“She paid me a visit after seeing your assignation,” began Lord Carradine. “I do believe it is time to reveal it all to her. It is only right.”
Thomas looked to Genevieve who offered him a raised eyebrow in response. An eyebrow that managed to convey, “Yes, you fool, we should have done so weeks ago.”
“Very well then. Would you like to sit?”
“I am fine with standing,” replied his fiancée. She folded her arms across her chest. “I am riveted.”
“First I would like to say that Lady Wren did ask for my help in secreting her away. She is staying in Dover until we figure this out, which is why I--”
“Sent Lord Hedgeton to Dover,” finished Emma. “But why would she ask for your assistance?”
“As you know, Lady Carradine’s father travels throughout the Continent and has made a great name for himself. What you do not know is that he is works for the Crown as a spy. I got wrangled into this mess when I helped catch a renowned jewelry thief. She was already in her father’s employ and we decided to team up since we can both infiltrate different locations. When she returned to England, we kept up our public relationship of fawning and disdain since it had worked well on the Continent. I do not do much work for the Crown anymore but focus on personal matters. Such as the death of Captain Wren and those people who have been blackmailing Lady Wren.”
“How are they connected?”
“We are not sure. It does not make any sort of sense. Why would his murderers be blackmailing his sister?”
No one had an answer they wanted to voice. Emma could not help but hate how Thomas used the word ‘we’ so freely with another woman.
“I am helping,” Emma announced.
“That is preposterous!”
“That is wonderful!”
Lord Carradine did not answer, but smiled instead. That determined glint in her eye did not bode well for Hartwell.
“You absolutely must help. You know your aunt better than any of us. It shall be wonderful to have a lady friend again. In secret, of course, cannot break the ruse quite yet.”
“But, truly it is no place for a--”
Lord Carradine cut him off. “I suggest you not finish that thought.”
“Phenomenal idea, Carradine.” Thomas cleared his throat. “I will gladly accept your insight, but you cannot allow any personal feelings get in the way. You have to consider everyone a suspect.”
“Even you?”
He nodded. “Even me since I could be lying to you.”
“I know when you are lying. When I was ten years old, you poured ink all over my doll and tried to tell me she did it to herself. I knew at once you were lying since you refused to look me in the eye and always tug on your hair when you’re nervous. You are not lying about Aunt Lucille asking for your help.”
Genevieve gasped, wagging a finger at him. “Poured ink? Really, Hartwell? Why would you do that?”
“It was not out of malice, I assure you. Emmy used to complain how her dolls never looked like her and I thought perhaps the ink would do just the trick.”
“That is almost sweet,” Genevieve said.
“My doll was ruined. She was my Marie Antoinette doll too!” Emma clearly was still upset over the whole ordeal.
“You got a new one!”
“It was not the same. The new one’s dress was not pink.” Thomas groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead.
“That was nearly ten years ago. Surely you have forgiven me.”
“Forgiven but not forgotten,” she said primly.
“Let us put all this grim business aside for this night,” Lady Carradine interrupted cleanly. “As I said before Edward, you have not yet danced with me. I will get the musicians to play a waltz. Come along now.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door. “Descend after a few minutes, I would hate for the ton to say we have orgies above stairs.”
As she spun around the ballroom, Emma thought about her childhood in the country. Tonight, she felt nostalgic. The old memories were creeping up the back of her skull, itching to be recalled.
“Thomas, do you recall that fight we had before you went on your Tour?”
He stumbled as they rounded the dance floor. His grey eyes caught hers. He looked pained, mouth drawn in a frown.
“Yes.” His voice was rough. “It is not easy to forget.”
“Why?” She asked. They both knew that single word referred to his actions of that long gone summer day.
Emma remembered how bright the sun shone that July day. She wore a bonnet with a large brim forced upon her by her mother.
“Please, Emma, you cannot get darker.” She knotted the ribbon beneath her daughter’s chin and patted her cheek.
“Yes, mother.” Emma ran out of the front door of their manor. Her dress stuck to her back when she arrived at the lake. Nathaniel stood at its edge. His waistcoat was thrown aside as he skipped rocks.
“Nathaniel! Where is Thomas?”
“How nice to see you too, Emma.” He said turning towards her. His eyes grew wide. “Goodness, you sure have grown since I last saw you.”
