She half expected to hear Christopher following her, demanding the letters back, but he must have decided it wasn’t worth his time.

God, he’s so irritating! He treated me like an idiot!

Artemisia slowed her footsteps, letting the anger seep out of her, knowing it would only colour her ability to think logically.

Although, if I were in his shoes, how would I have reacted to Artemisia’s scheme? To him, it probably seems unnecessary, and puts Artemisia in a disadvantageous position if anyone finds out.

She looked down at the crumpled letters and groaned quietly.

I’m definitely going to end up encountering this guy at some plot relevant moment, where one of the leads embarrasses the villainess and sends her running with her tail between her legs. Artemisia… I’m not mad at you, but I have no idea what you were thinking, and now I have to deal with the consequences.

She stopped and stared out one of the windows in the long gallery she was walking down. She wasn’t sure where she was, but knew if she kept going she would eventually end up somewhere. It was a pretty room, designed for a person to stroll down and admire the various works of art on one wall, well illuminated by the large windows on the opposite side. However, most of the curtains were shut, giving the gallery a slightly ominous feel.

Hey, these are all family portraits. Look, this one’s from seventy years ago. This must be Artemisia’s… great-grandfather and great-grandmother, maybe?

Artemisia continued to wander along, until she came to the portrait she’d been both hoping for and dreading.

It’s us… at least five years old, but it’s the current family, minus Emile and Elspeth. Hesperus and Marianne look much the same, but the children are so small!

A young Artemisia stared staunchly out at the current one, her hair still as frizzy and her eyes still as bright. Beside her stood a teen version of Christopher, just as serious, but with a cocky tilt to his shoulders. They looked even more similar as kids.

Wow, we could almost be twins, if he wasn’t two years older than me. And there’s Hansel, looking like the black sheep of the family.

Hansel stood a little apart from his siblings, and the portrait artist had done a good job at capturing his small frown and wide anxious eyes.

Just put some droopy ears and a tail on him, and he’d basically be a golden retriever. Poor kid.

Artemisia observed the painting for a little longer, before she moved on, an uneasy feeling roiling in her stomach.

That’s not my family, but that’s my face now. I wonder what my original family was like… I remember my brother pretty clearly, but my parents… they’re more fuzzy. Did I have both of them, or just one? I think I… looked like my mother.

Ugh, I feel weird. Let’s stop thinking about this. What’s happened has happened, and I have to deal with it. Adapt and overcome and all that jazz.

“My lady, it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

“I don’t wanna go…” Artemisia moaned from underneath the covers. The moment she’d got back to her room, she’d curled up in bed with Georgio Gloriosa’s letters, intending to read through them properly.

“Are you well?” Elise inquired.

Artemisia poked her head out to tell Elise she was fine, and then paused. “Can I have dinner in my room this evening? And something simple? Please?”

“Is something wrong, my lady? Should I call for the doctor?”

“No, no, I’m not ill. Just… a little worn out. Some time to myself and an early night should fix me right up.”

Elise looked like she was thinking something over. “…All right, my lady. I’ll make sure your family know and fetch something from the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Elise. You’re the best.” Artemisia flopped back down on the bed, pulling the covers tightly around herself. She picked up one of Georgio’s love letters and read through it.

These are awful. And it doesn’t help that it feels like I’m infringing on someone’s privacy… even though technically, these letters were sent to me.

Christopher had spoken the truth. The original Artemisia had clearly encouraged Georgio to share details about internal goings on, but it all was inconsequential, out of date, or something that seemed high profile enough that news of it would have reached the von Lindts anyway.

And I’ve never met the guy, but he seems enough of an idiot to embellish this information so he looks more impressive. Look at this paragraph where he praises his own wit and cleverness – what a self-obsessed ass!

Knowing she wasn’t going to get anything more useful out of the letters, Artemisia begrudgingly got out of bed and padded over to her vanity. A drawer of it was lockable, and it seemed a safe enough place to keep the letters for now.

Maybe I can use them against Georgio in the future.

The original Artemisia had apparently never used this drawer for precious things, as the only thing in it was a few items of jewellery.

I can’t believe she couldn’t have anything to hide, so there must be some sort of secret hiding spot. But where?

Artemisia surveyed the room briefly, and then sighed. I’ll look for it another day.

Whilst she was waiting for Elise to return, she decided to try and get out of her dress herself. It wasn’t too difficult to get the uppermost layer off, since she was able to pull it over her head, and the petticoats she could just step out of, but the underlayers gave her more trouble. She couldn’t quite figure out what was going on with the lacing at the back, and looking at it in the mirror wasn’t helping much.

Of course, it was at this moment that a knock came at the door.

Hansel must have come to escort me to dinner again.

Artemisia grabbed her dressing gown – or wrapper, as Elise referred to it – from where it lay over the back of a chair and headed over to the door. However, when she opened it, it was not Hansel that stood there, but the duchess.

“Oh!” was all Artemisia had time to say before Marianne swept into the room and pressed her hand against Artemisia’s forehead.

“Sorry, but I was so worried when Elise told us you weren’t coming to dinner – I simply had to check on you! You don’t seem to have a fever or anything.”

“I’m fine!” Artemisia exclaimed, stepping back. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I’m still getting used to everything… again.”

Marianne nodded solemnly. “I understand, darling. You must be so overwhelmed. It’s like entering a new world!”

Oh, you have no idea…

“Can I do anything for you? Is there anything that would make you feel better? I could bring you some books from the library, or perhaps we could have James come up to play the violin for you. I find it awfully soothing when he plays. Oh, of course, you won’t remember! James is the gardener’s boy, but he is very musically talented, so I’ve taken to sponsoring his lessons.”

“Mother, please don’t worry about me. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Marianne looked so crestfallen that Artemisia found herself feeling sorry for her.

“Well… would you mind helping me get out of this corset? I can’t figure it out on my own.”

“Corset?” Marianne repeated, as if she’d never heard the word before.

Oh, right! This is a world based off the Regency period – they didn’t call them corsets just yet.

“I meant my stays. Sorry, I was miles away.” Artemisia quickly moved away, over to her changing area. “Would you help me with them? Please?”

“Of course, Arte.”