Colors of a Lady

by Chelsea Roston

  “It is your friend. He just had a clandestine encounter with that odious Lady Carradine. What say you to that?”

  “Lady Carradine, you say?” He repeated. He shook his head. “No, Hartwell would never. He’s smitten to pieces with Emma.”

  “Then why is he meeting with that woman?”

  “Your guess is about as good as mine.” Nathaniel picked up two glasses of champagne from a small silver tray. He handed one to Helena.

  “It does not make sense. She is endlessly gorgeous, but she is married. What business could they have meeting at a Bal Masque?”

  “Business,” he murmured. That word sparked some memory in his mind. But what was it again? Thomas asked for his help in some matter that required him to travel to Dover. Goodness, he should pay better attention. He was far too in his cups the other night to even remember to what he agreed. He did have a packet of papers with a list of steps for him to take. Thomas urged him to leave tonight before the ball ended.

  Nathaniel’s heart began to thump loud in his chest. He had a new plan forming. A way to kill two birds with one stone. He grinned down at the redhead before him. She narrowed her eyes.

  “You are a buffoon. Why are you smiling at a time like this?”

  “You’re not marrying that lout. You’re marrying me. Tonight.”

  “You are mad. I will not!” She hissed at him. “Do not dare make demands of me, Nathaniel. I will not bow to your whims.”

  “B-but you love me.” As if that made it all better. As if his cowardice was forgiven. Helena threw back the glass of champagne, gulping it all in one motion. She deposited it and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Try again.”

  “Do not make me say it,” he pleaded.

  She pursed her lips. He was too big a man to be afraid of saying what she wanted to hear. This game had gone on far too long. She was tired of her brother’s domineering ways and her mother’s steady stream of flirtations. There was too much family drama for her. She longed to be a priority, not an after-thought. The freedom to study and fence as she pleased was also tempting.

  “Helena, please, come with me.” Nathaniel took her pale hands in his, grasping as if she was slipping away from him.

  “My reputation would be in t--”

  “As if you care one whit about your reputation. Lord Mallory is marrying you off to a blackguard! Your mother’s parlour has seen more men than the halls of Eton...n-not that it is a problem,” he added hastily under the weight of Helena’s glare.

  “Just think how wonderful our life would be. I am not at all like your brother. I have a great income and properties in the city and the country. You can have those grand salons with artists and thinkers and never had to tread the sacred halls of Almack’s again.”

  “No more watery lemonade,” whispered the redhead, eyes widening. “Let’s do it!”

  “Really?” Nathaniel asked. “That’s what it took? The promise of no more Almack’s?”

  “You are not forced into attendance every week,” she replied with a frown.

  “Except when my mother threatens to kill herself if I do not find a wife.”

  “May she live for many more years.”

  They had talked through a short interlude in the music. Now the musicians were starting up a lively country-dance. Partners were milling about readying themselves for the exertions. With all the commotion of the jig, they could easily slip out.

  “We need to stop by my home first. I need to pack a trunk at the very least. I refuse to abscond like a thief in the middle of the night.” She thought for a moment. “Who is going to marry us?”

  “I know a man in Dover.”

  “Dover?”

  “For a week or two and then we’re off to the Continent.” He was confident as if he had planned this all along. Truly he was making this all up. He would be writing a lot of letters when they got to Dover.

  “Truly?” Her eyes shined with the mention of leaving English shores. “Let us leave at once!”

  “I will call for my carriage. Wait here.”

  “No, I will go with you.”

  “I would not have it any other way.”

  They entwined their hands and left the ballroom. Nathaniel’s heart felt it was going to burst. Helena was nervous, worried about getting caught.

  “But, what of Emma and Lord Hartwell?” She remembered her reason for seeking him out too late. Nathaniel lifted his shoulders in a helpless way.

  “They will have to figure out their own problems. We have our own to worry about.”

  After a short carriage ride filled with stolen kisses, they arrived at the Mallory Residence. The house was dark.

