Colors of a Lady (12 page)

“Aha! Here it is! A few weeks ago, we
received a note to hold this book for you until you visited next.
At last, you are here!” He exclaimed, pushing the book across the
counter towards her.

“For me?” Emma inquired. The shopkeeper
nodded enthusiastically.

“It has been paid for already,” he
explained, taking the book back to wrap it up. Emma's brow furrowed
as she dug into her reticule to offer payment for the new book.

“How peculiar,” breathed Helena, handing her
own purchase over to the shopkeeper.

“I already have a copy of that novel too,”
she added. “I do wonder who sent it.”

“This is an older edition of the book, my
lady, that has more, uh, content than the edition you have. When it
was reprinted in 1810 they removed some plot points. I would
recommend another read through. You seem an enlightened sort of
lady.”

“I will do so, thank you, sir.” The two
girls took their purchases and left Hatchards.

“I am oh so curious as to who left that. Do
you think Lord Hartwell bought it for you?” Helena wondered,
shivering in the snow.

“I doubt that. He is the type to present me
a trinket in person. I fancy he enjoys my reactions.” Emma said
with a sly smile.

“Then who? Have you some other admirer?”

“Not at all. I will look into it later.”
Emma looked around.” Shall we go call upon dear Lettice? Her home
is nearby.”

“Oh yes, let us go! The poor girl has been
cooped up with a cold and unable to enjoy our delightful
company.”

They marched off down the street,
arm-in-arm, towards the respectable town home of Lord Devine.

The walk took only a few minutes, but it
felt like hours. The wind was biting, nearly blowing the girls off
their feet. They trudged through the slush, slipping on the icier
spots on the sidewalks.

Upon reaching their destination, Helena
raised the knocker. After a few moments, the butler appeared. He
sunk into a polite bow, stepping aside to allow them a reprieve
from the weather.

“Good day, Lady Wren and Miss Mallory. How
may I help you today?”

“We are here to see, Lady Lettice. If she is
well enough to receive calls.”

Martin did not move, but stood still. He
held out his hand. Emma handed her card to Martin. Helena was
digging around in her reticule for her own card.

“Damnation...I was so sure I had one in
here,” she muttered. To his credit, Martin did not blink an eye at
the colourful language.

“I shall see. Excuse me a moment.”

Emma adjusted her bonnet, a sturdy
confection with trailing ribbons. She pushed some wayward curls out
of her eyes. It was odd of the butler to not escort them to the
drawing room. Today had been an odd day. She was over thinking it.
Helena, however, had no qualms in voicing that.

“Do you not find it deuced odd that Martin
did not show us to the sitting room? We are her particular friends
and that has always been the case.” She leaned close to Emma's ear
so her voice would not carry.

“Just a smidgen odd. Perhaps they are
undergoing some redecorating?” An excuse of dubious origin.

Helena leaned back, lips pursed. Emma always
sought to see the best in people. What a noble trait, but also
infuriating. Martin returned, gaze lowered to the floor.

“I regret to say, Lady Wren, you are no
longer welcome to call upon Lady Lettice.” To his credit, Martin
looked and sounded apologetic. “Miss Mallory, however, is welcome
to take tea.” He finished, shutting his eyes. He expected a
tantrum. Not from Lady Wren, but certainly Miss Mallory.

Emma blinked at this affront. She had been
denied entrance to Lord Devine's home. It was unheard of to cut
someone off so fiercely. The reason was clear. They must know.
Their church did not prescribe to the acceptance of people such as
her or others like her. It was an act against God. She did what any
gently bred English-woman would do, Emma plastered on a polite
smile.

“Unfortunate it may be, it is expected. I
must be going then.”

“Not yet, Emma,” Helena ordered. “What is
this nonsense? Why am I allowed but Lady Emma is not? She is the
daughter of an earl and I am the daughter of a baron. We have both
been here numerous times. Does this news come from Lady Lettice
herself?”

“Yes, Miss Mallory, it does. It is Lord
Devine's decree and she supports his decision. She does not remain
friends with one such as Lady Wren.” Martin saw the fury building
in Helena as she spoke. The only sign of Emma's ire was her
clenched fist.

