Colors of a Lady (4 page)

“Oh, to have to visit the home that also
houses my love...” he murmured as a servant hurriedly appeared with
a fresh glass. Thomas accepted it absent-mindedly.

“To Emma,” he said raising his glass in a
solo toast.

In the London home of the Earl of Sheridan,
Lady Emma Wren sat down to tea. In the back parlour with its airy
lavender walls, Emma broke the news carefully to Miss Helena
Mallory and Miss Lettice Devine. She poured them each a cup a tea
and they reacted as only they could.

Lettice's eyes were shining with thoughts of
true love. That was the only way Lord Hartwell would ever rebuke
Caroline in favour of Emma. He must have fallen in love with her
during their fated dance. To Helena though, she was repulsed at the
sacrifice her friend was making. He may be handsome as the devil,
but arranged marriages rarely provided any level of contentment for
those involved.

“This is magical,” Lettice crooned, hands
clasped together in awe at this beautiful miracle. This love was
true. Her prayers had been answered. Helena, however, remained
unconvinced. She found the idea of love as believable as unicorns.
Love was simply not their lot in life. They were brood mares to
their husbands and fathers. These protestations did not stop the
sweaty palms that plagued her whenever she was around a certain
blond earl.

“This is absurd,” she countered, eyes
narrowing at her cup of tea. “Did you put sugar in this?”

Emma shook her head. That would have been a
disaster. Helena hated sweetness, preferring spicy flavours that
numbed her lips. Last time Emma had absently put sugar in her tea,
the redhead had made quite a dramatic show of herself. Most took
Helena to be a fun-loving, rambunctious debutante, but there was a
stoic quality to her personality. It displayed itself readily as
she remained firmly against any nonsense such as true love.

Emma nibbled on a biscuit. She would have
loved to devour all the tiny desserts presented on the tray. Her
current mood was that of despair only to be quenched by food.
Gaining pounds before her wedding would not help entreat her
husband to her. But, she could not let these treats go to waste.
She raised her shoulders, a helpless action.

“It is rather soon, I must admit.” She
glanced towards the door of the parlour and leaned forward towards
her friends. “Caroline is not happy at all. She will not talk to
me, neither will my mother. Because of this, my father's sister,
Aunt Lucille, will be taking me to outfit me for my marriage. She
will be arriving from Italy soon. I do hope you two can come along
as well.”

“Of course we will,” Helena replied. She
looked over to Lettice for her to agree. Instead, the blonde's
hands were shaking as she slammed the delicate teacup on the
tray.

“The females in your immediate family are
utterly ridiculous!” The outburst was so unlike the normally
complacent girl that it drew the complete and undivided attention
of Emma and Helena. She crossed her arms beneath her chest and
scowled, the expression disrupting her pale beauty. “They need to
learn to be gracious and accept defeat when it confronts them,” she
said, her voice suddenly low. It is bad manners to disparage them
in their own home.

“On the other hand, your Aunt Lucille is a
lovely woman and will be of the utmost help to you. Though
unmarried, I am sure she will offer you great advice instead of
neglecting you due to her own pitiful sense of pride.” She drew a
breath and continued.

“If only your sister had been more mindful
of how she appeared to whom really mattered in the ton: our
parents. Then perhaps she would be married as we speak with a baby
boy and a man discreetly on the side. Your mother could be out
visiting her dearest daughter and you would have been able to come
out as the belle of the ball as you had hoped.” She reached for her
cup and took a long gulp to calm her nerves and then sat it down
quietly.

Helena looked to Emma, their faces similar
masks of surprise. Lydia reached up her hand to smooth her shiny
hair and smiled at Emma sincerely.

“My dear, I do believe that Lord Hartwell
must have seen something in you that made him leave your sister.
That is love at first sight in its truest form,” she told her
earnestly. Emma shook her head in frank denial.

“That is hardly the case, I am afraid. My
mother does not allow such romantic notions in me and set me quite
straight on the nature of our union.” She straightened her posture,
hoping it would instill her with some reserve. “His father, the
Duke, believes we make a lovely couple. He saw us dance at my ball
and was moved and so he decided to have us wed. He has always been
quite fond of me. He even procured a special license. Though my
mother pressed Caroline on him, he held tenaciously to his belief
that I would make a better bride for Lord Hartwell than her.” She
laughed suddenly. The ton would certainly eat this story up. She,
Lady Emma Wren, is betrothed the morning after her coming out ball.
Surely the gossip rags would try to come up with some scintillating
reasons for this.