  “Perfection.” A footman wrenched the carriage door open. He stood waiting for them to depart. This was havey-cavey business. A midnight elopement during a masquerade ball. Why, it was out of a novel! His sister would love to hear about this.

  Helena alighted from the carriage with a graceful leap. She hurried towards the servant’s entrance. She was not so bold as to have the butler answer the door for her. Thankfully, a scullery maid answered the door. She gasped in surprise at the daughter of the house appearing so dishabille at so late an hour.

  “Miss Mallory, why are you--” Helena silenced her with a hiss.

  “Hush now. I am packing a trunk and leaving. Is my brother home?” She peered past the girl into the dim kitchen. The house was far too quiet. It bothered her.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “L-Lord Mallory has given us all the night off.” Her eyes darted here and there. She did not move.

  “How out of character of him.” Helena slid to the left. The maid moved with her. She slid back to the right. Still. She did not budge. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “I am s-sorry, miss, but Lord Mallory told me not to let anyone inside.”

  “I am quite sure he did not mean his sister,” she replied with a huff.

  “W-well, you may be right. If you do not disturb him, t-then, I’m q-quite sure it will be okay.”

  “Disturb him? What is going on exactly?” Helena stared the maid down. Her gaze was just as penetrating as her brother’s. She would bend to her will.

  “Guest...er, Lord Mallory has a guest.”

  Her mouth dropped open. So that was it, huh? Her traditional brother had himself a light o’ love.

  “No worries. I will be quiet as a mouse.”

  The maid sputtered in defeat, allowing Helena to pass. She dropped her bow upon the oak table before rushing up the stairs. Once she reached the ground floor, she slowed her pace. The floors of the house were creaky. She knew every single spot.

  She simply could not be caught by Jasper. If so, she would resort to blackmail, without a doubt. His friends would be personally offended if they knew about this mysterious guest.

  She crept up the stairs to the first floor. Still silence. Not even the pesky whistling windows that she had sworn to be ghosts growing up.

  “I suppose he must be entertaining his guest in his private chambers,” she said aloud. Odd, but it was to be expected. She reached the second floor and let out a breath. She peered down the hallway.

  “Oh...dear.” As expected, there was light beneath one door. But it was not her brother’s. It was not even her mother’s. It was her bedroom. “No no no no…” Helena may not be as worldly as some, but she knew well enough that she did not want them in her room.

  But she needed to pack her trunk.

  She tiptoed to her door. Curiosity destroyed any inkling she had left of common sense. There were some noises. They did not sound like ones she wished to avoid. So, she placed her hand upon the doorknob and turned it. It was not locked.

  She pushed the door open as silently as she could. Then she pushed it open all the way. Until she breathed her last breath, Helena would later regard this moment as the day she finally began to like her brother.

  There he stood, Jasper, Viscount Mallory, entwined in the arms of his lover. This shock was bo
lstered by the fact that his lover lacked the rippling hair and the generous assets. Instead, his lover was a man.

  Helena gasped violently, raising an accusing finger in the air. “Jasper! Why in my room?”

  He shoved the man away from him. She noted he was a very handsome man with a full head of brown-blond hair.

  “Helena! Why are you back from the ball so soon?”

  She walked further into the room and moved to her wardrobe. “I am eloping with Nathaniel. You will give your permission. Otherwise, I would truly hate to resort to blackmail.”

  Two pairs of china-blue eyes met--one amused and the other questioning.

  “Lord Hedgeton,” repeated Jasper. “So he has finally given into your tricks?” He almost laughed.

  “I have no tricks. I am running away.” She tossed some clothes--dresses, undergarments, boots, and bonnets--into an open trunk. “Who are you?”

  “He is not your concern.”

  “You are in my room.”

  “It does not face onto the street. I am discreet.”

  “Too true.”

