Colors of a Lady (6 page)

“Not so. My preparations were rushed in
coming here, so I had no time to dispatch a letter to her. I plan
on sending a note to my brother once I am settled.”

“It is up to me to keep this a secret
then.”

“If you would not mind. I should like some
time before I am ensconced into London Society again.”

“Understandable.”

Lucille watched the young man carefully. He
fiddled with the collar of his coat. He appeared to be considering
some matter. There was a grin growing on his lips as if he had just
thought of the single most brilliant idea ever.

“I have a proposition for you and it
concerns your niece...”

“Do go on. I am listening.” She waited,
listening to his suggestion. Lord Hartwell was very pleased with
the plan he was concocting and Lucille herself was amused at the
prospect. She was also glad that Lord Sheridan secured such a kind
man for Emma's hand in marriage. Though Emma's note to her was full
of regret at being given her sister's leftovers, the man himself
seemed resigned and even elated with his soon-to-be bride.

“What a grand idea! I would be happy to do
so.”

“Wonderful! I must take my leave now, Lady
Wren, but I will call upon you at a later time.” He bowed to
Lucille in parting, before carrying on his way. He passed by a pair
of ladies and tipped his hat to them. They giggled away, whispering
behind gloved hands. Their whispers grew louder as they reached
Lucille.

“What a fine figure of a man!” The taller
one gushed to her friend. She was built like a beanpole, all this
height and no figure to show for it. Her friend was short and
barely looked out of the school-room though she could have been
Lucille's age. It was hard to tell.

“What a shame he is marry Lord Sheridan's
younger daughter. She is pretty, no doubt, but she lacks in
excitement, do you not think so?”

“Perhaps they were childhood sweethearts. He
had to get married eventually, right? And we are far too old for
him.”

“What a pity. One of us should have snagged
His Grace while we still could. Oh, those were the days though,
weren't they?”

The two sighed in mutual nostalgia. It left
Lucille just as nostalgic, her mind floating back to the happy days
of dances and flirting. Perhaps she had even exchanged pleasantries
with that pair. It was wholly possible though Duke Kellaway was
married by the time she had come out. His wife was a pretty woman
and the daughter of a viscount. It was not the best match for him,
but he was a terribly wealthy duke. There was little anyone could
say to him at that time save the King.

Lucille did not enjoy nostalgia but it came
in waves. All it did was remind her of the choices she had made in
her life. Some were good and yet others were bad. She did not
regret any of them however. That was life, was it not? One could
not dwell on the mistakes and expect to live happily.

Lady Wren looked up and down the street.
There was no one there. Yet she felt that peculiar prickle as if
some person was studying her. But, the area was deserted save her
servants. Lucille smoothed her pelisse and hurried up the stairs
into her lodgings.

Emma’s feet ached desperately. She curtsied
shakily to her latest dance partner. She had never danced so much
in her life! It had been a few weeks since she was taken off the
marriage market through her betrothal. But this seemed to incite
the bucks even more for she had never been more popular. She had
naturally danced with Lord Hartwell at the beginning and then he
had claimed every second dance after that. She was exhausted and
the air in Almack’s was suffocating.

She spotted Lettice standing near the
refreshments, sipping on some watery lemonade. Her pale blue eyes
were watching the dancers closely as if searching for a smile or a
touch that would indicate a secret entendre. The frown on her face
showed that noting as such had yet transpired.

Helena was absent, presumably off chatting
with Nathaniel. She may have denied it with her every breath, but
Helena was hopelessly in love with Lord Hedgeton. Some nights, when
Helena and Lettice visited her in the country, the three would
pilfer some wine from the cellar and drink merrily together. They
would stay up late into the night, whispering their dreams into the
night air and laughing until their bellies hurt. It was then that
Helena gushed, her cheeks red, how green his eyes were, like
sparkling jewels in the ivory marble that was his face. A sultan
would want to take his eyes to embed in his gilded palaces, she
insisted. Emma had commented that it would be a truly gruesome
event. Helena simply stuck out her tongue and continued listing off
his wonderful attributes. It was quite a list. Even Lettice had
grown annoyed with the ridiculousness of it all, imploring Helena
to stop.

