Colors of a Lady (11 page)

“In fact, I have discussed with your father
and we have bandied about the possibility of getting married
sooner. Lord Sheridan thought it best considering recent
events.”

“What do you mean exactly? My mother is
African, what does that matter?

“Surely you jest?” Thomas asked, stopping in
his tracks. Was she so naive to think that no one would blink an
eye at a duchess with mixed blood?

“There are rumours that Queen Emma has black
ancestry and no one cares one whit. Why should I be any different?”
Having been presented to the queen, Emma was quite certain of the
claims. Her features were not European in the least. It pleased her
greatly to have a kindred soul in the queen.

“She is the Queen of England, for one. Those
rumours are simply rumours that the royal family can squash with
little effort. There is some definitive proof that you are mixed.
The accounts of Captain Wren's soldiers, for one.”

“Again. What is so wrong with that?” Her
tone was bordering on indignant.

“Because most of England views Africans as
inferior beings. They are still kept as slaves. The slave trade was
abolished in Great Britain and too many do not like this loss of
income. To many, having any drop of African blood makes you a
savage as well. Yes, you were raised in a gentleman’s household and
are to marry me. The rage and disgust will be palpable. Do not be
surprised if you lose many acquaintances.”

“The few friends I do have will not cut me,”
Emma announced. She was not confident of this statement. She threw
her shoulders back. “If they do, I have no need of them
anyway.”

“Your flippancy is admirable.” He pressed a
cold kiss to her temple. “You are to be my responsibility, Emmy. We
will hasten our nuptials to offset any backlash. I will not let any
harm come to you.”

She felt low. Responsibility. That dreaded
word. Six syllables dripping with practical matters like accounts
and tenants. It made her little more than another item on his daily
list to check off.

“Of course, this makes perfect sense,” Emma
agreed, mood dropping. “Well, if that is all, I should like to
return home. It is far too cold for leisurely strolls.” She turned
to change their course back to her home.

“Wait, just a moment,” Thomas ordered. “I
have upset you.” He moved in front of her. “What did I say?”

“You will find me to be such a ninny,” she
wavered. Those narrowed eyes bearing down on her gave her strength.
“I do not like to be thought of as a responsibility. It is so
droll. I want to be more than that.”

Thomas watched the way her big golden-brown
eyes appraised him with the look of a cornered animal. His hands
caressed her shoulders. Emma rose to the balls of her feet, tilting
her head back. He kissed her tenderly. Maybe the kiss would convey
what he found difficult to put into words.

Emma's lips moved against his with yearning
intensity. It was very different from the handful of kisses they
had shared. He felt the fear she did not show and the uncertainty
of those she considered friends. Emma would always have him. He
would always provide for her. He pulled away, moving his lips to
place a kiss on her icy nose.

“You are much more than a responsibility. I
cannot fathom how much at this moment. I know, however, that these
feelings of mine will on grown with time...as will yours.”

“I do not believe you are aware to the depth
of my affections. It would certainly frighten you. If my feelings
grow anymore, I fear my heart will burst.” It felt close to such an
event at the present moment. That tenderness simmering in his eyes
would undo her on this very street.

“Frighten? I doubt that.” He kissed her
again. But with far more urgency. Emma, again, found herself
pleasantly warm. Who needed a cloak when there were kisses? Or arms
to wrap around you and hold you close? It was no wonder that ladies
liked to take interludes out on balconies. Kissing was far more fun
that Almack's or musicales.

Emma was the first to break the kiss. “You
really should escort me home, Thomas. The hour is late and soon
there will be carriages filling the streets. Should you like to be
caught kissing me on a street corner?”

“You make many valid points that I am
tempted to ignore completely.” There were numerous places he would
like to be caught kissing her. Getting caught was imperative in his
plans because he was far too interested in what lay beneath her
muslins and silks.

Thomas moved an inch away from her for
propriety's sake. Propriety be damned! He would lead his fiancée
home and give her a second kiss. Then, he would return to Kellaway
House where he would fall asleep in his cold bed. In a matter of
weeks, his pretty bride with her curls and curves would grace it
with her presence. He would dream of that tonight. As he often
did.

