Colors of a Lady (16 page)

“Phenomenal idea, Carradine.” Thomas cleared
his throat. “I will gladly accept your insight, but you cannot
allow any personal feelings get in the way. You have to consider
everyone a suspect.”

“Even you?”

He nodded. “Even me since I could be lying
to you.”

“I know when you are lying. When I was ten
years old, you poured ink all over my doll and tried to tell me she
did it to herself. I knew at once you were lying since you refused
to look me in the eye and always tug on your hair when you’re
nervous. You are not lying about Aunt Lucille asking for your
help.”

Genevieve gasped, wagging a finger at him.
“Poured ink? Really, Hartwell? Why would you do that?”

“It was not out of malice, I assure you.
Emmy used to complain how her dolls never looked like her and I
thought perhaps the ink would do just the trick.”

“That is almost sweet,” Genevieve said.

“My doll was ruined. She was my Marie
Antoinette doll too!” Emma clearly was still upset over the whole
ordeal.

“You got a new one!”

“It was not the same. The new one’s dress
was not pink.” Thomas groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead.

“That was nearly ten years ago. Surely you
have forgiven me.”

“Forgiven but not forgotten,” she said
primly.

“Let us put all this grim business aside for
this night,” Lady Carradine interrupted cleanly. “As I said before
Edward, you have not yet danced with me. I will get the musicians
to play a waltz. Come along now.” She grabbed his hand and pulled
him toward the door. “Descend after a few minutes, I would hate for
the ton to say we have orgies above stairs.”

As she spun around the ballroom, Emma
thought about her childhood in the country. Tonight, she felt
nostalgic. The old memories were creeping up the back of her skull,
itching to be recalled.

“Thomas, do you recall that fight we had
before you went on your Tour?”

He stumbled as they rounded the dance floor.
His grey eyes caught hers. He looked pained, mouth drawn in a
frown.

“Yes.” His voice was rough. “It is not easy
to forget.”

“Why?” She asked. They both knew that single
word referred to his actions of that long gone summer day.

Emma remembered how bright the sun shone
that July day. She wore a bonnet with a large brim forced upon her
by her mother.

“Please, Emma, you cannot get darker.” She
knotted the ribbon beneath her daughter’s chin and patted her
cheek.

“Yes, mother.” Emma ran out of the front
door of their manor. Her dress stuck to her back when she arrived
at the lake. Nathaniel stood at its edge. His waistcoat was thrown
aside as he skipped rocks.

“Nathaniel! Where is Thomas?”

“How nice to see you too, Emma.” He said
turning towards her. His eyes grew wide. “Goodness, you sure have
grown since I last saw you.”

She shook her head. “No, I have not grown an
inch actually.” The fact of that troubled Emma. She turned fourteen
in May. When Caroline turned fourteen, she grew at least five
inches and her complexion cleared. Emma’s face still had a few
spots along her chin that drove her insane. Her finger rubbed over
them, willing them to disappear.

“I did not mean your height, silly.” He
wriggled his eyebrows over her body. Emma scoffed and covered her
chest.

“You are abominably rude! Where is Thomas?”
She asked again. All she wanted to do was see Thomas. She missed
him. His absence made her heart heavy. But now, he was back home.
Her stomach twisted into knots. She wore her prettiest yellow frock
and took great pains on her hair. All she managed was a thick braid
that fell down her back.

“Probably reminiscing about our times in
Eton. We had some wild nights.”

“Wild nights? What do you mean?” Emma
plopped down beside the lake. The water glistened beneath the sun’s
rays. She wanted to swim today. Maybe Thomas would like to go.

“After our final exams, we went to a brothel
to celebrate being men.” He grinned and flopped onto the grass. “It
was well worth the fee.”

“Why would Thomas go to a brothel?” Emma
could not fathom this. Her white knight frequenting such a place to
which uncouth and dishonourable men gave their life savings.

Nathaniel propped his head up on his hands.
He stared at her. “Why else do men go to brothels? It’s not for the
whiskey or the pies.” Nathaniel chuckled.

“Where. Is. Thomas.”

“Near the woods I think.”

Emma took off towards the South woods. This
small forest formed a natural barrier between the Earl of
Sheridan’s property to the Duke of Kellaway’s estate.