  Jasper looked to his nameless lover and back to his sister. He sighed. “You are free to marry Lord Hedgeton. I will take care of the matters here and move your dowry into an account for you. I trust you will write me whenever you are settled.”

  “Oh Jasper, you are not so bad after all!” She spun around with stockings in her hands. “We are to Dover and then off to the Continent.”

  “Excellent. Though I am more pleased that the trip will not come from my pockets.”

  Helena raised her eyes to the ceiling. She shoved some books and papers into the trunk. “How am I to take this trunk downstairs? Take this to the servant’s entrance, please. I must change from this. It is hardly appropriate for a midnight excursion.”

  “In no way shall we t--”

  “Oh come along, Jasper, let us help the girl.” The vision spoke at last. He did not look frightened or anxious, but bemused.

  “Very well. Meet us downstairs in five minutes,” he said to his sister. Triumphant, Helena left them to head into her dressing room. When she returned to London, she was going to have a long talk with Jasper. She knew that some men preferred other men to women. These sorts of relationships had been written about since the ancient world. She simply never expected her brother to be such a man. Especially when she considered his public personality.

  She shrugged out of her dress. It was none of her concern. He was unmarried and she was eloping. Life was the best it had been in years.

  When she arrived at the carriage with a spring in her step, Nathaniel thought little of it. Then she started chuckling to herself as they rode out of London. Any questions he asked were met with giggles. He finally gave up and fell asleep, snores filling the cabin.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma crept up the stairs of the Carradine House. It was too chilly to leave enter the gardens. No matter how much she heard them being praised, she would happily stay inside. Gardens at night were an unsafe place for an unmarried girl. Especially at an event such as this where the wine flowed freely and anonymity was expected.

  So, her feet dragged her into the private quarters of the Earl and Countess of Carradine instead. The servants she passed did not say a word to her presence. They lowered their gazes and continued with their tasks.

  She hummed to herself, an aria from an opera she saw last week. The character was dying and sang out her desperate love for the disgraced hero. There was some furious urgency to the singer’s lilting soprano voice that caused Emma to sob for hours afterwards. Thomas had sat there and held her hand, not knowing what else to do with his blubbering fiancée.

  “It’s not real, Emmy, it is just a story.”

  “But surely it has happened so many times.” She blew her dripping nose into his offered handkerchief. “Can we come again tomorrow?”

  “I thought that you just--of course we certainly will.”

  Her lips tweaked into a small smile. Thomas was always very sweet to her and she enjoyed his kisses. Her own feelings did not prevent him from sharing his lips elsewhere. She shut her eyes, stilling the jealousy. She breathed in through her nose and held it for a moment. Then she let out a breath. Her aunt had taught her this. She said it helped her through those moments she couldn’t see through her own rage. Emma had never seen her beloved aunt angry, so she thought it must work.

  Emma heard a man’s voice, ranting to an empty room.

  “Soon enough, I’ll never be able to see the stars while in the city. Progress can be horrible to the sciences. I should hate to retire to the country to continue my observations.”

  The voice heralded from a study to her far left. Its double doors were pushed wide open. She saw at once there was a lovely balcony that looked out onto the gardens. The man paced his study. He yanked at the cravat at his neck, tearing the fine fabric. She winced.

  His valet may kill him. Emma stepped towards the study.

  This must be the Earl of Carradine. He did not often go out into society. Even at his own ball, he was hidden away in his study, muttering about stars. If he were less handsome and less rich, many would easily mock him.

  “Who goes there?” He halted, peering out into the hallway. He squinted his eyes into the hallway. Only a few lamps were lit, probably obscuring Emma’s figure. She stepped into the light given off by his study.

  “Lady Emma Wren,” she said with a squeak. His face relaxed into a slight smile. They had met once before for less than a minute before Thomas had dragged her to dance a waltz.

  “Ah, Lady Wren, do come in. Is the ball simply too much cavorting for you?” His chestnut brown hair fell casually into his eyes lending him a debonair quality similar to pirates or highwaymen. Not that she had ever seen either incarnation.