In any case, when the Season was concerned,
Helena was bound to be where Nathaniel was. He always accepted her
company and had even called upon her a few times with her brother’s
permission. Helena’s father had passed away two years ago, leaving
a wealthy widow and a twenty year old viscount. Her brother,
however, was far more conservative than the former Lord Mallory had
ever been. Even so, a marriage to an earl would be great for his
own social standing and Helena’s future. As far as the ton knew,
Lord Hedgeton had not yet offered for her hand.

Emma wished to gossip with Lettice, but the
pain in her feet dictated she should seek a chair instead. She
spotted an empty settee near a group of hardened debutantes. Her
lip raised in a sneer upon seeing the glossy brown hair of Lady
Lavinia Worthing, a particular thorn in her side. She disliked Emma
immensely and the dislike had transformed into hate once Emma’s
betrothal to Lord Hartwell was announced.

She had her own designs on him. But what
girl did not? Not only did he have the greatest inheritance and the
oldest title, but also he was good-looking without tending towards
foolishness or conceit. There were many wealthy men who were far
too enamored of themselves to seek out wives. It would be a slight
to their estimable looks. So to Lady Worthing, Emma was the worst
kind of debutante. Due to her family connection she easily became
betrothed without even having to do all the rounds of a regular
season. Most of the young ladies were torn between annoyance and
amazement at her quick rise to popularity.

Jealous debutantes like Lavinia would not
stop Emma from finding a seat to rest. They had their backs to her
anyway. They probably would not even take notice of her. Emma
carefully sunk into the empty chair, sighing as the weight was
taken off her feet. She longed to fall back against the chair, but
that was simply not done in public. But this was a slight
reprieve.

"I feel oh so bad for Lord Hartwell. My
mother is terribly upset at this development. She was certain that
Papa said Lord Hartwell was to be mine for sure this Season. Then
that upstart ensnared him. It is nothing but shameful. Where has
she been these years anyway?" Lavinia's unmistakable voice reached
her ears with little effort. Her volume was always louder than it
needed to be, even in a crowded ballroom.

"When everyone else was to come out, she
opted to delay it for the country. It was an odd request and I am
surprised Lord Sheridan agreed to it." The speaker was some lesser
lord's daughter whose name Emma could not remember. She was average
in all matters: looks, accomplishments, and wealth. She attached
herself to the brighter star of Lavinia.

"At that time, I heard rumours of a possible
indiscretion with a soldier. It is not out of the ordinary. Our
school was in a town where they kept prisoners of war." Emma could
not help but smile at the accusations that she had been
compromised. Though, this gossip came from the mouth of one who was
a well-known embellisher. She, this Mademoiselle La Roux, was of
French blood, having escaped in the arms of her mother during the
Reign of Terror. She spoke with a fake French accent and demanded
to be referred to with a French title. She was very tedious to
Emma, who avoided her whenever she possibly could. It was not a
difficult task for they ran in different circles. Different circles
at the same round of operas, museums and balls.

"Though I dislike her, Lady Emma Wren hardly
has it in her to participate in a clandestine affair. She is
too...what is the word I am looking for?" Lavinia trailed off,
searching for the perfect term to correctly describe exactly how
droll she found the future Marchioness.

Emma had to note that Lavinia, though she
disliked most everyone, was a good judge of character. If a fake
scandal spread about someone she knew decently well, she would
correct everyone and slight the person that saw fit to start it.
That was a great power to have in the ton. She was haughty, but
somewhere, deep down, she believed in justice.

That did not affect Emma's vexation at
eavesdropping onto yet another gaggle of debutantes expressing
their annoyance with this betrothal news.

"Is there no other news in all of London?"
she mumbled to herself. It grew tiring after the first few times.
They could complain all they wished but she would be marrying Lord
Hartwell. Duke Kellaway had, naturally, procured a special license
so they could avoid the reading of the banns. As soon as
preparations were complete, Lord Hartwell and she would be wed.

