Colors of a Lady (14 page)

The pair encroached upon Lord Hartwell's
path. He was some distance ahead of them when he, at once, stopped.
Or rather, someone stopped him and pulled him into a room. Emma
never considered herself to have good vision. She noticed at once
the arms were thin, pale and obviously feminine. The unknown
paramour's wrists were covered in silver bangles. There was a
glimpse of the woman's raven-black hair. Emma already knew those
arms belonged to Lady Carradine. Why was her fiancé meeting with
this woman he claimed to have rebuked so well in Vienna?

Helena had no time for such musings. She saw
the defeat on her friend's face. The cogs in her head were
desperately trying to make sense of this tryst. There was really no
other word to describe this odd meeting. The venue did little to
shed some propriety on the meeting.

“No time for that, Emma. Come along!” She
scurried down the hall. The redhead crouched by the door. She
placed her head against the door, hoping to hear their
conversation. Well, if there was to be any conversation. One never
knew how quickly people started the whole point to these
trysts.

“...She is distracting you, Thomas.” The
countess' voice lost the haughty, scornful tone for which she was
known. Instead, it was littered with concern and another emotion.
Emma was almost tempted to call it smug. But she sounded like an
elder sister admonishing a wayward sibling.

“She is no concern of yours.” Thomas sounded
tired. As if he had this conversation far too many times. “I trust
this is not why you summoned me.”

“Oh not at all. I have learned some news.”
Lady Carradine's voice dropped so low, Helena and Emma could only
catch pieces.

“...is safe...she...Paris...we have her
letters...everything is good...they suspect nothing...they believe
they are in the clear...”

“Excellent work as always...we are close...I
can feel it, Genevieve.” Their voices dropped to inaudible levels.
Helena pulled away from the door and stood up straight. She
inclined her head towards an alcove nearby. It would serve as a
quiet place to converse. Emma listlessly followed. There was a
small brown bench upon which they sat. It was uncomfortable, but it
would do. She drew the heavy velvet curtains around them, lending
even more privacy.

“They are very familiar,” Helena began. Emma
nodded. She reached up behind her head to untie her mask. The
ribbons were knotted. It took a few moments of trying before Emma
simply tore the ribbons to shreds. The mask dropped into her lap.
She grabbed it, squeezing it tightly in her hands.

“I believe Lord Hartwell has lied to me in
regards to their relationship. I am a right fool,” she said
nastily. “How could I have expected him to have spurned her
advances when so many men have failed?”

“Even if they were lovers in the past. That
does not mean they are still sharing such a relationship. It has
been a matter of years since Lord Hartwell was on his Grand Tour.”
Helena tucked her legs beneath her, spreading her skirts neatly
over her lap. “Nathaniel would surely have told me otherwise and he
seemed to consider her a nuisance and not a threat.”

“If that is to be the truth, why is he
meeting her clandestinely in the middle of a masquerade?”

“It is easier for them to meet here then for
Hartwell to call upon her at her home?”

“Yes, but why? Why does he need to meet her
secretly if they are not lovers?” Emma’s voice rang shrilly. It was
certain to draw the attention of any stray guests.

“I see your point.” Helena tapped a finger
against her chin, searching for a plausible reason. There seemed to
be none. Lord Hartwell and Lady Carradine were beautifully made
humans, all alabaster skin and midnight hair. It made complete
sense if they were having an affair. It made much better sense than
Hartwell’s betrothal to Emma, she thought duplicitously. Helena
instantly regretted the awful thought. Emma was beautiful in her
dark, exotic way. At times she seemed more at home amongst the
towering pyramids of Egypt or against silken pillows in a sultan’s
harem. She seemed a creature of the night, content to bask in the
moonlight beneath a canopy of stars. But Lady Carradine and Lord
Hartwell were the moon and the stars. Almost too unearthly for mere
mortals to love.

She was lost in the quest to soothe her
friend. All the words she could say seemed hollow, devoid of any
true reassurance. She was saved from any further remonstration by
the sound of footsteps: a click of heels and the swish of boots. It
had to be them.

