With the weak winter sunlight pouring in through the windows and the cold winds howling against the storefronts, most found themselves spending hours in the warmth of the store. It was too difficult to leave the tender embrace for the biting cold.
Lady Emma Wren and Miss Helena Mallory found themselves perusing the shelves in lieu of walking in the snowfall. Helena was on the hunt for a new copy of Frances Burney's Camillia. Her own copy was well read and falling apart, having first been her mother's. Emma's own book collection was currently up-to-date. She was mostly browsing for any hidden gems.
“I must say that I fear I am running out of novels to read. Someone must write something delicious and horrible immediately,” Emma said with a sigh.
“Why not read The Monk again? That novel is always so thrilling!” A leather-clad finger dragged across the spines of the books. “Aha! Here it is!” Helena pulled the book from the shelf, happily admiring the cover.
“You know how I feel about that novel. The writer treats the women characters with very little care. It is mighty scandalous, I must admit.”
“Oh, look, one of Mary Wollstonecraft's novels. I am quite shocked this is even here. You know, considering that scandal when her memoir was published.” Helena handed the volume over to her friend.
“Maria: or, The Wrongs of Woman,” she read aloud. “I have heard of this book. Ms. Wollstonecraft wrote novels rebuking the institution of marriage since women tend to get a very bad time of it.”
“Frightfully true. But not true at all of your own impending matrimony.” Helena's blue eyes sparkled as she nudged her friend. They walked towards the counter to purchase their books. The shopkeeper nodded to them in recognition.
“Just one moment, Lady Wren. There is a book for you in the back.” He disappeared into the back storeroom.
“I cannot recall ordering any books...” Emma said. She tapped a finger against her chin. “Anyway, Lord Hartwell and I do get on well. He does not expect to control my every motion, so I pray our marriage should be delightful.”
“Well, you must always sympathize with us less fortunate ladies, is that not what your mother always says?” Helena smirked.
“Aha! Here it is! A few weeks ago, we received a note to hold this book for you until you visited next. At last, you are here!” He exclaimed, pushing the book across the counter towards her.
“For me?” Emma inquired. The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically.
“It has been paid for already,” he explained, taking the book back to wrap it up. Emma's brow furrowed as she dug into her reticule to offer payment for the new book.
“How peculiar,” breathed Helena, handing her own purchase over to the shopkeeper.
“I already have a copy of that novel too,” she added. “I do wonder who sent it.”
“This is an older edition of the book, my lady, that has more, uh, content than the edition you have. When it was reprinted in 1810 they removed some plot points. I would recommend another read through. You seem an enlightened sort of lady.”
“I will do so, thank you, sir.” The two girls took their purchases and left Hatchards.
“I am oh so curious as to who left that. Do you think Lord Hartwell bought it for you?” Helena wondered, shivering in the snow.
“I doubt that. He is the type to present me a trinket in person. I fancy he enjoys my reactions.” Emma said with a sly smile.
“Then who? Have you some other admirer?”
“Not at all. I will look into it later.” Emma looked around.” Shall we go call upon dear Lettice? Her home is nearby.”
“Oh yes, let us go! The poor girl has been cooped up with a cold and unable to enjoy our delightful company.”
They marched off down the street, arm-in-arm, towards the respectable town home of Lord Devine.
The walk took only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. The wind was biting, nearly blowing the girls off their feet. They trudged through the slush, slipping on the icier spots on the sidewalks.
Upon reaching their destination, Helena raised the knocker. After a few moments, the butler appeared. He sunk into a polite bow, stepping aside to allow them a reprieve from the weather.
“Good day, Lady Wren and Miss Mallory. How may I help you today?”
“We are here to see, Lady Lettice. If she is well enough to receive calls.”
Martin did not move, but stood still. He held out his hand. Emma handed her card to Martin. Helena was digging around in her reticule for her own card.
“Damnation...I was so sure I had one in here,” she muttered. To his credit, Martin did not blink an eye at the colourful language.
“I shall see. Excuse me a moment.”
