Colors of a Lady (23 page)

If she received any sort of money from this
revised will, she would be free of the intervention of men. Juliet
smiled. No more subservient positions with odious mistresses and
cheap dresses constructed of cloth that rubbed her skin raw.

She looked down to her hands. How different
they were from her mother’s, whose fingers, like crooked branches,
rose from her square palms. Juliet’s hands were that of a lady,
delicate fingers and smooth white skin. She took great care after a
long day of work to massage out the kinks and callouses.

From a glimpse, Lady Hartwell’s were much
the same though browner, a milky tea instead of Juliet’s pure
cream. Those same hands with their buffed nails were surely
entwined deeply in Lord Hartwell’s thick crop of coal-black curls.
If they bred, their offspring would sprout dark unruly coils from
their perfect English scalps.

Juliet stuck out her tongue. Childbirth,
too, disgusted her. Another silver lining to this otherwise dull
reunion was her twin’s marriage. Mama must leave her be now if she
had another daughter more than willing to wed and bed her husband
and spawn a multitude of children.

“Oh m-my, Miss Wren. I did not hear
you.”

Juliet had intended to interrupt the couple.
They, in fact, jolted her back into reality. Emma and her sweet
voice dove into Juliet’s ears accompanied by a scent of jasmine.
She wrinkled her nose at the intrusion.

“My apologies, Lady Hartwell. Mama and…the
others were waiting on you two to begin.”

Emma adjusted her ivory fichu, tucking it
further into her bodice. She then tugged on the ribbon sash beneath
her breasts until it was perfect once more. Her husband stepped
back into the tiny room. Before Juliet could question his retreat,
he reappeared with a wide smile, looking unruffled as ever.

“We’ve kept them waiting long enough,” he
commented.

Thea heard Emma’s merry spurts of laughter
before she even detected their presence. She met the weary eyes of
her brother-in-law.

“She is so…bright,” Thea murmured. “All
light and little darkness. Very remarkable.”

He nodded. “Yes, Emma has always been a
beacon in my life. I would not hesitate in saying all of our
lives.” Henry unbuttoned his coat and sat down in a chair.
“Especially Hartwell. For Kellaway and me, their marriage is the
highlight of our lives.”

“They are close then?” A silly question. She
could not forget the way Lord Hartwell roared her name after the
first gunshot.

“Since she was around five, I would say,
when they first met. Those two…” Henry smiled up at Thea. “They are
good for one another,” was all he said.

“It pleases me to hear that.”

“What pl—Ah! They have arrived. Thank you
for seeking them out, Ms. Wren!” He boomed, directing the two
ladies to seats around a circular table. Emma settled in on Thea’s
left and Juliet took her right.

Thomas took a spot to stand beside Lord
Sheridan. The two men looked at the women settled before them. The
sight took them aback. Henry glanced back to his son-in-law, hoping
his face betrayed the same surprise.

Thomas’ grey eyes narrowed as he looked over
the women.

It was easy enough to say that Emma and
Juliet were twins who bore a resemblance to their mother. However,
to see the women sitting in a line showed more similarities than
assumed. The three women were a different version of a distinct set
of features and characteristics. If a man went to three different
artists and described a woman whose likeness he sought out to be
immortalized in paints or marbles, these women would be the
result.

Juliet in soft watercolour shades of lilacs
and rose with a filmy veil atop her head and ribbon covered braids
to her knees. Thea carved out of grey marble, her steely gaze
looking through you, a crook in her left hand and a flail in her
right. Emma alight in jewel-tones lounging on a chaise lounge, a
book open on her lap, amidst ruffles and ribbons. Three very
different women connected through blood and a bewitching smile. His
brother had a beautiful family. One he would never see. Henry was
not a religious man, but he hoped Joseph watched over the women he
left behind.

Henry found his voice. The women were
staring at him. Emma’s gaze was encouraging though her focus
flicked to the man beside him more often than not.

