Colors of a Lady (17 page)

“Something green,” she decided. “Lewis,
where is Mary?”

The butler bowed to her. “She stepped out,
Lady Emma.”

Frowning, Emma paused on the stairs. “Did
she say when she would return?”

“No.”

“Very well. Please send up Anna to help
me.”

Under normal circumstances, Caroline would
take her correspondence into the back parlour. It was quiet and no
one bothered her there. However, today was not normal. Emma rose
with the sun this morning when she was most likely to laze about in
bed until at least two.

The house was in uproar over some matter.
But none of the maids she stopped knew. Caroline would have to ask
her sister. Lately, the focus of the house was on her. It suited
Caroline fine. She had been the star for too many years. She also
needed to devise the best way to inform Mama that this would be her
last Season.

Since today was abnormal, she should have
realized sooner that the back parlour would be occupied. Even if
she had considered the possibility, she would not have known that
its occupants were lying on the couch in a compromising position.
At least they were engaged.

In the doorway, she paused to stare at the
couple. Emma lay atop Thomas. His hands were tangled in her hair to
yank out her hair pins. The intimacy of the motion stilled
Caroline. Thomas had never been that way with her. Throughout all
the years he had professed his love to her, their kisses never
shared any real passion. It was obvious to her now that he kept it
in reserve for Emma.

She stepped back into the hallway and shut
the door firmly.

“Was that the door?” Emma asked.

“I do not think so,” replied Thomas. Then
they were quiet.

The blonde shook her head. Now where could
she go? With Mama visiting with a caller in the sitting room and
Papa in the study, Caroline only had the library left. She did not
mind libraries. But as everyone had their own room in the house,
Emma had claimed the library at an early age.

“Perhaps she did not want to ruin the
sanctity of the books with her...activities.” She wrinkled her
nose. “To the library.”

Stale air and a fine layer of dust tickled
her nostrils. Caroline exhaled and rubbed at her nose. Emma must
not have been her in some weeks. She set her letters down on a
writing desk. She pulled out the chair and sat down.

“Blast! I forgot paper.” She groaned.
Caroline pulled open the top drawer of the desk. It was empty. The
next three were much the same. The last drawer was just as barren
as the rest. Caroline reached her arm inside and felt around in the
back. Her fingers brushed against a rough surface. The texture
reminded her old paper, like it as going to crumble beneath her
touch. Caroline grabbed onto it fully and pulled it out.

It was a packet of letters tied up with a
faded yellow ribbon. Caroline held the letters closer to her eyes.
The names were too faint to read. She untied the ribbon and picked
up the first letter. It would be a gross invasion of privacy for
her to read this letter. Then again, these were from so long ago,
whoever wrote them must have forgotten they were here. She unfolded
the letter and smoothed it out on the desk.

Her blue eyes roved over the paper. All of
the Wren family were quick readers even if they did not utilize it
as much as others. Caroline’s scanning abilities were used best
when analyzing new debutantes and the rakes of the ton. But
this...this letter. Emma would need to see this. Her correspondence
could wait.

She found it hard to breathe. How long had
they been kissing exactly? It felt like ages. Civilizations had
risen and fallen while their lips were locked as one. Not that she
minded. That caricature remained in the back of her mind, taunting
her. Her anger did not compare to the fury that burned in Thomas’
every motion. He turned that angry frenzy into knee-weakening
kisses that ended with them falling onto a striped couch.

His hands roamed over her body in ways that
made her moan. This was all so new to her. She liked these
sensations. She wanted more. Despite how cloudy her mind was at
that moment, she knew a parlour as not the place to engage in such
exertions. Even if the way his mouth caressed her neck persuaded
her otherwise.

“We should stop,” Thomas whispered as he
nuzzled her ear. Emma let out a groan and slid off of him.

“You are right.” She sat on the carpet and
adjusted her bodice. “How many more weeks until we are
married?”

Thomas wrapped one of her thick curls around
his index finger. “Two weeks and three days.”

“I wish we were already wed. Then we would
be out of London. Where are we going first?” Emma leaned her head
back against his thigh.