Emma adjusted her bonnet, a sturdy confection with trailing ribbons. She pushed some wayward curls out of her eyes. It was odd of the butler to not escort them to the drawing room. Today had been an odd day. She was over thinking it. Helena, however, had no qualms in voicing that.
“Do you not find it deuced odd that Martin did not show us to the sitting room? We are her particular friends and that has always been the case.” She leaned close to Emma's ear so her voice would not carry.
“Just a smidgen odd. Perhaps they are undergoing some redecorating?” An excuse of dubious origin.
Helena leaned back, lips pursed. Emma always sought to see the best in people. What a noble trait, but also infuriating. Martin returned, gaze lowered to the floor.
“I regret to say, Lady Wren, you are no longer welcome to call upon Lady Lettice.” To his credit, Martin looked and sounded apologetic. “Miss Mallory, however, is welcome to take tea.” He finished, shutting his eyes. He expected a tantrum. Not from Lady Wren, but certainly Miss Mallory.
Emma blinked at this affront. She had been denied entrance to Lord Devine's home. It was unheard of to cut someone off so fiercely. The reason was clear. They must know. Their church did not prescribe to the acceptance of people such as her or others like her. It was an act against God. She did what any gently bred English-woman would do, Emma plastered on a polite smile.
“Unfortunate it may be, it is expected. I must be going then.”
“Not yet, Emma,” Helena ordered. “What is this nonsense? Why am I allowed but Lady Emma is not? She is the daughter of an earl and I am the daughter of a baron. We have both been here numerous times. Does this news come from Lady Lettice herself?”
“Yes, Miss Mallory, it does. It is Lord Devine's decree and she supports his decision. She does not remain friends with one such as Lady Wren.” Martin saw the fury building in Helena as she spoke. The only sign of Emma's ire was her clenched fist.
Emma let out an angry sign. She needed to calm down. Anger would do little to help her in this situation. She looked to Helena and shook her head. “We must leave. It has begun.” Her eyes flashed with a slow anger, unusual in Emma's merry face.
“What has begun?” Helena's question was lost on Emma, who yanked on her arm. She dragged her from the entryway. The door slammed behind them, echoing in the hall. Soft footfalls descended the stairs. Martin turned to face Lettice. He bent to bow.
“They have left.” She stated, her pale hair loose around her shoulders. “Get a maid to clean up where that monkey stood.” Her lips were curled in disgust, baring her prefect teeth. She turned on her heel sharply and retreated back above stairs.
The butler seemed surprised at her words. He had no right to question or ask for an elaboration. That hate in her gaze was unusual. He had seen similar venom in the face of Lord Devine as he ranted over the evils and inferiority of the African race.
A black in the ton? That was unheard of and dangerous for whoever it was. The glittering balls and gilded soirees hid a hateful underbelly of aristocrats furious over the outlaw of the slave trade. They took their anger and lust out on any blacks they could find in London. Martin's father, a mulatto, had taken to passing as a Jew to lessen the violence against him. While he passed as a white man of unknown origins.
“Lizzy
, come and mop the entryway again,” he called down the hall before leaving the area entirely to descend to his quarters. There was little he could do in this except escape as quickly as possible. Lord Devine would now scour his own household staff for African dirt.
“What has begun?” Helena repeated for the umpteenth time. Her cries fell on deaf ears. Emma was still dragging her down the icy streets. She stumbled and slid into a passerby. She did not stop to excuse herself. They had been walking for many blocks before she deigned to answer.
“I cannot discuss it right now. We need to find Lord Hartwell first.” Emma could barely think straight. Anger coursed through her veins. Thomas had, in fact, warned her. She naively ignored him. Now she wanted to gallivant off to his home as if he could make everything right again. Not even he could change a person's heart, a person's beliefs. As much as his presence would soothe her, she could deal with this alone. Or with Helena at her side.
“No no no,” She stopped short. “We shall return to my abode.”
“Why are we not going to Lord Hartwell? Emma, really, what is going on? Your grip is hurting my wrist. Dear me, you are stronger than you look.” Helena winced, wrenching her hand away.