More of the ton seemed to be pouring into
Almack's as if it were not already packed to high heaven. Emma
shook her head. She really should not sit for too long. A few
elderly matrons were eyeing her chair, wondering why a lady of good
standing would be sitting on a chair upon which they could be
resting. Ruefully, Emma rose to her feet. She smiled at the matrons
who were slowly inching towards the soon to be vacated spot. She
moved away and the woman closest pounced. She was of an age where
one could relax fully in public and little could be said to her.
The losing women sniffed primly before moving to hunt for other
empty chairs.

Having enjoyed the show, Emma nearly forgot
about the presence of Lady Lavinia. If only she could have escaped
quietly.

"Lady Emma Wren, we scarcely noticed you
there. How are faring this evening? You have barely had a break
from dancing, is that not right?"

"How lovely of you to take an interest in my
partners, Lady Worthing."

"It is nothing quite as serious as that,
just a passing observation. Are you not soon due for another dance
with Lord Hartwell? He seems attentive. Almost as attentive as when
he courted Lady Wren. He could not bear to leave her side even for
a dance. Yet, he is only at your side when it is time to
dance."

Emma swallowed, struggling for a comeback.
Lavinia was correct. Lord Hartwell was dancing with her, as he
should as her fiancé. As soon as the music stopped, however, he
disappeared into the throng of people. It was peculiar. He did not
even leave any mention of where he was going.

"Ah, Lady Emma, here you are." He did love
to materialize from nowhere. As soon as she thought of him, he was
sure show up, always with a smile reserved just for her.

"Lord Hartwell! We were just discussing
you!" Lavinia greeted, tittering as if overcome by his presence.
She batted her green eyes, peering up at him through her lashed.
Emma coughed softly into her glove. What a classic debutante move.
The look was supposed to be demure, but Lavinia looked silly. She
had too strong of a personality for such silly tricks.

"Lady Worthing. Lady Wickham. Mademoiselle
La Roux." He performed a deep bow, sending the trio into giggles.
Emma was not quite sure what aspect of Thomas proved so arresting
to the women of the ton. It could be tiresome at times, watching
the ladies fall at his feet overcome with desire. Even the overly
powdered dowagers could not help but preen when Lord Hartwell
walked by.

"You ladies are all looking very lovely this
evening." They exchanged ecstatic glances before dipping into
curtsies and launching into a jumbled chorus of compliments
directed to Lord Hartwell. He accepted them graciously as lords
were wont to do. Then he looked to Emma, his eyes crinkling at the
corners. "However, I must say that Lady Emma is the most beautiful
woman in all of Almack's tonight. So, I must prevail upon you to
allow me to occupy her time. Is that acceptable?"

They murmured in assent. Emma glanced at the
three girls, surprised to not find animosity glaring back at her.
They looked as if they had stared too brightly into the sun. Eyes
glazed over and mouths agape. It was really just absurd. He was a
normal person.

"Shall we?" Lord Hartwell inquired, offering
her his arm. Emma placed her hand upon his forearm. He led her away
from the stuffy ballroom to a nearby balcony. At first, she
hesitated at heading towards a place that had been off-limits
before. A whole new world was opened to her now that she was
engaged. Her life felt less encumbered by the rules that so
dictated her youth.

"You looked a bit faint. I figured a sojourn
outside for a bit would rejuvenate you." He explained as they
stepped out into the freezing March night. It came as a welcome
relief after the sweaty bodies inside. The air cooled her limbs and
she nearly felt alive again.

"A bed would rejuvenate me more. I am so
tired. I have never danced so much before." Emma yawned, covering
her mouth with a gloved hand. "Excuse me, how impolite."

"It is a natural effect to Almack's. No need
to apologize. The Season can be tiring."

"And it has only just begun. I cannot
imagine doing this for the rest of my life. It becomes so
tedious."

Thomas smiled over at his fiancée. Her
silver-netted gown glistened in the moonlight, lending her a
celestial air. He was doomed to compare her to the moon. Poets
wrote sonnets to the moon. Why could he not compare Emma to that
heavenly body? She sighed heavily and looked over at him, slowly
returning his smile.