Emma held a finger to her mouth, prompting
Helena to do the same. They sat huddled in the alcove, listening to
her dulcet tones and his soothing ones.

“We shall have to tell her soon, you know,”
informed Thomas. Lady Carradine sighed prettily.

“I am well aware. She does not seem the type
to faint at such news, so I am not concerned.”

“No, Emma is practical, she will
understand,” Thomas assured her. Though she waved off his words
with a silvery laugh. The rest of their conversation was drowned
out by the chaos of the ballroom.

Emma grew more sullen. Her mouth drew into a
frown so long, Helena feared it would slip right off her face.

“I am quite sure they cannot mean—I mean,
surely...he would not dare...” She was floundering in her
efforts.

“But he would,” echoed Emma. “There is
little I can do. Such diversions are permissible. I had just
thought...” she trailed off, looking down at her mask. “I simply
thought that maybe he was falling in love with me.” The words were
faint whisper, studded with sadness.

“Oh Emma. There must be a better explanation
for this,” Helena insisted, grabbing her friend’s hands. “There
simply must.”

Emma shook her off, rising to her feet.
“Excuse me.” She whispered, slipping out of the alcove. Helena
listened to the soft pad of her feet growing fainter. She summoned
her own high spirits and too left the alcove. She would leave Emma
to her own thoughts. Her business took her on the hunt for a
fair-headed god.

There he was, clad in a tangle of white
linen. A gold circlet of leaves posed above his fair brow. He stood
a head taller than the gaggle of shepherdesses and nymphs that
flocked to him. If she were a touch sillier, Helena too would have
leaped into the throngs. As it was, she was on a mission.

She shoved a couple of fluffy-haired
shepherdesses out of her way. Path cleared, she stood before
Nathaniel. His tense face relaxed into a smile.

“Might I have a word with you, Lord
Hedgeton?” Face taut and mouth stern, she looked like a fierce
avenging goddess.

“If you will excuse me,” he said to the
crowd. They sighed in discontent. Helena turned with a roll of her
eyes. She felt his presence behind her. He often loomed over her
shoulder. A feeling of comfort rose in her breast. “Whatever is the
matter, Helena? You look quite fierce. Has your fiancé upset you?”
He tried too hard to sound light and unaffected. Gads! He sounded
like a whiny child. When had he become seven again?

“It is your friend. He just had a
clandestine encounter with that odious Lady Carradine. What say you
to that?”

“Lady Carradine, you say?” He repeated. He
shook his head. “No, Hartwell would never. He’s smitten to pieces
with Emma.”

“Then why is he meeting with that
woman?”

“Your guess is about as good as mine.”
Nathaniel picked up two glasses of champagne from a small silver
tray. He handed one to Helena.

“It does not make sense. She is endlessly
gorgeous, but she is married. What business could they have meeting
at a Bal Masque?”

“Business,” he murmured. That word sparked
some memory in his mind. But what was it again? Thomas asked for
his help in some matter that required him to travel to Dover.
Goodness, he should pay better attention. He was far too in his
cups the other night to even remember to what he agreed. He did
have a packet of papers with a list of steps for him to take.
Thomas urged him to leave tonight before the ball ended.

Nathaniel’s heart began to thump loud in his
chest. He had a new plan forming. A way to kill two birds with one
stone. He grinned down at the redhead before him. She narrowed her
eyes.

“You are a buffoon. Why are you smiling at a
time like this?”

“You’re not marrying that lout. You’re
marrying me. Tonight.”

“You are mad. I will not!” She hissed at
him. “Do not dare make demands of me, Nathaniel. I will not bow to
your whims.”

“B-but you love me.” As if that made it all
better. As if his cowardice was forgiven. Helena threw back the
glass of champagne, gulping it all in one motion. She deposited it
and folded her arms across her chest.

“Try again.”

“Do not make me say it,” he pleaded.

She pursed her lips. He was too big a man to
be afraid of saying what she wanted to hear. This game had gone on
far too long. She was tired of her brother’s domineering ways and
her mother’s steady stream of flirtations. There was too much
family drama for her. She longed to be a priority, not an
after-thought. The freedom to study and fence as she pleased was
also tempting.