“My dear Helena, recently I discovered that my parents are not my true parents.” The redhead's mouth dropped open in shock. She was rendered speechless. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend the news.
“I trust that shall hold you over then. Come along, let us go.” Helena followed her friend. She was speechless. Her mind reeled with this new information. It did not make any sort of sense to her. Though Emma was not fair like her mother, she had some of Lord Sheridan's features. Helena felt her mind run to wild places. Thoughts of Highwaymen and affairs with maids were dancing in her head. Lettice's wild romantic ideas must have rubbed off far too much on Helena. Next she would be seeing ghostly vicars in rattling chains at every turn.
Lewis spotted the two girls as they turned down the street. Emma's determined gait was unmistakable. He opened the door for them, ushering them inside.
“Goodness, it is really coming down out there,” he observed. He shut the door.
“It is just awful, Lewis. When will it be summer again? I do so love the gardens.”
“We will keep them well-tended for when you come to visit. Though I hear Duke Kellaway's gardens are far more beautiful than our own here.”
“Oh yes, I had forgotten. Soon, I will not be living here anymore. Silly me.” She laughed.
“Soon I too shall leave my father's house,” added Helena.
“Has Nathaniel finally proposed?” Emma gushed. “How could you keep this from me?” She pinched Helena on her upper arm. The redhead whooped in annoyance and moved away from her. “Ow! That is not how a future duchess acts!” She rubbed her arm. “But no, I am to marry Lord Worthing. We are betrothed as of last week.”
“Is that so? Dear Helena, why would you keep this from me? That beast. How could Nathaniel let you become someone else's bride? Not just anyone...but Lord Worthing? Even I have heard the stories about him.”
“It is no matter. We cannot all marry the one we love.” Helena handed her cloak to Lewis. Emma wrinkled her nose at news. This was certainly not what she wanted. Nathaniel was a fool and it little surprised her that Helena simply could not wait any longer. Her friend was impetuous and stubborn, prone to rash decisions.
In normal circumstances, the effects were harmless, but this did influence the rest of her life. What a miserable marriage for her. Nathaniel must devise a plan to win her back. Yet, for a man or a woman to back out of a betrothal could ruin them. What a tangled web. When did everyone's lives become complicated? It only left Emma to dream of the nursery days when she could run in the fields carefree as the wind. Those days lost to time. It did no good to reminisce. Matters were difficult now. It would not always be this way.
Emma felt silly to place all hopes of happiness on Thomas. She would need to forge her own happiness somehow. It was naught but foolishness to depend upon her husband so much. Through her readings of such women as Olympe de Gougas and Mary Wollstonecraft, Emma grew to believe women were not inferior to men. They deserved the same rights as men. As did all races of people. She yearned to act upon this budding independence while continuing to be dependent upon the men in her life.
“You are woolgathering again, Emma.” Helena's teasing voice drew her out of thoughts.
“I get far too lost in my head. Come, let's go to my sitting room and I shall tell you everything.’
“What a mess I have made,” whined Lord Hedgeton. He called upon Lord Hartwell immediately upon learning the truth of his love's engagement. Thomas welcomed his friend into his library. Once immaculate, Nathaniel was shocked at the clutter on the floor. The shelves were bare. The entire book collection of the Kellaway family strew about the floor in a haphazard manner. His friends grey eyes were feverish with excitement. Thomas stepped over a wobbly pile of books to pour himself a glass of whiskey.
“I am sorry about this. I have been tasked with organizing the books. Emma has sent along trunks of her own.” He tossed some sheets of paper to the earl. He recognized Emma's neat and tiny handwriting scribbled across the pages. “Those are instructions for how she would like them set up. It is very similar to how my father keeps his books, so it is simple.”
“Oh, look how disgustingly happy you are,” Nathaniel said with a groan. He plopped down onto a cushy leather chair, downing a glass of whiskey. “Have you told her you loved her?”
A volume slipped through his fingers, dropping to the hard-wood floor. The thud was the only sound aside from the crackling fire. Though Thomas could hear the smug smirk playing upon his friend’s lips. He opened his mouth to retort. There was nothing to say. What could be said? The Marquess chuckled. He tugged absently on his hair.