Emma let out an angry sign. She needed to
calm down. Anger would do little to help her in this situation. She
looked to Helena and shook her head. “We must leave. It has begun.”
Her eyes flashed with a slow anger, unusual in Emma's merry
face.

“What has begun?” Helena's question was lost
on Emma, who yanked on her arm. She dragged her from the entryway.
The door slammed behind them, echoing in the hall. Soft footfalls
descended the stairs. Martin turned to face Lettice. He bent to
bow.

“They have left.” She stated, her pale hair
loose around her shoulders. “Get a maid to clean up where that
monkey stood.” Her lips were curled in disgust, baring her prefect
teeth. She turned on her heel sharply and retreated back above
stairs.

The butler seemed surprised at her words. He
had no right to question or ask for an elaboration. That hate in
her gaze was unusual. He had seen similar venom in the face of Lord
Devine as he ranted over the evils and inferiority of the African
race.

A black in the ton? That was unheard of and
dangerous for whoever it was. The glittering balls and gilded
soirees hid a hateful underbelly of aristocrats furious over the
outlaw of the slave trade. They took their anger and lust out on
any blacks they could find in London. Martin's father, a mulatto,
had taken to passing as a Jew to lessen the violence against him.
While he passed as a white man of unknown origins.

“Lizzy, come and mop the entryway again,” he
called down the hall before leaving the area entirely to descend to
his quarters. There was little he could do in this except escape as
quickly as possible. Lord Devine would now scour his own household
staff for African dirt.

“What has begun?” Helena repeated for the
umpteenth time. Her cries fell on deaf ears. Emma was still
dragging her down the icy streets. She stumbled and slid into a
passerby. She did not stop to excuse herself. They had been walking
for many blocks before she deigned to answer.

“I cannot discuss it right now. We need to
find Lord Hartwell first.” Emma could barely think straight. Anger
coursed through her veins. Thomas had, in fact, warned her. She
naively ignored him. Now she wanted to gallivant off to his home as
if he could make everything right again. Not even he could change a
person's heart, a person's beliefs. As much as his presence would
soothe her, she could deal with this alone. Or with Helena at her
side.

“No no no,” She stopped short. “We shall
return to my abode.”

“Why are we not going to Lord Hartwell?
Emma, really, what is going on? Your grip is hurting my wrist. Dear
me, you are stronger than you look.” Helena winced, wrenching her
hand away.

“My dear Helena, recently I discovered that
my parents are not my true parents.” The redhead's mouth dropped
open in shock. She was rendered speechless. Her eyes blinked
rapidly, trying to comprehend the news.

“I trust that shall hold you over then. Come
along, let us go.” Helena followed her friend. She was speechless.
Her mind reeled with this new information. It did not make any sort
of sense to her. Though Emma was not fair like her mother, she had
some of Lord Sheridan's features. Helena felt her mind run to wild
places. Thoughts of Highwaymen and affairs with maids were dancing
in her head. Lettice's wild romantic ideas must have rubbed off far
too much on Helena. Next she would be seeing ghostly vicars in
rattling chains at every turn.

Lewis spotted the two girls as they turned
down the street. Emma's determined gait was unmistakable. He opened
the door for them, ushering them inside.

“Goodness, it is really coming down out
there,” he observed. He shut the door.

“It is just awful, Lewis. When will it be
summer again? I do so love the gardens.”

“We will keep them well-tended for when you
come to visit. Though I hear Duke Kellaway's gardens are far more
beautiful than our own here.”

“Oh yes, I had forgotten. Soon, I will not
be living here anymore. Silly me.” She laughed.

“Soon I too shall leave my father's house,”
added Helena.

“Has Nathaniel finally proposed?” Emma
gushed. “How could you keep this from me?” She pinched Helena on
her upper arm. The redhead whooped in annoyance and moved away from
her. “Ow! That is not how a future duchess acts!” She rubbed her
arm. “But no, I am to marry Lord Worthing. We are betrothed as of
last week.”

“Is that so? Dear Helena, why would you keep
this from me? That beast. How could Nathaniel let you become
someone else's bride? Not just anyone...but Lord Worthing? Even I
have heard the stories about him.”