“Helena, please, come with me.” Nathaniel
took her pale hands in his, grasping as if she was slipping away
from him.

“My reputation would be in t--”

“As if you care one whit about your
reputation. Lord Mallory is marrying you off to a blackguard! Your
mother’s parlour has seen more men than the halls of Eton...n-not
that it is a problem,” he added hastily under the weight of
Helena’s glare.

“Just think how wonderful our life would be.
I am not at all like your brother. I have a great income and
properties in the city and the country. You can have those grand
salons with artists and thinkers and never had to tread the sacred
halls of Almack’s again.”

“No more watery lemonade,” whispered the
redhead, eyes widening. “Let’s do it!”

“Really?” Nathaniel asked. “That’s what it
took? The promise of no more Almack’s?”

“You are not forced into attendance every
week,” she replied with a frown.

“Except when my mother threatens to kill
herself if I do not find a wife.”

“May she live for many more years.”

They had talked through a short interlude in
the music. Now the musicians were starting up a lively
country-dance. Partners were milling about readying themselves for
the exertions. With all the commotion of the jig, they could easily
slip out.

“We need to stop by my home first. I need to
pack a trunk at the very least. I refuse to abscond like a thief in
the middle of the night.” She thought for a moment. “Who is going
to marry us?”

“I know a man in Dover.”

“Dover?”

“For a week or two and then we’re off to the
Continent.” He was confident as if he had planned this all along.
Truly he was making this all up. He would be writing a lot of
letters when they got to Dover.

“Truly?” Her eyes shined with the mention of
leaving English shores. “Let us leave at once!”

“I will call for my carriage. Wait
here.”

“No, I will go with you.”

“I would not have it any other way.”

They entwined their hands and left the
ballroom. Nathaniel’s heart felt it was going to burst. Helena was
nervous, worried about getting caught.

“But, what of Emma and Lord Hartwell?” She
remembered her reason for seeking him out too late. Nathaniel
lifted his shoulders in a helpless way.

“They will have to figure out their own
problems. We have our own to worry about.”

After a short carriage ride filled with
stolen kisses, they arrived at the Mallory Residence. The house was
dark.

“Perfection.” A footman wrenched the
carriage door open. He stood waiting for them to depart. This was
havey-cavey business. A midnight elopement during a masquerade
ball. Why, it was out of a novel! His sister would love to hear
about this.

Helena alighted from the carriage with a
graceful leap. She hurried towards the servant’s entrance. She was
not so bold as to have the butler answer the door for her.
Thankfully, a scullery maid answered the door. She gasped in
surprise at the daughter of the house appearing so dishabille at so
late an hour.

“Miss Mallory, why are you--” Helena
silenced her with a hiss.

“Hush now. I am packing a trunk and leaving.
Is my brother home?” She peered past the girl into the dim kitchen.
The house was far too quiet. It bothered her.

“Where is everyone?”

“L-Lord Mallory has given us all the night
off.” Her eyes darted here and there. She did not move.

“How out of character of him.” Helena slid
to the left. The maid moved with her. She slid back to the right.
Still. She did not budge. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I am s-sorry, miss, but Lord Mallory told
me not to let anyone inside.”

“I am quite sure he did not mean his
sister,” she replied with a huff.

“W-well, you may be right. If you do not
disturb him, t-then, I’m q-quite sure it will be okay.”

“Disturb him? What is going on exactly?”
Helena stared the maid down. Her gaze was just as penetrating as
her brother’s. She would bend to her will.

“Guest...er, Lord Mallory has a guest.”

Her mouth dropped open. So that was it, huh?
Her traditional brother had himself a light o’ love.

“No worries. I will be quiet as a
mouse.”

The maid sputtered in defeat, allowing
Helena to pass. She dropped her bow upon the oak table before
rushing up the stairs. Once she reached the ground floor, she
slowed her pace. The floors of the house were creaky. She knew
every single spot.

She simply could not be caught by Jasper. If
so, she would resort to blackmail, without a doubt. His friends
would be personally offended if they knew about this mysterious
guest.