Chapter
Six

Sir William Rollings, an old friend of Lord
Hartwell's, had been assigned to the case of the missing Lady Wren.
There was not much information to be had. Her staff knew nothing.
She left no convenient personal papers that left any cryptic
clues.

To his supreme surprise, Thomas called upon
him in his office, pleading for his assistance in a matter of a
delicate nature. The Marquess’ famed grey eyes avoided his
questioning gaze.

“You see Rollings, my fiancée’s aunt, Lady
Lucille Wren, was visiting to help her with her wedding trousseau.
I happened upon her the day she arrived at her new lodgings and
asked for her help in a surprise for Lady Emma. However, a few days
before it was to happen, she disappeared.”

“I see. Now from these earlier interviews,
you told the police that only you were aware of Lady Wren's arrival
in London. Is that true?” He asked, peeking up from the papers on
his desk. Thomas blinked in surprise at the implications behind
that question.

“Yes, this is true. She expressed desire to
delay her official arrival as long as possible. Lady Wren was not
fond of London society, having left it many years ago.”

“That was due to issues with a man, Lord
Rupert Lowell. She was compromised and then refused to marry
him?”

“That seems quite right,” Thomas agreed.

“Odd, but I too would avoid the prying eyes
of the ton if I was returning after so many years,” Rollings
agreed. He scribbled some notes down. “Now, Hartwell, what is this
business about Lady Emma Wren being a half-breed? I believe that
warrants some discussion.” He laughed at his friend's expression.
Thomas found no humour in this matter. He especially did not like
the use of the word half-breed.

“You are shocked that I know this? Lord
Sheridan decided it prudent to reveal this information to me as
well as the notes his family received. It is all very surprising.
Lady Emma seems far too well-bred to be a mulatto.” He had not
meant to say that last part aloud. Thomas’ eyes hardened into
steel.

Rollings cleared his throat to cover the
slight. “I do think Captain Wren’s death merits some investigation.
I have since contacted those who conducted the investigation and I
expect to receive them shortly.”

“Excellent,” he replied. Thomas played with
the brim of his top hat. “Now, as for this matter of Lady Emma, I
trust that Sheridan has already ensured your silence on the matter
for now. Considering all the latent anger, I am sure many of the
ton would not take kindly to her marrying into a noble family.” He
did not mention the church at the root of all the violence. He did
not have to point to the aggressors in the undercurrent of anger in
London.

“You are correct on that account.” Rolling
agreed. There was a slight sneer on his lips. It disappeared
instantly, his face once again smooth. “It will certainly be
brutal, so yes I have promised to maintain silence unless it so
impedes my ability to investigate on this case.”

“When I last saw Lady Wren, she seemed
rather piqued, but did not divulge any details.”

“I have some of her personal papers: notes
and the like. There is little of note in them. I have hopes she
will turn up soon.” Rolling stated. He rarely failed. Thomas asked
for his assistance due to his discretion. “Let us hope it is before
your wedding. Ah! That reminds me, Hartwell. Why was Lady Wren
coming to help her niece with her wedding preparations? Why would
her own mother not help?”

Thomas raised his shoulders, clearly
uninformed. “I could truly not say. Lady Emma simply mentioned she
was otherwise engaged. Whatever discontent there was between them
has seemingly disappeared.”

“Women,” Rolling said simply. As if that
simple word summed up all the confusing actions of the fairer
sex.

“I have an appointment to attend, Rollings.
Do not hesitate to call upon me with any further news.”

“Of course, old chap. I received an
invitation from Lady Carradine for a ball next week. Will you be
attending?”

Lord Hartwell chuckled, finding humour in
the simple question. Most of the ton had forgiven Lady Carradine
for any indiscretion after she announced her plans for a Bal
Masque. It was the way of high society. If one could throw a
marvelous ball with the opportunities for indecent activities, the
ton would instantly approve. Though not too enthusiastically, of
course, that was just bad ton. It would be wise to leave the excess
of emotion to the French. They did excel with that.