“With the untimely death of both my brother
and now my sister, it is time for us to discuss their wills. Under
normal circumstances a solicitor would conduct these meetings, but
Lord Hartwell and I decided it would be best to keep the outcome
private.” He shuffled through his papers. “First, I will read from
Lucille’s will. It is very short. Let my just find it…” Henry
scanned each page, his frown growing deeper as he did. “Where on
earth did that blasted document go---oh, pardon me, ladies.”

“Papa, you can just tell us the gist of it.
I will help you look,” Emma offered. She hopped to her feet. After
a quick stumble over her trailing skirts, she joined her
father.

“I am going to assume the deceased left all
her wealth and property to Lady Hartwell,” said Juliet.
“Considering she tried to have us killed and did not suffer a
crisis of the heart in regards to our presence in her life.”

Emma’s unsteady hands halted over a sheet of
paper. She swallowed hard, her gaze flicked to Juliet. She stared
back at her with haughty eyes. She leaned back in her chair, her
honey hair catching the sunlight, illuminating it to a golden
shade.

The Marchioness had much she wished to say
to her ill-mannered twin. Some of it included bashing her head
through a table. But, she was a lady and should not conduct herself
in such ways. She counted mentally to five. After all, if she was
in Juliet’s shoes, surely she would be just as crabby. Emma
wondered if it was just in her twin’s nature to scoff and scorn at
all she encountered. It had only been nigh an hour since they met
and the two had not had a conversation. But, Emma saw the sneer
that permanently etched itself upon her pink lips. Perhaps after
all this business was settled, they could take a walk around the
gardens. The weather was delightfully warm. Spring was rolling in
gently to England at long last.

Thea shot Juliet a warning look. The child
was insufferable. She had been little better than rude since they
arrived at Kellaway House. Everyone seemed to take it in stride,
likely believing her temper to be a by-product of the events.
Juliet had always been this way though her thorny tongue certainly
reached new heights once they crossed the threshold.

“You are correct, Ms. Wren. Lucille has left
all her worldly possessions to Emma—some thousands of pounds—“

“I do not want it,” Emma interrupted. “I
will donate it to charity.” She handed over the will to her father.
“We can arrange that, right Thomas?” She looked to her husband, who
nodded in agreement.

“I will need to find a suitable charity, of
course. Though I suppose I could start my own too…” She shrugged
her shoulders. “I will do my best to correct the wrongs of Aunt
Lucille.”

Juliet did not know what to think of her
twin. Giving up thousands of pounds to a charity to right the
wrongs of that disgusting woman? It was not much of a sacrifice
considering the match she made and her dowry. Juliet heard of
little else except Lord Hartwell’s impending marriage to the
unsuitable Lady Emma Wren. This was prime gossip among servants.
The interest only grew when people discovered her heritage.
Frankly, it had intrigued Juliet greatly. Imagine her surprise when
she learned this Lady Emma Wren was, in fact, her twin.

Life could be so cruel. She could have been
the one to wear the coronet of a duchess. Juliet did not know if
she could suffer the company of the Marquess though. There was no
doubt in anyone’s mind of his perfection in form and manners. Not
to mention his handsome looks. Female servants swooned when they
caught sight of this man. But…Juliet did not like him. She did not
like men or marriage. Despite all his favourable traits, she was
happy Emma was to be shackled to him for life.

“Glad that is settled,” Henry murmured.
“Hartwell, would you care to explain Joseph’s will? Well, the
propose changes to it anyway.”

“I would be happy to do so.”

“From what that woman had said, Joseph left
it all to Lady Hartwell.” Thea spoke at last. Juliet opened her
mouth, but her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. “Since he was
under the impression I died and had no inkling of a second child,
is that right?”

“Exactly. However, Lady Hartwell had an idea
on what to do with the inheritance.”

“She’ll probably want to donate it,” Juliet
muttered.

“Juliet,” warned Thea.

“She wishes to split the money between the
two of you. 5000£ to each of you. As for the properties, she would
like to keep one of them. There are three homes—in Paris, Vienna
and Cairo.”

“Which one?” inquired Juliet. She did not
know about the properties. With that money and a house, she could
leave England tomorrow and ever look back.