Beneath an oak tree, Thomas sat in complete
stillness. He eyes were shut tight, mind elsewhere. By the end of
the summer, Nathaniel and he would set sail for the Continent. He
turned nineteen in August, less than a month away. Then he would
spend at least two year exploring ancient ruins and crumbling
castles. Yes, he was excited, but he would miss England. Some
aspects of it more than others. One particular aspect hurtled
towards him that very moment.

As far back as he could remember, Emma and
the rest of her family were a constant fixture in his life. She
never ceased to make him a confusing mixture of angry and happy.
Since this past Christmas, he grew more and more confused. They
were not children any longer. She was not a child any longer. She
was growing into a woman and he could not handle that. He could not
act normally around her.

“Emmy! Good afternoon!”

Her movements grew less stiff as she
approached him. She fell to her knees in front of him. Emma picked
up one of his hands in her own.

“Thomas, please tell me Nathaniel’s lying.
He said the most horrible--oh! I can scarcely repeat them.”

He wanted to smile down at her, all aglow in
her fledgling beauty. He was still too young to form into words how
beautiful he found her. He was too foolish to recognize the growing
feelings for what they were.

“What did he say?”

She leaned her head towards his and dropped
her voice to a whisper. “He said you visited a brothel.”

“We did.”

Her lips quivered. She pulled her hands from
his. “But...why?”

“Why else do men go to brothels?” He did not
meet he eyes.

Emma jumped back up to her feet. “You
wouldn’t!”

Thomas scoffed and folded his arms across
his chest. “I am a grown man. I have my needs. A child like you
wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” she protested. “I
know plenty.”

“You know nothing.”

At that point, both their memories grew
faint. Both found themselves too embarrassed to recall all the
awful words they shouted. Emma ended up running home. They did not
speak again save an odd letter or two until he returned to England.
That was three years ago. Three years of courting Caroline and
speaking civilly to Emma.

“I never went through with it…” He said to
her. The masquerade was drawing to a close as faint trickles of
light dotted the early morning sky. Emma yawned into a billowy
sleeve.

“I know. Remember, you cannot lie to me.”
She leaned her head against his arm. Thomas laughed to himself.

“Then why were you so angry?” He handed her
off into his carriage.

“Because you lied to me.” She tossed back.
Emma settled into the cold bench. At least the ride home was short.
Her warm bed awaited her.

“Right.” Thomas banged on the roof. The
horses trotted through the streets, pulling the carriage smoothly
behind them.

“We have had a lot of rejections for our
wedding. Snobbery is greater than I anticipated.”

“Are you serious?”

Emma nodded against his coat, yawning again.
“It is becoming public knowledge. There are a lot of not very nice
people in the ton. Never before had I thought a countess would pen
the words ‘negro bitch’.”

Thomas curled his hands into fists, rubbing
his knuckles on his velvet pants. “Which countess?” He inquired
through clenched teeth. Emma shook her head.

“Some relative of yours, I do believe.”

“Emmy, that is unacceptable and--”

“Just what you expected to happen. It is
just words and we will have a small wedding. It could be far worse.
I live a life of privilege.” He opened his mouth to retort. “Do not
speak any more about it, Thomas. You warned me of the risks and I
ignored you. Let me just doze until I get home.” She stifled
another yawn. “Never before have I danced all night. Thank
you.”

He gripped her small hand tightly.

“Anything for you.”

Chapter
Nine

“The will?” Lord Sheridan peered up at his
younger daughter. Every morning he ate his breakfast alone. The
women in his family hated waking up before ten. His quiet tradition
was thoroughly ruined by the boisterous arrival of Emma.

“Yes, Papa, surely my father left a will.
What became of it?”

He lowered his newspaper. “You are in my
will, dear. Are you worried about money?”

“Not at all. I know that Caroline and I each
have £2000 for our dowry. Mother has always stated we shall have a
yearly stipend after you pass away.” She spread marmalade over a
piece of bread. “Did my father leave behind a will?”

“Yes, of course, being in the military he
kept a will since he first joined. Oddest thing though, he told me
when I last saw him that you were to inherit all he owned.
Naturally, I would have control over it until you were of age. The
will produced after his death listed Lucille as his
beneficiary.”

