She half expected to hear Christopher following her, demanding the

  letters back, but he must have decided it wasn’t worth his time.

  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.

  ?

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “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.

  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.

  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.

  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!”

  “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.”

  Oops, sorry this is late! My masters' dissertation is due in a week so

  meteorites have been on my mind instead of Regency-inspired isekai.

  Anyway, double update today, Chapter 8 will be up in a sec!