“Oh, but—”
“Phoebe.”
The single word seemed to signal defeat to the girl. Her bright smile wobbled a bit before she caught it and continued, “Anyway, we’ll have a wonderful time while Artemis is here. I just sent the maid upstairs to have the pink room freshened for her, and I ordered tea. Would you like to join us?”
Artemis half-expected Maximus to decline—Phoebe had indicated in the carriage that he often kept much to himself even though they shared the same house in London.
But Maximus inclined his head. “I’d be delighted.”
He offered his arm to Artemis and she laid her hand on his sleeve, taking advantage of Phoebe turning to talk to the butler to lean close and whisper, “Where is he?”
He shook his head minutely. “Later.”
She bit her lip. The drive up to London had been near agony, trying to be bright and cheerful with Phoebe, and all the while worried and wondering about Apollo.
“Please.”
His deep brown eyes met hers. “As soon as I can. I promise.”
It was illogical, but his words of assurance warmed her. She knew that if Apollo’s health were dire, he’d take her straight to her brother. As it was, they needs must endure tea and cakes first.
Maximus held out his other elbow to his sister, and he led them both up a curving flight of stairs with a gilded rail with the dogs following merrily behind. At the top, immediately facing the stairs, was a grand salon. Pink painted doors were ornamented with bas-relief-carved vines picked out in gold. The salon itself had a soaring ceiling, intricately painted with gods floating foreshortened on billowy clouds. Artemis tipped back her head, studying the scene.
“The education of Achilles,” Maximus murmured in her ear.
Well, that explained the centaur.
“Must we have tea in here?” Phoebe was muttering on the other side of him. “I always feel like I’m on a stage. The blue sitting room is much more comfortable.”
Maximus ignored his sister’s complaints. “Mind the table there. Mrs. Henrys had it moved whilst we were in the country.”
“Oh.” Phoebe carefully skirted the low, marble table with his help before sitting on a rose settee. Bon Bon jumped up to sit beside her, his mouth open in a wide, doggy grin.
Artemis took the seat opposite her, and the greyhounds settled at her feet.
“I do hope your business in London was very important,” Phoebe said severely. “It quite spoiled the party at Pelham when you left so abruptly. Everyone was calling for their carriages this morning.”
“I’m sorry if I caused you distress,” Maximus replied, looking rather more bored than sorry as he leaned against the ornate black marble mantle near them. Percy wandered over and flopped down on the hearth with a gusty sigh.
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “It’s not my distress you should be worried about. Lady Penelope was quite put out, wasn’t she, Artemis?”
“She did seem a little, er, miffed,” Artemis said cautiously.
“Was she?” Maximus looked at her, his eyes sardonic and intimate.
“Well, she was until the Duke of Scarborough took it upon himself to console her,” Phoebe said. “You ought to watch out for him, dear brother. Scarborough will snatch her out from under your nose.”
“I’ll worry about that when Scarborough’s income increases by another tenth.”
“Oh, Maximus,” Phoebe said, her mouth turning down.
The maids entered at that moment, so Phoebe was forced to swallow whatever she was about to say.
Artemis watched as the tea things were set on a low table between them, along with trays of cakes and small, savory treats.
“Will that be all?” the head maid asked Phoebe.
“Yes, thank you,” Phoebe replied and, as the maids trooped out again, turned to Artemis. “Would you like to pour?”