Colors of a Lady (24 page)

Her surety of the power of the men in her
life almost made Thea laugh. This child knew all too well what men
could do for her.

“I will send armed footmen along too as I
always do when Emma goes out.”

“What need have we for armed footmen?”
Juliet asked, considering it to be an unnecessary extravagance.

“There was an occasion when a man accosted
me in a bookstore. He just shoved me and said some nasty words. It
was not matter truly, but Thomas felt it would be b—“

“’It was no matter’?” he repeated, tone
aghast at her words. “Emmy, you should be able to freely buy books
and walk on the street without fear of strange men attacking you!”
His voice boomed in the ears of all present. Juliet went wide-eyed
at the ferocity in his grey eyes.

“It is not as if it is the same as the time
this man---“Emma clapped a hand over her mouth. “Never mind that,”
she said smoothly. Thomas just stared at his wife.

“What man did what?” he grunted.

“Now is not the time for this
discussion.”

“I am sure the others are awaiting our
return,” Lord Sheridan stated, looking to Thea and Juliet. Thea
took the bait and rose to her feet.

“Yes, I should like to get to know them
better.” She pulled Juliet to her feet. “Let us follow Lord
Sheridan to the sitting room, dear.”

“Just Henry,” reminded the aging earl.

Within seconds they safely removed
themselves from the library. Thomas counted to ten before allowing
himself to speak again.

“What. Happened.”

“It was at that rout at Lady Worthing’s a
few weeks ago. I left to go to the powder room when one of the
guests—ah—well, frankly he grabbed at certain parts of my body
after pushing me onto a balcony. He said there was some bet at
Brook’s on…eh…’deflowering the half-breed.’” She coughed to cover
her shaking voice. Thomas had turned away from her. She stared at
his straight back and broad shoulders. His hands clenched into
fists, knuckles white.

“Who was it?”

Emma looked down at her hands. “I did not
catch his name.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I was sick of complaining to you about all
that was happening.” She wrung her hands together, voice clouding
with sorrow.

“I am your husband, Emmy. I exist to fix
your problems and make sure you are respected by members of the
ton.”

“But, Thomas, if I told you about them all,
I am sure you would go mad. You get so angry and then storm off to
go slay my dragons.” It was inevitable. His anger over the slights
and barbs was limitless. Even when Emma insisted she was perfectly
fine, Thomas said he had to protect her honour.

“That may be true, but you must inform me
about incidents like that. That man needs to be called out for his
actions. And this bet at Brook’s?” He shook his head. “I cannot
allow this slight.” He let out a breath before turning to Emma. “It
has been too long though,” he said. “I am sure the bet is over
considering our nuptials.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “You do
not have to tell me about it all, but if I am near or if any person
lays hands on you, you must tell me.”

“I will,” she promised. No one would be
foolish enough to speak ill of her when Thomas was within earshot.
It had happened once and only once. Emma did not know what happened
to the poor dunce, but she had not seen him since the opera some
months ago. Rumour has it that he is convalescing in his country
home after a rather savage beat-down from the elegant Marquess.
Anyone who believed that was a fool.

Thomas breathed out through his nose. A
quivering calmness overtook his body. The anger, for now, was gone.
He only wanted to protect her from any sadness or hurt. He failed
so far. How could he have missed the molestation at Lady Worthing’s
rout? He recalled Emma returned from the powder room looking ashen,
but she claimed to have developed a headache. He escorted her home
with no further questions. She had clung to him in the carriage,
drawing her strength from his warm embrace.

“I love you so much, Emmy.” His voice
caressed over her body like a soft summer wind. She closed the
distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I love you too,” she whispered. It was
strange to think she had not expected much from the year 1814. An
uneventful Season and then a return to the country. But, no, this
had been the most exciting year of her life. At least the lows were
eclipsed with magical highs. She could handle the betrayal and
murder when she considered all the good present in her life:
friends, good health, new family, and, of course, a wonderful
husband.

Thomas pulled away from her. He looked down
at the familiar dark head. She tipped her head back to gaze at him.
He offered the same smile that had so entranced her at her ball.
His grey eyes crinkled in pure happiness as he beheld his precious
wife.

He pressed his lips to her ears. Emma
shivered beneath the light touch. Her heart stopped when he
murmured, “You are the best of the Wren sisters.”

At that moment, the former Lady Emma Wren
felt at peace. No fears. No worries. Just incandescent happiness
and hope for the future. She was inferior to no one and would not
let anyone make her feel as such again.

She was the wife of a Marquess; the daughter
of a Captain; the niece of an Earl; and the daughter-in-law of a
Duke.

But most importantly, she was just Emma and
that was all that mattered.

Epilogue

They clomped through the wet grass and
wetter mud. It was June at last. Only small patches of snow and ice
betrayed the end of winter. Everywhere else one looked, the grass
shone verdant and leaves budded from winter weary branches. The
small group made their way to the family graveyard. For centuries,
those of Sheridan blood were buried in this ground. Only the
groundskeeper had tended these stones since the family laid Captain
Wren to rest.

Another death. Another body to bury. But,
they had not come to pay their respects to the late Lucille
Wren.