“Portugal. Wellington’s troops have left the
country to head to France. It is still war-torn but we will be able
to travel.”

“Will you have business there?”

“A bit. It will not be time-consuming. I am
sure our longest sojourn will be in Vienna if matters go as
planned.”

“Are you predicting the outcome of the
war?”

“Not predicting. I have just received some
intelligence.”

Emma did not ask him to elaborate. She
closed her eyes. Portugal, France, Italy, Spain and even Austria.
They might not return to England until next year. That sat fine
with her.

Someone knocked loudly on the door. ‘It is
me, Caroline. I have some letters that may interest you. May I come
inside?”

“Just one minute,” Emma called. She jumped
to her feet and swatted at Thomas. “Sit up, silly.” He obeyed and
moved into a sitting position. “I am ready.” Her eyes lowered to
his waist. He followed her gaze. “Oh.” He pulled at his breeches.
Emma smirked and went to open the door.

Caroline stood there as beautiful as ever
with a stack of letters in one hand.

A sly smile played on her lips. “Good
afternoon, dear Emma. You look rather flushed. Are you feeling
ill?”

“It was just a bit warm in the parlour.”

“Caroline, what do you have for us?” asked
Thomas. He did not stand up as propriety dictated. One leg was
crossed over the other with his hands folded in his lap.

“Letters. Now I have only read one of these,
but you both will probably want to read them all.” She tossed them
on the low table. “They are troubling. But you two will know what
to do with them.”

Emma grabbed one and looked it over.

“Oh dear.” She handed it to Thomas. He read
through it, eyes carefully scanning every letter.

“Now it is beginning to make sense.”

Lady Helena, Countess of Hedgeton stretched
out in her bed with a cat-like yawn. She watched her husband at his
writing desk, busily scribbling away at a letter. He looked ever
more handsome every day that passed, especially in the morning with
his tousled blond locks and sleepy smile. They had been wed nearly
a fortnight, having been married by a dubiously procured special
license. Helena dared not dwell on it, she was far too consumed in
her happiness.

They had settled in a small inn in Dover
with another occupant. It was owned by a woman with sienna skin and
black coils of hair she kept in a loose bun. Her name was Thea. She
was friendly and seemed unconcerned with her lack of customers.
They had to wait for the seas to cooperate for a safe passage. So
far, the storms continued to rage and so the newlyweds happily
spent their days lounging around their small quarters.

“Nathaniel dearest, are you not very cold?
Come back to bed, it is much warmer here,” Helena called lazily to
her husband. Her red curls were strewn about across her pillow like
tangled vines and her eyes were sparkling. Nathaniel found her a
lovely sight, but he had to finish this letter.

This flight of fancy had quite been in
Hartwell's own plans. He needed Nathaniel to keep an eyes on the
sole other inhabitant of the Seaside Arms. One who had known Lady
Lucille Wren would scarcely recall her now. She was artfully
dressed down as an ornery old woman who lived by the sea, a role
she played with great aplomb. Helena remained quite unaware of the
whole charade and simply found the old woman amusing.

Nathaniel was hoping this secretive business
would soon be at an end so his wife and he could be on their happy
way.

“In just a moment, my sweet. Let me finish
this letter and post it.” It took only a few more strokes and he
was done. Nathaniel poured wax to seal the note, stamping it with
his seal. He rose to his feet with the letter in hand. Helena,
however, was already out of bed and pulling on a simple morning
gown.

“I am exceedingly starved. Let me walk down
with you and we can breakfast with Mrs. Lowell.”

“Food and then back to bed,” he agreed.
Helena laughed, swatting his hand away from her.

“Let me dress in peace!”

Thea had no last name. Or not a name she
liked to use. The few customers she did have liked to call her Miss
Thea. It was rare for her to have three guests at a time. The old
woman was rude, but the newlyweds were very sweet. Their presence
warmed her heart. The only times she laughed was when her daughter
Juliet had off days and came down from London. But this young
woman, a Lady Hedgeton, had a vivacious personality. She never
failed in greeting Thea and asking about her day. Her days were not
interesting, but the thought was nice.

