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.
"You may be pleased to know that after our marriage we will be spending some time on the Continent. I hope that is amenable to you? I have some business that requires my attention."
"The Continent? Where exactly? I have never left England, so I suppose it matters not."
"We will be traveling to Rome and Vienna among other places."
"That sounds wonderful!" Emma exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "I have always wanted to travel. It is perhaps trite of me to say, but I have read about so many places that I want to visit. Now I shall have the opportunity!"
"I am pleased this excites you so."
Thomas could not reveal the true nature of their visit to the Continent. For now, "business" would have to suffice. She did not seem to care one whit about the reasons as long as they were to leaves the shores of England.
For some women, the genteel life was tiresome and full
of too much idleness and too many familiar faces. They found retiring to the country to be the best option offered. Emma, he knew, longed for travel and had often spoken of the grand adventures she would have. At least she did when she was five. The sparkle in her eyes showed that she still felt the same.
Perhaps it was the romance of the moonlight or the cold air that chilling him to his bones that caused his next action. It could have even been the faintly feminine scent that tickled his nose or the way her dimples deepened as her smile widened. These could all be to blame. His sudden need to kiss her amounted to little more than his own desire, unaffected by the romance of the winter night.
“Lady Emma,” he murmured. She looked up at him, still glowing.
“My lord, if you wish, you may call me by my Christian name. I find Lady Emma too formal for you.”
“Just Emma then or can I make up a different name.”
“Most usually call me Emma so that should suffice.”
“...Emma...” he said carefully, testing the unfamiliar name aloud. He had often thought of her in terms of Emma. As a child, the name was often on his lips, shouting in excitement or admonishing her gently. But to call her so without her consent at such an age would be improper.
“Yes,” she replied. Emma inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he was more than happy to become more informal with her. It pleased her almost as much as their post-wedding travels.
“Then you must call me Thomas. It is only fair.”
“I would be happy to, Thomas,” Emma answered.
Thomas cleared his throat. His gloved hand rose to rest upon her cheek. She leaned into it, letting out a contented sigh. Thomas felt a stirring in his heart that he knew too well to be infatuation. That was not love though. It would also not be wise to voice these feelings. News of the scandal of courting one sister and then betrothed to the other had died down. The elopement of a nobleman with a maid was always more scandalous. It still seemed too soon to reveal any feelings. Even if he found himself falling victim to the most hated of all ton emotions: love. Married nobility did not fall in love. But he could do something else instead.
Emma's thoughts were running on a similar strain. Having always been half in love with Thomas, her feelings were growing and maturing daily from that silly child love into one fully-bloomed and more confusing. Her mind was constantly and annoyingly full of Thomas. From dawn until dusk and even her dreams were littered with words he said, smiles he bestowed, the times she made him laugh. He was everywhere. He came to call upon her every day. He danced with her often. He bought her little trinkets. He played the role perfectly. Emma was lost to love. She happily allowed herself to be struck by Cupid's arrows. If only he had gotten her fiancé too.
Emma’s chattering lips riveted the Marquess. His thoughts could only form around how a kiss would surely warm her up. What sort of person would he be to let his fiancée catch a cold?
The answer was obvious. Thomas caressed her cheek with his thumb. His free arm moved down to wrap around her waist. She was shivering. The fabrics of women's clothing did little to protect them against the harshness of an English winter.
“You are chilled.”
“It is quite cold outside.” Emma was confused though warm, so she was resigned to stay in his arms, pressed close to him. They were engaged after all, so there was little that could be said. The ton could talk, but it would be just talk. Soon she would be the wife of a Marquess.
Then it happened. Thomas pressed his lips to Emma's. They were dry from the wind, but soft.
Emma was shocked at the sudden affection. She had never been kissed on a balcony before. Sure, in the country, under some trees, during a Twelfth Night celebration. Who had not? This felt different. Far more intimate. And colder, for she had no cloak. But her body was warm. Thomas was warm. His lips were on fire.
The kiss ended sooner than she would have liked. She felt her body yearning for more. Emma opened her eyes wide, hoping to see his gaze staring down at her. He head was turned away towards the doors. She peered up at the line of his jaw. He, like most men, was clean-shaven, but his dark hair betrayed him and there was a hint of stubble.
Emma felt the strangest desire to remove her glove and run her hand across the stubble on his cheeks and jaw. She had never felt it before but she was sure it would be prickly. Pulling herself from such thoughts, she followed Thomas' gaze to whatever it was that interrupted them.
Whoever it was would be more precise. Standing at the entranceway to the balcony was a person Emma was certain she had never once laid eyes upon before. Taller and more willowy than even Caroline, this woman was statuesque and wore the Greek-inspired gowns well. Her skin was pearly white, the shade that many women in the ton aspired to and often fell short of obtaining. Her hair blue-black hair styled elaborately in twists and knots dotted with diamonds. At this point she spoke, voice accented and low.
