was biting back a smile. Her amusement relieved some of his discomfort. The situation was a little funny, though only a very little.
The dowager returned to their corner of the drawing room. “There is a trunk just over to the side with various possible costume pieces and items. You are welcome to look through them as you design your tableau.”
“Is the trunk large enough to lock a certain recalcitrant sister of mine inside?” Linus asked, sensing the dowager would appreciate his struggle, having raised a large family of her own.
She nodded. “If necessary.”
“I heard that,” Artemis said.
“Do not fear, Miss Lancaster,” the dowager said. “The trunk does not lock.”
“A shame.” Linus let his shoulders rise and fall with a feigned sigh. “I suppose ‘music personified’ will have to be let free after all.”
The dowager offered a warning. “You have only thirty minutes remaining.”
That sent Artemis into a panic, her offended sensibilities entirely forgotten. She rattled off instructions to everyone, telling them where to be and what to do.
They were all forthwith provided with various oddities to complete their costumes, none of which bore the slightest resemblance to anything that had existed in ancient Greece.
No one seemed to particularly mind. Miss Hampton and Charlie were enjoying themselves, though Linus could not overhear enough of their conversation to know what they were saying.
Mrs. Blackbourne continually whispered observations, the low volume of her voice rendering the conversation far more intimate than was warranted.
Sensing escape was necessary, Linus made a hasty observation to the group. “This tableau needs a lyre, else what am I to be strangled with?”
Artemis pressed a hand to her heart. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Linus took a step away from Mrs. Blackbourne. “I will return with one shortly.”
“You know where one is?” Miss Hampton asked, her attention on him for the first time in nearly twenty minutes.
“I happen to play the lyre,” he said.
Her lips twitched. “Do you not fear that history might repeat itself? This tableau ought to serve as something of a warning.”
He assumed his most roguish expression. “I like to live dangerously.”