“Good morning, Miss Thea! Can you just
believe the weather outside?” Lady Hedgeton strode in with a storm
on her heels. Raindrops nestled in her red hair. She shook out her
cloak and hung it on a rack near the door.

“It is quite awful. I am sure it will clear
up so you two can make your way to France.”

“We are quite enjoying ourselves here.
London is so overcrowded. It is nice for some solitude.”

“There is plenty of it here.” Thea finished
arranging the breakfast platters. “My lady, there is some post for
you on the bar there. From a Lady Emma Wren.” Her eyes darkened a
fraction as she spun back to the food.

“Truly? How delightful!” Helena crossed the
expanse to sit on a stool by the bar. “Is it alright if I eat
here?”

“Certainly.” Thea plopped a plate down in
front of her. “Thank you.”

Shortly, Nathaniel entered the inn, shaking
off his greatcoat. He sat beside his wife after bestowing a kiss on
her greasy lips. “Any post?”

“Just from Emma.”

“What does she have to say?”

Lucille Wren crept down the stairs of the
inn. She hobbled to a table. It was far enough away from the bar to
no be rude, but close enough to eavesdrop if the need arose.

Helena, her niece’s flame-haired friend, was
reading a letter. She read some of the parts aloud to Nathaniel. He
seemed far more concerned with the food before him than whatever
inane matters Emma had seen fit to write.

“There was apparently some disgusting
caricature drawn of them in the paper. Well, one of those gossip
rags. Not a decent paper. How horrible!” Helena shook her head and
continued reading. Thea stepped from behind the bar. Emma. She
liked that name. She could not remember the name given to her at
birth. She forgot most of her culture. England did that to many
Africans. But she did not believe in their God. The God of these
white men asked them to commit terrible acts upon her people.

“Here you go, Mrs. Lowell.” Thea said with a
smile. The ungrateful old woman growled in response. Thea rolled
her eyes heavenward and returned to the kitchen.

“Oh, she has found some old letters. Well,
Caroline found them in an old desk in the library. She doesn’t
mention what they are about. You know how she is. She does not want
to invade anyone’s privacy. What a silly little--I say, Mrs.
Lowell, are you quite alright?” Helena twisted in her chair. The
old woman sounded like she was choking.

“I-I am fine. Learn to leave well enough
alone.”

Helena shot her husband a look. He shrugged
his shoulders. “Any other news?” he asked.

“No.” She collapsed into giggles. “Just some
silly matters. You know well how Emma rambles endlessly.”

Throughout their entire friendship, Emma
always knew more about life and all its intricacies. At least, she
pretended she did. Today, at last, Emma wrote to ask for her
advice. The sort of knowledge she found she knew little about: what
happened in the marriage bed. Emma was due to be wed in about a
week. From her words, it appeared the pair had been active enough
in the short amount of unchaperoned time they had.

Helena felt terrible that she would not be
able to attend the wedding. Emma also wrote that there would only
be a handful of people who deigned to attend.

The ton was not as welcoming as Emma hoped.
Helena shook her head over the details of the letter. She folded it
back up and slipped it inside her bodice.

“That is quite true. She does not talk, she
rambles.” Nathaniel paused. “Not to me. She must still be mad about
when I told her about the brothel.”

“Ah, the brothel. I have heard that tale so
often sometimes I dream that it happened to me.”

“It was in bad taste. I admit I told her
that to upset her.” The blond shrugged his broad shoulders. “I used
to fancy her.”

Helena looked at him sideways. But she
smiled. “I know.”

With only a matter of days before his
wedding, Marquess Hartwell should have been concerned with buying
his bride a wedding gift. Maybe a book or some emeralds. He liked
her in green. Maybe a dressing gown in a pretty shade. He could buy
her buy her all the books she wanted at a later date. No doubt they
would do a lot of shopping once they left England.

He was distracted. Tucked away in his left
breast pocket was the only known copy of Captain Wren’s autopsy. A
few pounds went a long way in bribing underpaid government workers.
It took a couple weeks, but it was worth the wait. This autopsy
revealed much of what had previously been unknown.