“Well, that is...I-I should say...have you told Miss Helena that you love her?” That wiped the smirk right off of Nathaniel's face.
A strangled cry sounding strangely like “No” erupted from his lips. “That is why she is lost to me to wed that awful man, Lord Worthing. The horrid Lady Lavinia is to be her sister-in-law, did she not even consider that?”
“Is this what you have come to complain about? I do not think I should bear it. From what you told me, Miss Mallory did offer you an ultimatum of sorts. Though perhaps it was more of a threat. You believed her to be bluffing. Here you are chugging whiskey whilst she is engaged.”
“I am a sad man. I have dug my own grave.” Nathaniel slid off of the chair and onto the Oriental rug. He moaned in agony, still clutching the crystal glass. He offered it up to Thomas, green eyes pleading. “Please?”
The Marquess could not help but take pity on his dearest friend. He stooped down to pick up the glass. Thomas walked to the decanter and refilled the glass. He also filled another glass for himself. This would be a long night. Nathaniel was particularly in low spirits.
He returned the glass to his friend. Nathaniel took a sip, enjoying the familiar liquid. “I must say, Hartwell, your whiskey is spectacular.”
“You drink enough of it,” he joked. Thomas sunk is long body into a velvet chair. He stretched out his legs, feeling constricted in the tight buckskin breeches. “Whatever is your plan regarding Miss Mallory?”
“I am not here to plot, dear friend. I shall save that for when I have a clearer head.”
“Wise words.” Thomas swallowed some whiskey. He twirled the glass in his hand, staring at the liquid. His thoughts were jumbled despite his easy manners. “Have you spoken with Sir Rollings recently?”
“Rollings? Do you mean Sir William Rollings? Good God, not at all. He's a trifle too fanatical for my tastes.”
“Fanatical?”
“Do you recall that nasty business of those murdered slaves near Eton back in 09? The women were raped and brutalized and the men did not fare much better.”
Thomas remembered it well. It was a nasty business, but no one was ever brought to justice. The
y were slaves and the local law did not consider it to be of the most concern. Their owners were suitably disgusted at the loss. They wanted reparation, but, of course, they didn't get any.
“I do indeed. What does Rollings have to do with—do you mean to tell me that...?” Nathaniel nodded sadly at his friend.
“Yes, Rollings is zealous in his hate—no, his abhorrence towards anyone of African descent. It is frightening really. He has taken it as his personal mission to rid England of them. To achieve this end, he has committed many atrocities. Why do you ask about him? I heard he is an investigator now.”
“He is. I actually enlisted his help in the matter concerning Emma's aunt. Lord Sheridan informed him of a matter that is pertinent to his investigation. However, now I worry for Emma's safety.”
“A matter? Oh blast, does he know about Emma's parentage?” Nathaniel asked, perking up. His eyes were wild. How much whiskey had he consumed exactly? Thomas shrugged. Too late to worry now. “That is no good. If I had known you were using him I would have warned you. He's a right bastard.”
“I am worried.”
“I would not be. She is a peer's daughter.”
“There is that silver-lining. I must be over-thinking. She will be fine. Soon enough, her home will be here. I shall sleep better then.”
“You shall soon be happily wed and I will be a bachelor evermore.”
“It is your own damn fault too.”
“I know,” he agreed sadly. “At least I can see her at Carradine’s Bal Masque. I’m to dress as Apollo. I thought it was quite fitting considering how much time I spend boxing.”
“I had plans on simply donning a black domino mask and calling myself a spy. Alas, Emma was displeased with that. She called me ‘unimaginative’,” explained Thomas. She had actually guffawed in such a way that Thomas felt nine again. Being ridiculed by Emma at any age made him feel as inconsequential as an ant. She wasted no time in directing him to an Emma-approved costume. “Instead I have to prance about in some coloured hose and a feathered cap.” He grumbled over his costume choice. Nathaniel saw a slight twitch of his mouth that could have been a smile.
Colors of a Lady Page 9