“Lord Hartwell, what a surprise to see you here.” She did not bother to make any excuses for her intrusion. The woman also did not look at all surprised to encounter Thomas. While his face had paled as if he had seen a ghost.
“I must say, Miss Loring, that I am far more surprised.”
“It is Lady Carradine now, my lord.”
Carradine? Emma remembered the name from Debrett's. It was an earldom and currently belonged to an elderly gentleman, Lord Dudley Carradine. He was said to be without any heirs. He had to be at least seventy as Emma had last heard. The technicalities were not important right now. How did this woman know Thomas?
“Sadly Lord Dudley Carradine passed away but I married the new heir, Lord Edward Carradine. He is a distant nephew of the late earl.”
“I thought I had heard something of the sort about Lord Carradine dying. I am surprised to know he had a living heir. Many thought the earldom would go back to the Crown.”
“Male relations have a way of popping up once they can inherit an earldom,” Lady Carradine said simply with a shrug of her shoulders.
Emma felt a violent shiver overtake her body as a gust of wind hit them. It was really too cold to be conversing on balconies with strange women. Thomas then took notice of his fiancé.
“You are turning blue, Em—Lady Emma. I should get you inside,” he stated worriedly. Emma nodded meekly allowing him to lead her towards Lady Carradine.
“When you are done tending to your ward. Perhaps you will join me in a dance.”
Emma pursed her lips at the jibe. Everyone in London knew of Lord Hartwell's engagement. That was not vanity. It was pure sense. Events in the ton spread like wildfire. Not only did this woman feign ignorance, she also had the audacity to ask a man to dance. That was simply not done, especially when a woman was married. Emma felt so silly decrying this woman for her liberal views. She herself found the rules suffocating. Yes, women gained more freedom after marriage. To blatantly ask an affianced man to dance was not one of the newly found freedoms.
A sudden and intense dislike for this paragon overcame Emma and she stumbled. Thomas caught her placing a hand on her waist. He smiled down at her.
“I am afraid my dances are all for my betrothed now. May I introduce to you, my future bride, Lady Emma Wren?”
Lady Carradine nodded coolly, an eyebrow raised. She mustered out a curtsy. Though she currently outranked Emma, in a matter of weeks, Emma would be above her. It would not do to make enemies with a future Duchess.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Emma Wren,” she greeted. Emma noted again that she made no effort to apologize for her mistakes. What a slight. Thomas had previously addressed her as a 'Miss', which meant she was not the daughter of nobility. It is possible her father was a baronet or a knight or just extremely wealthy. In any case, she was rude and neither wealth nor beauty excused it.
“It is a pleasure for me as well, Lady Carradine.” Thomas released her to a more appropriate distance as they re-entered Almack's. The evening was winding to a close. Emma took a deep breath, relishing in the empty expanse. It fe
lt nice to breathe and not inhale the particular musty scent of a dowager’s gown.
“I wonder where my family has gone...” Emma murmured, searching for them among the dwindling crowd. Normally, her mother's flamboyant chartreuse turbans were a good guiding point. She was not to be so helpful this evening.
“I can take you home in my coach, Emma.”
“I rather like that idea. You can tell me all about your history with the illustrious Lady Carradine.”
“Ah...yes...” Thomas cleared his throat. “I quite expected that. You do deserve an explanation after she was so rude to you. It really is unforgivable, but she has always been like that. She slights many people, yet she has friends in high places and so it is always smoothed over.”
“Friends?” She began. “Or do you mean...” her voice lowered to a whisper, “lovers?” Thomas halted mid-step at her forwardness.
“We will discuss this is in the coach.” He said instead of answering. They moved towards the doors where servants were waiting with cloaks and hats. His valet spotted them easily and arrived within moments with their cloaks.
“Thank you, James.”
“I will make sure the coach is ready.” He bowed to them and walked off towards the door. Thomas placed Emma's cloak around her shoulders before putting on his own.
“Warmer?” he inquired with a devilish smile.
“I was perfectly warm outside, Thomas.” She told him as she concentrated on adjusting the cloak around her shoulders.
“As was I,” he agreed.”
Chapter Four
“There is truly not much to tell about how I know Lady Carradine. When I had first met her, she was Miss Genevieve Loring, daughter of a wealthy man. To this day, I have no idea what it is he does for a living. Whatever it was, it kept them wealthy and on the Continent. That is where I met Lady Carradine. I was perhaps eighteen and Nathaniel and I were on our Grand Tour. We arrived in Belgium and met up with some classmates. All they could talk about was this English heiress. They described her as the most beautiful and alluring woman they had ever seen in their lives.” Lord Hartwell paused in his tale.
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