“I do not know Lord Hartwell's feelings on
this, but I imagine he is far from pleased. I am sure he intended
on marrying my sister. He has been courting her for some time. It
is odd to me that he would not have offered for her sooner. In any
case, he is to call upon me for us to drive in Hyde Park today.”
She buried her face in her hands.

“This is absolutely dreadful.” Ever the one
to stress easily, Emma hated this current predicament of hers.

“It seems there is simply no way out of
this,” observed Helena. “Your father, no matter how apathetic he
may seem, will not let this marriage get away. Not only is it good
for you, but also they are also good friends. I do not know why you
are so surprised at this. Either Caroline or you were always going
to marry Lord Hartwell. I am sure your fathers have been planning
this for years.”

If Emma was being honest, she had surmised
at a young age that her father was intent on joining his house with
that of Duke Kellaway. She had always found Lord Hartwell handsome
and dreamy in the way that young girls muse about a Prince
Charming. He had all the brilliant qualities that assured Emma he
would proudly rescue a maiden from a dragon. He could probably
rescue them both at the same time. But he was reserved for someone
who would match his brightness and beauty. That had always meant
Caroline in her childish mind.

“Your best option is to appear like the
smitten blushing bride and hope he appears like a doting fiancé.
With any luck, the ton will move on with their lives to the next
great scandal. You two can sort out your differences later when you
retire to the country after the Season ends.” Her serious tone was
quite a departure from her boisterous laughs and hare-brained
schemes. But that was just like Helena. She could be counted on to
take emotions out of any discussion. This trait was lost on Emma,
the worrywart, and Lettice, the dreamer.

“Oh, you two,” Emma smiled gratefully at
them. They were always supportive, albeit in different ways. “I
shall have you over all the time once I am married.”

“We shall be most happy to stay at the home
of a future Duchess,” agreed Helena. She enjoyed visiting different
country manors to see the architecture, especially the grand
expanse that was sure to be a Duke’s ancestral home.

“I may just be your live-in governess if
this marriage market does not bode well for me,” Lettice considered
carefully. To her, all the men of the ton were just oh so boring
with their horse talk and their clubs. She wanted a man with
passion. The sort that burned in the eyes of the men who attended
her church. Those men were warriors, desperately spreading the
truth of God. Alas, they were the closest to pirates a lady could
find anymore. If only she had been alive to walk the streets with
the English conquerors of old who colonized new lands and saved the
souls of the helpless savages.

“I would be happy to have you,” assured
Emma.

“Have you thought more of the wedding? Shall
it be in London and invite the whole ton or shall it be in the
country and invite a select group of friends?”

“I have not given it much thought. It is
really too sudden for me to even imagine. I have yet to even see
Lord Hartwell.” Emma turned her eyes to the clock along the far
wall. It was nearly one o’clock. Soon she would have to dress for
her outing.

A knock sounded on the parlour door and Emma
let out a sigh. That was bound to be Mary, efficient as always. She
believed that Emma needed to look her absolute best, not just for
Lord Hartwell but for the ton as well. During the fashionable hour,
everyone of marriageable age would be out, hoping to catch the
fancy of a suitor.

“Come in.”

The door pushed open and Mary appeared in
the doorway. She dipped into a curtsy to the seated ladies.

“Lady Emma, it is t--”

“Oh, I know. It is time for me to being my
toilette for my fiancé to call upon me. Let me bid farewell to them
and then I shall meet you in my room.”

Wordlessly, but with a small smile, Mary
curtsied again and backed out of the room.

“I suppose it is that time. Will you be
riding in Hyde Park today?”

Lettice and Helena looked at one another.
They normally did not visit Hyde Park often during the Fashionable
Hour. Yet, the scandal of this betrothal would set many tongues
wagging, which interested them. Ton gossip was ever entertaining
especially when it starred Emma.