“I am not sure,” Emma began. “We plan to
visit each property on our extended wedding trip. We shall be gone
for many months. I can get some sketches done and send letters to
you both about the location and other features.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” agreed Thea,
smiling between her daughters. Paris had always been a distant
memory to her. Before they arrived in England, the wealthy
adventuress decided to stop in Paris. The Reign of Terror had ended
and the people were struggling to find themselves in the bloody
aftermath. Yet, the streets still charmed her.

“You are leaving on a trip so soon?”

“Yes, it has been in the works for some
months. With the wars dying down, it is safe to travel in most
places.”

“I should like to go with you,” Juliet
announced in a tone that dripped with the assurance she would get
her way. At Emma’s panicked expression, she amended her statement.
“I will travel with you all until the first property. I imagine it
will be Cairo since Paris is still under Napoleon’s control and
Vienna is so far inland.”

Lord Sheridan clapped his hands together.
“That sounds like a capital idea!”

“Oh yes, it is past the time for Juliet to
have some fun.”

“I will make the arrangements then. We shall
leave in a fortnight.” It would be little trouble to book a third
passenger upon their vessel, but their trip would be pushed back
again. In truth, they should all be observing a mourning period.
Yet everyone was decked in their white muslins as if it was any
other day.

Emma beamed at her husband. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” Thomas replied with a
courtly bow.

“Miss Wren, we absolutely must buy you a new
wardrobe then. I am sure the modiste can get it ready in time for
our departure. What do you think?”

“Considering I have only the clothes of a
maid that would be a good idea.”

Emma’s gaze dropped to the coarse black
dress that adorned her lithe body. It did not flatter her frame at
all. Celestial blues and Rose pink would complement her colouring.
But Caroline would know better than she.

“Would you mind terribly if I invite Lady
Carradine and my sister-er…cousin, Lady Caroline Wren? Oh, I must
invite Lady Hedgeton as well. They are much better at fabrics and
fashion than myself.”

“I do not mind.”

“Then it is settled. I will call on you
tomorrow at eleven.”

“They will be staying at Sheridan House
indefinitely,” Henry offered.

“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands together
happily. “I suppose I could order a new gown or two as well…” she
said thoughtfully.

“What about your trousseau?” Thomas lifted
his eyes to the ceiling where a floor or two above, her wardrobe
was bursting at the seams with frothy satins and delicate
muslins.

“I want a bottle-green evening gown,” she
stated firmly. “I think the colour looks well on me. Don’t you
agree?” She peeked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. Thomas
stilled, eyes closing as he was hit by a memory.

A delectable memory of Emma clad in only the
bottle-green dressing gown. Her olive skin glistened in the candle
light, glowing against the rich fabric. But then she slipped it off
her shoulders, letting it fall into an elegant heap on the thick
carpet.

“Bottle-green?” he mumbled absently. “Yes,
it looks magnificent on you.”

Thea covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Bottle-green did, in fact, look well on Emma. She thought of the
expensive dressing gown she wore that fateful night at the Seaside
Arms. Ah, her inn! What would become of it now? Should she shut it
down? Sell it? She would ask Lord Sheridan’s advice. Having lived
so long without the intervention of man, Thea was happy to give her
problems to another to fix. At some point, there was not much she,
as both a woman and an African, could do to further her life. The
truth was unsettling, but one could not ignore it. Besides, she was
tired and her soul was quiet for the first time since she heard of
Joseph’s death.

A sigh escaped her lips. Joseph Wren. She
missed him still. The wanting came in waves and for once she did
not want to smother it. It would soon engulf her entire being.
Grief must be dealt with when the time arrived.

Emma’s clear voice cut through her thoughts.
“Mrs. Wren? Mrs. Wren?”

“Forgive me, Lady Hartwell. What is the
matter?”

“Please do not call me Lady Hartwell. It
feels so grand. Emma will serve just fine,” she insisted. “But
would you like to accompany us on the shopping trip tomorrow?”

“Are you sure that is wise?”

“Dressmakers will garb anyone for the right
price and title. I am the daughter of an Earl, daughter-in law of a
Duke and wife of a Marquess. They will accept you and dress you
with a smile upon their faces.”