Even Emma, holding such staunch dislike for
the lady, could not wait for the evening. Though it could be that
she had never been to a masquerade before. Nonetheless, she
enthusiastically pressed her mother to accept the invitation. Then
she turned her efforts on Thomas, happily overseeing his reply in a
true wifely fashion.

“I shall be escorting Lady Emma that night.”
Thomas watched William as he spoke.

“You still plan on marrying her? I know you
are honourable, but this seems excessive considering the
circumstances of her birth.”

“I already consider Lady Emma to be my
wife.” Thomas tipped his hat and was gone.

Sir Rollings heaved a weary sigh. This was a
twisted business. He accepted this case purely due to his past with
Hartwell. He was a good man and it certainly did not hurt to have
friends in high places.

William could not help his personal feelings
from slipping into the investigation. He frankly thought his friend
marrying a girl of Emma's ancestry was disgusting. At least she was
raised in a good English family. There was that saving grace. The
savagery would always be in her bones. It was a well-known fact
that Mulatto women were sexually promiscuous, reveling in dangerous
sex acts that made good English ladies faint.

He worried for the state of Hartwell's soul.
The man was obviously smitten with the witch. There was little he
could do. Rollings grimaced at the thought of that vile girl. She
was the assumed daughter of a peer, so she was safe from most
things. But not from his enmity. It was disgusting. She was an
abomination. The races should not mix. God did not want it that
way. That is why they were enslaved.

William, despite his personal feelings, did
not wish to discuss them. It had little to do with the case. Even
if a trollop bewitched his friend, it was not his place. Yes, his
children would be cursed, but he would have to take that up with
God.

“What a shame,” he murmured.

Hatchard's Bookshop was a refuge for many of
London's elite. Here they could browse the many shelves packed full
of leather-bound books. Some found delight in the sensational
novels of Mrs. Radcliffe or in the poetry of Lord Byron. Whatever
one was seeking, it could be found at Hatchard's.

With the weak winter sunlight pouring in
through the windows and the cold winds howling against the
storefronts, most found themselves spending hours in the warmth of
the store. It was too difficult to leave the tender embrace for the
biting cold.

Lady Emma Wren and Miss Helena Mallory found
themselves perusing the shelves in lieu of walking in the snowfall.
Helena was on the hunt for a new copy of Frances Burney's
Camillia
. Her own copy was well read and falling apart,
having first been her mother's. Emma's own book collection was
currently up-to-date. She was mostly browsing for any hidden
gems.

“I must say that I fear I am running out of
novels to read. Someone must write something delicious and horrible
immediately,” Emma said with a sigh.

“Why not read The Monk again? That novel is
always so thrilling!” A leather-clad finger dragged across the
spines of the books. “Aha! Here it is!” Helena pulled the book from
the shelf, happily admiring the cover.

“You know how I feel about that novel. The
writer treats the women characters with very little care. It is
mighty scandalous, I must admit.”

“Oh, look, one of Mary Wollstonecraft's
novels. I am quite shocked this is even here. You know, considering
that scandal when her memoir was published.” Helena handed the
volume over to her friend.

“
Maria: or, The Wrongs of Woman
,” she
read aloud. “I have heard of this book. Ms. Wollstonecraft wrote
novels rebuking the institution of marriage since women tend to get
a very bad time of it.”

“Frightfully true. But not true at all of
your own impending matrimony.” Helena's blue eyes sparkled as she
nudged her friend. They walked towards the counter to purchase
their books. The shopkeeper nodded to them in recognition.

“Just one moment, Lady Wren. There is a book
for you in the back.” He disappeared into the back storeroom.

“I cannot recall ordering any books...” Emma
said. She tapped a finger against her chin. “Anyway, Lord Hartwell
and I do get on well. He does not expect to control my every
motion, so I pray our marriage should be delightful.”

“Well, you must always sympathize with us
less fortunate ladies, is that not what your mother always says?”
Helena smirked.