She shook her head. “No, I have not grown an inch actually.” The fact of that troubled Emma. She turned fourteen in May. When Caroline turned fourteen, she grew at least five inches and her complexion cleared. Emma’s face still had a few spots along her chin that drove her insane. Her finger rubbed over them, willing them to disappear.
“I did not mean your height, silly.” He wriggled his eyebrows over her body. Emma scoffed and covered her chest.
“You are abominably rude! Where is Thomas?” She asked again. All she wanted to do was see Thomas. She missed him. His absence made her heart heavy. But now, he was back home. Her stomach twisted into knots. She wore her prettiest yellow frock and took great pains on her hair. All she managed was a thick braid that fell down her back.
“Probably reminiscing about our times in Eton. We had some wild nights.”
“Wild nights? What do you mean?” Emma plopped down beside the lake. The water glistened beneath the sun’s rays. She wanted to swim today. Maybe Thomas would like to go.
“After our final exams, we went to a brothel to celebrate being men.” He grinned and flopped onto the grass. “It was well worth the fee.”
“Why would Thomas go to a brothel?” Emma could not fathom this. Her white knight frequenting such a place to which uncouth and dishonourable men gave their life savings.
Nathaniel propped his head up on his hands. He stared at her. “Why else do men go to brothels? It’s not for the whiskey or the pies.” Nathaniel chuckled.
“Where. Is. Thomas.”
“Near the woods I think.”
Emma took off towards the South woods. This small forest formed a natural barrier between the Earl of Sheridan’s property to the Duke of Kellaway’s estate.
Beneath an oak tree, Thomas sat in complete stillness. He eyes were shut tight, mind elsewhere. By the end of the summer, Nathaniel and he would set sail for the Continent. He turned nineteen in August, less than a month away. Then he would spend at least two year exploring ancient ruins and crumbling castles. Yes, he was excited, but he would miss England. Some aspects of it more than others. One particular aspect hurtled towards him that very moment.
As far back as he could remember, Emma and the rest of her family were a constant fixture in his life. She never ceased to make him a confusing mixture of angry and happy. Since this past Christmas, he grew more and more confused. They were not children any longer. She was not a child any longer. She was growing into a woman and he could not handle that. He could not act normally around her.
“Emmy! Good afternoon!”
Her movements grew less stiff as she approached him. She fell to her knees in front of him. Emma picked up one of his hands in her own.
“Thomas, please tell me Nathaniel’s lying. He said the most horrible--oh! I can scarcely repeat them.”
He wanted to smile down at her, all aglow in her fledgling b
eauty. He was still too young to form into words how beautiful he found her. He was too foolish to recognize the growing feelings for what they were.
“What did he say?”
She leaned her head towards his and dropped her voice to a whisper. “He said you visited a brothel.”
“We did.”
Her lips quivered. She pulled her hands from his. “But...why?”
“Why else do men go to brothels?” He did not meet he eyes.
Emma jumped back up to her feet. “You wouldn’t!”
Thomas scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “I am a grown man. I have my needs. A child like you wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not a child anymore,” she protested. “I know plenty.”
“You know nothing.”
At that point, both their memories grew faint. Both found themselves too embarrassed to recall all the awful words they shouted. Emma ended up running home. They did not speak again save an odd letter or two until he returned to England. That was three years ago. Three years of courting Caroline and speaking civilly to Emma.
“I never went through with it…” He said to her. The masquerade was drawing to a close as faint trickles of light dotted the early morning sky. Emma yawned into a billowy sleeve.
“I know. Remember, you cannot lie to me.” She leaned her head against his arm. Thomas laughed to himself.
“Then why were you so angry?” He handed her off into his carriage.
“Because you lied to me.” She tossed back. Emma settled into the cold bench. At least the ride home was short. Her warm bed awaited her.
“Right.” Thomas banged on the roof. The horses trotted through the streets, pulling the carriage smoothly behind them.
“We have had a lot of rejections for our wedding. Snobbery is greater than I anticipated.”
“Are you serious?”
Emma nodded against his coat, yawning again. “It is becoming public knowledge. There are a lot of not very nice people in the ton. Never before had I thought a countess would pen the words ‘negro bitch’.”
