A Heart of a Duchess
The Inheritance of Lancerie's Line of Descendant's
Written by Cailla Marsh
Lumber and Stone
Governess Barbara Thomson was prattling about lumbers and farms. Artemia Julius was, on the other hand, was trying to stifle a yawn. She had not slept a wink since evening. She had been reading all night about different marriage engagements. Or rather, arranged marriages. Someone had to work through ton's bachelors. She was just going over their files and backgrounds. She had been collecting different information and gossips about the 'eligible' men. None of it caught her attention. She was very disappointed.
"Lady Artemia! Are you listening? What would I do to make you pay attention?" Barbara Thomson snapped at her student.
"I need a rest," she said aloud. She quickly regretted it. To defy the Duchess' chosen governess was like defying the Duchess Maria Alcovia herself.
Barbara scowled and said, "Have you been searching for the gentlemen?"
"Something like that." She was afraid that she would get into more trouble than she had now.
"You'd better check Arthur Montero. He will be in London next week, as same as the Dance." There was no mistake at the twinkle in her eye. Some conspiracy was ready to unfold.
"Thanks!" Artemia quickly burst out from her chair and bolted towards the doors. And before she disappeared, she said, "I love you Barbara! You're the best!"
The files about Arthur were not to be found easily. Artemia thought about it till the night of the Dance. Sometimes, the Duchess was unimaginative. It must not only be called a Dance, it must be called something grand. Something that's grand? She was still pondering on the name.
The dress in which she was to wear was a pale orange gown. It was not flashy and it certainly did not look tawdry. It perfectly fitted her exotic golden brown skin and wide dark brown eyes. It was made to entice and to lure. Its neckline was showcasing her fine skin and the skirts to hug her supple and sensuous form. The gown was imprinting on her flesh, beckoning men that the gown was a part of her skin and not a fabric.
The Duchesses were a notorious set of women that plays with the ton with skill and sensuality. They can capture their prey with smiles, and skills. Crafty witches, some may call it. The Duchesses also helps the people. The most crucial part of being one the duchess, was that, they love the man, who captures them, wholeheartedly, however much it hurts. They still love him till they die. Sometimes, they even brought it to their graves. Some even go mad. For who could ever bear to see the one you loved is loving someone else but you? That would send your very heart, literally, breaking.
The thoughts were now frightening. It made Artemia shudder. Since she was a child, she often heard of these things. She did not dare to believe it. But now, reality almost gave her a death sentence with the upcoming Dance. No, Death Dance. She finally had a name for it. It suited perfectly.
The dance was for her twenty-third but to the ton, mid-twenties. She had been successful since she was sixteen. Almost as skilled as the Most Distinguished Duchess Maria Alcovia.
The clock chimed.
It was time to go.
Artemia pushed back the thoughts and locked it in her mental cabinet. Her hair was done artfully. She put up her social mask, a temptress and an acolyte. With her submissive air, she can calculate with her mental agility. A jack of all trades.
The ball was the highlight of the year. It was one of the grandest. Her beauty was out of question; her skill was from the Duchess herself. She can quickly cope with her surroundings. Men flock her but her coldness was making them turn away.
Artemia Julius walked down the stairs with elegance and with siren-like movement. Her body was supple and sinuous. Her eyes were inscrutable. Then, something caught her eyes. The looming figure by the tapestry to the nearest exit caught her attention. She saw the elegant and the latest cut of the sleek dark coat and breeches. The shirt and waistcoat was ivory. His hair was ebony black and cut handsomely. His eyes were blue as the night. His face possessed that stark fallen angel beauty. Somebody touched her; it was Maria Alcovia, introducing her for the benefit of everyone. It was both a warning and an introduction to be wary of her charms and reputation.
Everybody knew it. There was no need. Maria insisted.
The musicians started. Many were already on the floor, dancing and twirling in silk, velvet and sequins. She was in the circle of men, Lord Covenhay, Lord Ishmael and Theos. The worst she could ever have on her Dance. As the conversation rolled, her mind kept drifting to the silhouette that had her attention.
The orchestra struck up a waltz. Her court vied for her hand. She was ready to decline when the dark angel came to her and effortlessly shrugged off her callers. The next thing she was doing was being twirled gracefully in the middle of the dance floor. Hands, chest, and legs followed the rhythmic pattern of the music. She was following his lead.
After steering her away from the crowd, he bowed gallantly. "Nice meeting your acquaintance Lady Artemia. At your service, Martin Montez." Then he left, bestowing a kiss on her gloved hand. A delicious ripple coursed through her. "So long, My Lady."
The touch was still branded on her skin.
He should have never come. But, unfortunately, he did. And he had gotten it mercilessly. Lady Artemia may be a notorious duchess-in-the-making but she's still a virgin. He on the other hand was an experienced rake and a very successful one too, for a bonus. His very thoughts were racing on how to seduce her, of all women. His cousins must have been putting bets when would he, the eldest, take a bride and settle down, which was very difficult. He won't succumb without a fight to that unnamable power that in his very birthright.
His very birthright, the thought made him shuddering.
But he was in the capital to manage his estates and find a pastime. But Lady Artemia Julne Julius was moved into his path. A challenge he particularly craves. The temptation to walk away was not in his nature, he's a daredevil in his own way.
He decided to go to his club. He's going to check up on the young girl he had seen yesterday. He had her secured so as not to tamper on her innocence. He hadn't touched her. And he won't; besides, he was not interested in her. He was just going to help the poor girl on her feet and let her pave her road to life. He liked his idea.
He arrived at his destination. The night was warm and a distinct scent hung in the sweet night air. Something tweaked his senses. Something was not right here. It was irritating him.
He saw it. It made his mind flare.
There on the other dim side was Lady Artemia Julius. She was wearing a boy's breeches and trousers. Not exactly fashionable, but it reminded him of an urchin. She looked like a handsome lad, even for a girl. No, not girl, a woman.
"What the hell are you doing here woman?!" he bellowed.
The look on her surprised face was priceless. He surprised her.
"I don't know what you're talking about, my lord." Then as though realizing that her articulated words were not right or rather, not appropriate if he was supposed to be an urchin. He gloated.
"Denial, my lady? I clearly don't see your tack."
"Okay," she changed her tones, her regal notes. "What do you want? Money? Land? Name it, state it. I don't care, just lay off me!" her tone was irritated.
"No need to. I already have what I want and I need." To prove his point, he took a step forward; subduing her to the bricked wall. Letting her be surrounded by his strength and thinly veiled power.
She shuddered. He let his lips curve cynically, that in her state, no position could ever sway him but only if she tell the truth.
"My business is my own. Besides what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the ballroom sweeping ladies off their feet?" she demanded sarcastically.
"I remembered leaving Artemia knocked off from her wits which was still whirling until now. For no sane duchess-in-the-making would ever go to this club."
Her eyes were wide. Clearly, she had been losing her side of the argument.
"I came here for a friend," she sighed with resignation. She had been weary to her bones. And picking up an argument would only make it a lot worse.
"So Lady Artemia, I'd better let you ride back to your carriage and of will you go to you manor."
10