“It is no matter. We cannot all marry the
one we love.” Helena handed her cloak to Lewis. Emma wrinkled her
nose at news. This was certainly not what she wanted. Nathaniel was
a fool and it little surprised her that Helena simply could not
wait any longer. Her friend was impetuous and stubborn, prone to
rash decisions.

In normal circumstances, the effects were
harmless, but this did influence the rest of her life. What a
miserable marriage for her. Nathaniel must devise a plan to win her
back. Yet, for a man or a woman to back out of a betrothal could
ruin them. What a tangled web. When did everyone's lives become
complicated? It only left Emma to dream of the nursery days when
she could run in the fields carefree as the wind. Those days lost
to time. It did no good to reminisce. Matters were difficult now.
It would not always be this way.

Emma felt silly to place all hopes of
happiness on Thomas. She would need to forge her own happiness
somehow. It was naught but foolishness to depend upon her husband
so much. Through her readings of such women as Olympe de Gougas and
Mary Wollstonecraft, Emma grew to believe women were not inferior
to men. They deserved the same rights as men. As did all races of
people. She yearned to act upon this budding independence while
continuing to be dependent upon the men in her life.

“You are woolgathering again, Emma.”
Helena's teasing voice drew her out of thoughts.

“I get far too lost in my head. Come, let's
go to my sitting room and I shall tell you everything.’

“What a mess I have made,” whined Lord
Hedgeton. He called upon Lord Hartwell immediately upon learning
the truth of his love's engagement. Thomas welcomed his friend into
his library. Once immaculate, Nathaniel was shocked at the clutter
on the floor. The shelves were bare. The entire book collection of
the Kellaway family strew about the floor in a haphazard manner.
His friends grey eyes were feverish with excitement. Thomas stepped
over a wobbly pile of books to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

“I am sorry about this. I have been tasked
with organizing the books. Emma has sent along trunks of her own.”
He tossed some sheets of paper to the earl. He recognized Emma's
neat and tiny handwriting scribbled across the pages. “Those are
instructions for how she would like them set up. It is very similar
to how my father keeps his books, so it is simple.”

“Oh, look how disgustingly happy you are,”
Nathaniel said with a groan. He plopped down onto a cushy leather
chair, downing a glass of whiskey. “Have you told her you loved
her?”

A volume slipped through his fingers,
dropping to the hard-wood floor. The thud was the only sound aside
from the crackling fire. Though Thomas could hear the smug smirk
playing upon his friend’s lips. He opened his mouth to retort.
There was nothing to say. What could be said? The Marquess
chuckled. He tugged absently on his hair.

“Well, that is...I-I should say...have you
told Miss Helena that you love her?” That wiped the smirk right off
of Nathaniel's face.

A strangled cry sounding strangely like “No”
erupted from his lips. “That is why she is lost to me to wed that
awful man, Lord Worthing. The horrid Lady Lavinia is to be her
sister-in-law, did she not even consider that?”

“Is this what you have come to complain
about? I do not think I should bear it. From what you told me, Miss
Mallory did offer you an ultimatum of sorts. Though perhaps it was
more of a threat. You believed her to be bluffing. Here you are
chugging whiskey whilst she is engaged.”

“I am a sad man. I have dug my own grave.”
Nathaniel slid off of the chair and onto the Oriental rug. He
moaned in agony, still clutching the crystal glass. He offered it
up to Thomas, green eyes pleading. “Please?”

The Marquess could not help but take pity on
his dearest friend. He stooped down to pick up the glass. Thomas
walked to the decanter and refilled the glass. He also filled
another glass for himself. This would be a long night. Nathaniel
was particularly in low spirits.

He returned the glass to his friend.
Nathaniel took a sip, enjoying the familiar liquid. “I must say,
Hartwell, your whiskey is spectacular.”

“You drink enough of it,” he joked. Thomas
sunk is long body into a velvet chair. He stretched out his legs,
feeling constricted in the tight buckskin breeches. “Whatever is
your plan regarding Miss Mallory?”

“I am not here to plot, dear friend. I shall
save that for when I have a clearer head.”

“Wise words.” Thomas swallowed some whiskey.
He twirled the glass in his hand, staring at the liquid. His
thoughts were jumbled despite his easy manners. “Have you spoken
with Sir Rollings recently?”