Page 37 of Charming Artemis

“He has been gone for nearly five years, but I still debate the answer.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, finding needed comfort in his nearness and his hand holding hers. “He may have been right, Charlie. It might have been better if I’d died instead of her.” A tear rolled hot down her cheek. “He would have still had his beloved wife. My family wouldn’t have been thrust into destitution.Youwould certainly be happier.”

“But terribly bored.”

The unexpected jest pulled a fleeting smile to her lips. “I think sometimes you miss feeling bored.”

“At times, perhaps.”

“Which explains your love of mathematics.”

He laughed. One thing she could say for her unchosen husband: he was quick to lighten difficult moments. “What I am wrestling with at the moment is far from boring.”

“What is it?” she asked.

He pushed away from the wall, keeping her hand in his as they walked back to his table. “I have been studying François Budan’s theorem on the real roots of polynomials. He adjusted Pascal’s triangle and incorporated Descartes’sRule of Signs.” He looked over at her.

“My apologies,” she said, making certain her tone of mental numbness was clearly jesting. “I didn’t hear all of that. I was too bored to keep listening.”

Charlie had a nice laugh. That had made their time here at Brier Hill better than it might otherwise have been, though he’d not laughed as often as she suspected he usually did.

“If not for Cambridge’s ridiculous rules,” he said, “you could be spending every day listening to discussions with others who are equally intrigued by equally boring things.”

She assumed a look of abject disappointment. “I have been robbed.”

His laugh emerged in an odd sort of snort, bringing her own laugh to the surface. She’d been crying mere moments earlier, and now she was laughing. The change was unexpected but welcome.

“What did you actually come in for?” he asked. “I suspect it wasn’t in the hope of discussing theoretical mathematics.”

“I wanted to peruse a book of old fashion plates.” Embarrassment surged as a blush over her face. “I’m certain you find that a very shallow and simple pursuit.” She ought not be ashamed of her interest, yet he had just told her of his in terms she could not begin to understand.

“Clearly”—he motioned at his ramshackle appearance—“I know nothing of fashion. That you are an undisputed expert is impressive, Artie. Truly.”

She hadn’t always liked when he called her Artie. Lately, though, it felt like a nickname borne of affection. Other than Princess, she’d not experienced that. “Will you find me bothersome if I stay in here while you ponder the mysteries of the mathematical universe?”

“Not at all.”

She retrieved one of her plate books and settled comfortably on the sofa, her feet tucked up beside her. Charlie took up his book again and resumed his pacing and pondering.

He’d shown her greater kindness than her father ever had, despite having every reason to deeply resent her. She’d told herself that was the reason she’d not attempted to forge a connection with him: because he clearly disliked her. But she had to admit, in that moment, that her fear ran far deeper.

She had spent her life plagued by an unanswerable question: was hers the life that ought to have been preserved twenty years earlier? She knew the answer her father would have given. What if Charlie’s answer were the same?

Chapter Thirteen

The question of what topresent to the Royal Society remained unanswered in Charlie’s mind. He wasn’t well-versed enough in Budan’s theorem to expound on that. He was deeply intrigued by the law of quadratic reciprocity but hadn’t anything new to add to the topic. He’d hoped to further study Euclidean geometry at Cambridge, as he was convinced its principles were not the only ones at work in the universe no matter the general consensus. That last would make an excellent topic for lecture, but he couldn’t prove anything nor speak with a great deal of authority.

This was an opportunity he dared not waste. It could be a means of reclaiming a little of what he’d had to give up. And yet, that was not what hung heaviest on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Artemis.

“He never looked at me or spoke to me.”

“He never said my name.”

Charlie could hardly imagine a father completely ignoring his child and doing so for the entirety of her life. He’d been unsure what to do while she’d shared such personal pain and recollections. Had she needed an arm around her shoulders or a hug? He’d settled for holding her hand, hoping it would help. After a time, she’d rallied. And she’d stayed in the bookroom for a while afterward, reading and perusing her fashion plates.

Had he done the right thing? They didn’t love each other, and this marriage had not been their choice, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to be unhappy.

Now, with only the light of his candle breaking the dark of the bookroom, his mind refused to make sense of anything. Not mathematics. Certainly not the lady he was married to.

He took up the letters Giles had delivered to him earlier that day but which he’d not yet had time to even glance at. Letters in one hand, candleholder in the other, he made his way back to his bedchamber. None of his clothes were so fashionably close fitting that he needed a valet to help him undress. He could simply strip down to his small clothes and climb into bed when he was ready.

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