  “A bit, yes.” She surveyed his study. It had a cozy albeit chaotic feel to it. It lacked a woman’s touch. He probably did not allow Lady Carradine to redecorate as she pleased. He stood over by his telescope with a drink in his hand.

  “Come look at the stars then. Orion’s belt is quite vibrant tonight.”

  Though tempted, Emma shook her head. “No thank you, Lord Carradine.” She trailed her fingers across a dusty table. She took a deep breath. “I need to ask you a question regarding the relationship between Lord Hartwell and your wife, Lady Carradine.”

  “Relationship?” He repeated as if he had not heard her correctly.

  “Yes, relationship. I just saw her pull him into an empty room downstairs. Whatever could that be about?”

  “Old friends catching up?” suggested Lord Carradine. “They did first meet in Vienna.”

  Emma shook her head. “Lord Hartwell said that she pursued him and he was not interested. When did you meet Lady Carradine anyway?”

  “In Vienna as well. As you said, she had eyes only for Lord Hartwell. I won her over in the end.”

  “You are not concerned that she still has feelings for him?” Emma bit her lip. That was a great fear of hers. “I have never understood how those feelings of love can disappear as if that person never nested in your heart. Surely there is always some reflection and some nostalgia.”

  Lord Carradine lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I did love another before my wife. I was but a child, but that girl meant the world to me. However, once I met Genevieve, I learned that was not love at all. It was infatuation. There is a difference between the two. Fire and passion is always perceived as love, but when that extinguishes, what is left?”

  “Regret.”

  “You are worried that Hartwell has feelings for another? Lady Caroline Wren? My wife? You two are engaged. Surely he loves you.” Lord Carradine watched his guest. Her lips tightened into a line.

  “If you know of our engagement, then you must have heard the gossip surrounding it.”

  “I do not much listen to the wagging tongues. I rarely go out to the fashionable spots.” He put a quizzing glass to his eye and peered down at an open tome. He clicked his tongu
e and turned the page.

  “He did not want to marry me. He has grown accustomed to me, but it is more out of duty and friendship. We used to be very close before he left for the Continent.” She let out a breath. “We had a falling out over matters that seem silly to me now. We were younger then.” Emma did not mention the growing insecurity she had over her dark skin. In the grand scheme of skin tones, she was not so dark. In the high society of London, she stuck out amongst the creamy complexions. She felt better standing near Lord Carradine for he was a shade or two darker than she.

  “Whenever I hear Hartwell speak of you, he is full of joy. But also worry. He is quite worried about the matter of Captain Wren.”

  She yanked her head to look at him. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Why do you know of that?”

  The quizzing glass dropped from his eye. “In regards to that, Lady Wren, I must say that...oh look!”

  “Edward dearest, you must come down for at least one dance!” sang Lady Carradine as she spun into the room. Thomas followed at a respectable distance behind her.

  “I cannot believe that Nathaniel eloped with Miss Mallory. I specifically instructed him to leave for Dover at once to keep an eye on--AH! Emmy, what are you doing here with Lord Carradine?” His grey eyes looked between the pair, a hint of suspicion growing. Lord Carradine suppressed a smirk as he patted Emma on the head. She pulled away with a shout.

  “Do not touch my hair. It took Mary two hours for it to not bush out.” She side-stepped and gently smoothed down her curls. “Miss Mallory left me, so I wandered up here. Though now it seems she has run off with Lord Hedgeton.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “How predictable of them.” Thomas came to her side and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He whispered some sweet nothing in her ear that made her wring her hands and giggle.

  “And romantic,” put in Lady Carradine. “Beside her fiancé was detestable. I had to have him removed from the premises. Him and that awful little man, Sir Rollings.”

  “Good evening, Lady Carradine,” Emma said at once, remembering her manners. She dipped into a quick curtsy.

  “Lady Wren, how lovely to see you again.” She flashed a bright and sincere smile.