“He must not have met with his solicitor,”
Emma suggested.

“That is what I have always thought. It was
very unlike Joseph. Usually when he told me matters, they had
already come to pass.”

She nodded her head, chewing on her bread.
Thomas was correct. None of what they knew seemed to make any
sense. She guessed that once they learned a specific piece of
information, the haze would clear.

Emma poured a cup of tea. She breathed in
the scent with a wistful sigh.

“Jasmine tea, my favourite! Is this from
what Aunt Lucille had sent us?”

Lord Sheridan nodded. “Yes, finished off a
container of it. I think we have one left.”

Lewis swept into the breakfast room carrying
a tray. He bowed and placed some letters down for Lord Sheridan.
Then he handed Emma a packet.

“For me? I never get any post!” She dropped
her food to her plate. “Thank you Lewis!” Emma used a butter knife
to open the wrapping. She peered inside. “Bananas?” Her eyebrows
drew together as she pulled out one of the scandal sheets. It was a
seedier one that happily used full names and caricatures to attack
the elite. She had never read this particular one. Lettice adored
them though and was a faithful reader.

It bore today’s date. Emma scanned the first
page. There was nothing amiss. Who had sent her this? She turned to
the next page. Emma shut her eyes tightly. “Oh no…”

There, upon the third page of a notorious
London gossip rag, some person had taken the time and effort to
sketch her likeness. Or what she realized was supposed to be her
likeness. The woman had grey skin with wide hips and an over
exaggerated bum and breasts. Her skirts were bunched around her
waist. She was straddling a man’s face while her mouth was wide
open to swallow a banana whole. The caption beneath read, “Marquess
and Marchioness Dining In.”

Emma let out a cry and crumpled up the
paper, tossing it across the table.

“Emma, what’s wrong? What have you received?
Good God, are those bananas?” He hopped from his chair to where she
sat. He reached out for the discarded paper, but Emma yanked it
away from him.

“No, Papa, you should not look. It is
indecent.”

“What has gotten you so upset? Did someone
write about you in that trash?”

She shook her head. “Not write, Papa. They
drew.” Tears dropped out of her eyes.

“Let me see.” She loosened her hold and slid
it to him. Robert smoothed out the paper. His brown eyes moved over
the page. His face turned a deep red. “LEWIS!” The butler appeared
in the doorway. His mouth opened in shock. He had never heard the
earl yell before. He never angered. “Send a footman to fetch Lord
Hartwell. He is needed here immediately.”

“Oh, do not call him. It is alright,”
insisted Emma. She wiped the tears off her cheeks. “It is a
meaningless drawing. It means nothing.”

“This is unacceptable. You are a lady of
gentle breeding. How dare they-whoever they are-label you as
some--”

“Papa, it is useless to take action. Many
people probably think of me the same way. If I was not marrying
such an eligible bachelor, I am sure more people would be
accepting. As it is, I am a Negress who will become a Duchess. They
do not like it at all. It threatens all they know.”

He knew she was right. Emma was seldom
wrong. It shook him to his core to think that someone he had known
for years may have drawn that.

Lord Sheridan cleared his throat. “Have you
fetched him yet?” He asked over to Lewis.

“Yes, my lord. I have sent James.”

“Excellent.”

“But Papa…” Emma’s voice was weak.

“Let him know. You two will decide together
how to approach this.” Lord Sheridan bent down to hug his daughter.
He held onto her tightly. “I love you. I do not like to see you
hurt.”

“You cannot protect me from the world
anymore.”

“I know. I still wish I could.” He wiped at
his eyes and then left the breakfast room. Emma dabbed at her
cheeks with her napkin. She dipped her fingers into her water glass
and flicked it on her face. After a few steadying breaths, she felt
better. Not complete, but better.

“Blast,” she whispered. Her current dress
would not do for accepting callers. If Mother woke up and saw her
in such a state, she would likely die to find Emma still in morning
dress. Even if one’s world was falling apart, one must always
follow the rules of society. Especially when they pertained to
clothing. Like all the queens and tragic lovers who met their fate,
Emma would buck up and put on a pretty frock.