“I fear that I cannot,” Lettice apologized.
“I must attend a meeting at my church.” She did not miss the
furtive glance shared between Lettice and Emma. It was not uncommon
for a well-born lady to visit church. But the Devine clan belonged
to a church many would readily describe as fanatical. Lettice had
always been fervently religious. This church seemed to heighten it
in bizarre ways. Emma hoped daily that Lettice did not prescribe
any truth to the hate they spewed. There were moments when
Lettice's perfect lips pulled into a sneer at the sight of one she
deemed unmentionable.

“Perhaps Lord Hedgeton can escort me? I will
get my footman to send him a note.” Helena considered this
thoughtfully, moving to stand. “He normally goes driving so it
should not be too much hassle.”

“Wonderful! I hope to see you then, Helena.”
Emma followed her guests out to the main hall. “Do have fun at
church,” she said to Lydia. Upon bidding them goodbye, Lewis, the
butler, closed the door behind them. They left arm-in-arm
chattering quietly.

Emma let out a breath and turned to the
staircase at her back. Her current greatest issue would be deciding
what to wear. What colour would suit her best on her drive? Perhaps
her Pomona green pelisse would be good on such a chilly day. But
where was her bonnet? She lost it ages ago.

“Or the cerulean blue pelisse?” Emma mumbled
reaching the door to her chamber. “Yes, that will do well.” She
pushed open her door to find Mary busily running around her chamber
laying out the items into which she would be changing. The cerulean
blue pelisse was already draped across her bed, a pair of dark
brown boots tossed atop it.

Emma nodded and steeled herself for this
ordeal. She was indulging in her dramatic nature. She had known
Thomas her entire life, but now he felt more akin to a stranger to
her.

At exactly half past two, Lord Hartwell rang
the bell at the Earl of Sheridan's home. He had done this assorted
times before but for Caroline. Today and until they wed, he would
call upon Lady Emma Wren. He was sure this drive would be a bore.
They would not have to speak much. Such is the glory of the
Fashionable Hour. There were so many people and so many innocuous
conversations. One did not even need to speak with whom they
escorted.

To his surprise and heartache, a freshly
washed Caroline answered the door. She had conspicuously donned one
of her best gowns. A gasp escaped her pink lips, her bright blue
eyes perfectly innocent and wide.

Thomas felt his heart skip at the vision of
his dearest love. Her rich, musky scent floated over him,
enveloping his soul. He cleared his throat and bowed courteously.
His mind searched for some words or phrase to appease a heart as
broken as his own. He came up empty.

“My lovely Caro,” he began softly. But that
sweet angel shut her eyes against him, his use of her nickname now
too painful to behold. Thomas' lips set into a grim line, his great
growing heavy with the hurt he was causing his beloved.

“Lady Wren,” interrupted a commanding voice.
A girl, wearing an apron over her dress and a cap over her russet
hair, appeared behind Caroline. Her brown eyes directed a
disappointed gaze at Caroline. “You are not a servant, but a lady.
You are not to answer the door. Especially when you are not
properly attired and it is your sister's betrothed,” she
admonished. Caroline turned on her heel and shot the maid a cutting
glare.

She was prepared to retort, fists clenched
at the maid's intrusion. Then Lord Sheridan bounded into the main
hall, looking upon the scene with trepidation.

“Well, there you are, Thomas! How are you
doing this day? Overjoyed I see at marrying my little Emma.” He
chuckled, patting his shoulder. Lord Sheridan looked over to
Caroline, taking in her visible anger without surprise. “My dear
girl, why do you not go and ready yourself for the arrival of Lord
Harvey. He shall be he soon enough.”

Caroline stalked up the stairs, stopping
once to toss one heartbroken glance behind her. Thomas clenched the
brim of his top hat, distressed at this change in events. Caroline
was going to be driven by that rakehell Lord Harvey? What had the
world come to?

Emma passed her sister on the stairs, mouth
twisting into a grimace at the dramatics. She looked quite fetching
in her carriage dress. Then again, Lord Hartwell thought, Emma
always looked immaculate, her clothing matching perfectly. Today it
was some shade of dark brown and a dusty-looking blue. Thomas was
not good at recalling the specific names for colours. A vague
comment of “Nice pink dress” usually did the trick. Unless the lady
was keen on insisting that it was salmon, not pink. Such
trivialities were of little concern to him.