“We are close,” assured Lord Sheridan, his
breath coming out in shallow puffs. His companions slowed their
pace. Emma went to her father’s side and took his arm.

“I shall perish from this walk,” she
whispered to him in a teasing voice. He patted her hand.

Behind them, Thomas offered his arm to his
mother-in-law. Thea accepted the assistance without a word. Juliet
followed last, her booted feet dragging through the muck. She had
not wanted to join this outing. But her mother insisted. She needed
to see his grave with her own eyes. Then and only then, could she
traverse the road to acceptance.

Juliet, however, did not need that. He was
dead. Her aunt was dead. Lord Sheridan was more than happy to
assume a paternal role. Why dwell on the past? Life carried on even
when people died. Why, every hour of the day, another soul was
lost. Besides, Juliet thought, she never knew her father. Her heart
did not ache in memory. There was nothing to remember. All she knew
was her mother’s tales of a tall man with curly brown hair and kind
eyes. A man with a gentle spirit who commanded his men without
threat of mutiny. A man who had cried upon hearing she bore his
child. Could such a man have existed?

She looked at the back of her twin’s head,
adorned in an absurd poke bonnet trimmed in white roses. She spoke
quietly with their uncle or the only man she knew to be her father.
She appeared just as affected by it all as Juliet. At least she had
fledgling memories of a man with laughter like warm cider. Juliet
breathed out. She had wanted to stay in London.

“Here we are!”

Captain Joseph Edward Wren

Died 1796

Tricked into death, cheated out of life.

He leaves behind twins and a wife.

But on the wind, his voice assures,

Life is fleeting, but love endures.

The group slowed to a stop in front an
ornate tombstone. The engraved letters of Joseph’s name had a
weathered look to them. But the epitaph was new. The five of them
gathered in a semi-circle around the grave. Emma knelt on the wet
ground, surely staining her sprigged muslin skirts. She set her
basket beside her. It was filled to the brim with assorted flowers
from the hothouse.

They stood in silence, each reading the
epitaph to themselves. Thea covered her mouth with her free hand,
tears brimming in her eyes. Her muffled cries went unnoticed by the
others.

Lord Sheridan removed his hat, clutching it
to his chest. His lips moved in silent prayer over the grave of his
beloved brother. He hoped his soul felt at peace now.

Emma dabbed away the silent tears that
rolled down her cheeks. When her father suggested this outing, she
had thought little of attending. She never anticipated the sorrow
that overtook her bones. She picked up a handful of flowers,
arranging them through blurry eyes.

“Let me help,” murmured Juliet, reaching
into the basket for the remainder of the flowers. Emma did not know
when she joined her side. Frankly, it shocked her. She had tried
hard over the past week and a half to entreat herself to Juliet.
The girl cared little for her attempts at conversation or finding
common ground.

She turned her head fully to gaze upon
Juliet. Her mouth fell open. She, too, was crying. The same quiet
drops rolled down her rosy cheeks.

“Our father is dead,” Juliet said, the truth
dawning in her voice.

“He has been gone for years,” Emma replied.
She reached out to lay the flowers before his tombstone. Roses
intermingled with lilies and sprigs of baby’s breath. “But now we
are finally saying good-bye.”

“I am not sad she’s dead.”

“Me either.”

Juliet grabbed one of Emma’s hands in her
own. “There will be no easy way to create a relationship between
us, Emma. We are very different people who grew up in different
circumstances. But, I think we can try to be friends.” Then she
smiled. A tentative smile of one not used to using her mouth in
such a fashion.

“We do have a long ship voyage ahead of us,”
mentioned Emma. Her brown eyes were alight with merriment. “Yes, we
can try.” She wiped away the last of her tears.

“It looks like rain,” Thomas commented
absently as he handed a handkerchief to Mrs. Wren. “Shall we head
back? We may make it to town before nightfall.”

“Yes, we should go,” Thea agreed with a nod.
“Juliet still has so much to pack.”

The twins helped one another to their feet.
Then they both flanked Lord Sheridan.

“Come on, Papa, let’s go home.”

He blinked his eyes a few times, focusing
upon the visions before him. “Thea, will you and Juliet do me the
honour of walking back with me?”

Once they found their walking partners, the
group set off. A cool gust of wind blew across the meadows and the
graveyard. Their passage did not last for long. They halted upon
hearing a hollow whisper of, “Thank you,” on the breath of the
wind. Thea shivered, a chill running up her spine.

Emma’s head jerked to look at Thomas. His
dimples deepened as he smiled.

“But on the wind, his voice assures/Life is
fleeting, but love endures.”

###

Thank you for reading my book! I hope you
enjoyed it! If so, please leave a review at your retailer! Look
forward to a sequel of Emma’s further adventures.

Thanks!

Chelsea Roston

Chelsea Roston
wrote her first story when she was twelve years old. Fortunately,
it is lost to time as she soon realized she had no idea what she
was doing. With time, she hopes her skills have improved. She
spends her days attempting to enrich the minds of youth while
daydreaming about plot holes and character traits. At night, her
writing gets interrupted by cats traipsing across her keyboard.

The only part of North Dakota she likes is
being able to keep ice cream frozen in her car for most of the
year. She would rather live in a big city too many restaurants and
too little apartments. This is her first novel.