Thomas curled his hands into fists, rubbing his knuckles on his velvet pants. “Which countess?” He inquired through clenched teeth. Emma shook her head.
“Some relative of yours, I do believe.”
“Emmy, that is unacceptable and--”
“Just what you expected to happen. It is just words and we will have a small wedding. It could be far worse. I live a life of privilege.” He opened his mouth to retort. “Do not speak any more about it, Thomas. You warned me of the risks and I ignored you. Let me just doze until I get home.” She stifled another yawn. “Never before have I danced all night. Thank you.”
He gripped her small hand tightly.
“Anything for you.”
Chapter Nine
“The will?” Lord Sheridan peered up at his younger daughter. Every morning he ate his breakfast alone. The women in his family hated waking up before ten. His quiet tradition was thoroughly ruined by the boisterous arrival of Emma.
“Yes, Papa, surely my father left a will. What became of it?”
He lowered his newspaper. “You are in my will, dear. Are you worried about money?”
“Not at all. I know that Caroline and I each have £2000 for our dowry. Mother has always stated we shall have a yearly stipend after you pass away.” She spread marmalade over a piece of bread. “Did my father leave behind a will?”
“Yes, of course, being in the military he kept a will since he first joined. Oddest thing though, he told me when I last saw him that you were to inherit all he owned. Naturally, I would have control over it until you were of age. The will produced after his death listed Lucille as his beneficiary.”
“He must not have met with his solicitor,” Emma suggested.
“That is what I have always thought. It was very unlike Joseph. Usually when he told me matters, they had already come to pass.”
She nodded her head, chewing on her bread. Thomas was correct. None of what they knew seemed to make any sense. She guessed that once they learned a specific piece of information, the haze would clear.
Emma poured a cup of tea. She breathed in the scent with a wistful sigh.
“Jasmine tea, my favourite! Is this from what Aunt Lucille had sent us?”
Lord Sheridan nodded. “Yes, finished off a container of it. I think we have one left.”
Lewis swept into the breakfast room carrying a tray. He bowed and placed some letters down for Lord Sheridan. Then he handed Emma a packet.
“For me? I never get any post!” She dropped her food to her plate. “Thank you Lewis!” Emma used a butter knife to open the wrapping. She peered inside. “Bananas?” Her eyebrows drew together as she pulled out one of the scandal sheets. It was a seedier one that happily used full names and caricatures to attack the elite. She had never read this particular one. Lettice adored them though and was a faithful reader.
It bore today’s date. Emma scanned the first page. There was nothing amiss. Who had sent her this? She turned to the next page. Emma shut her eyes tightly. “Oh no…”
There, upon the third page of a notorious London gossip rag, some person had taken the time and effort to sketch her likeness. Or what she realized was supposed to be her likeness. The woman had grey skin with wide hips and an over exaggerated bum and breasts. Her skirts were bunched around her waist. She was straddling a man’s face while her mouth was wide open to swallow a banana whole. The caption beneath read, “Marquess and Marchioness Dining In.”
Emma let out a cry and crumpled up the paper, tossing it across the table.
“Emma, what’s wrong? What have you received? Good God, are those bananas?” He hopped from his chair to where she sat. He reached out for the discarded paper, but Emma yanked it away from him.
“No, Papa, you should not look. It is indecent.”
“What has gotten you so upset? Did someone write about you in that trash?”
She shook her head. “Not write, Papa. They drew.” Tears dropped out of her eyes.
“Let me see.” She loosened her hold and slid it to him. Robert smoothed out the paper. His brown eyes moved over the page. His face turned a deep red. “LEWIS!” The butler appeared in the doorway. His mouth opened in shock. He had never heard the earl yell before. He never angered. “Send a footman to fetch Lord Hartwell. He is needed here immediately.”
“Oh, do not call him. It is alright,” insisted Emma. She wiped the tears off her cheeks. “It is a meaningless drawing. It means nothing.”
“This is unacceptable. You are a lady of gentle breeding. How dare they-whoever they are-label you as some--”
“Papa, it is useless to take action. Many people probably think of me the same way. If I was not marrying such an eligible bachelor, I am sure more people would be accepting. As it is, I am a Negress who will become a Duchess. They do not like it at all. It threatens all they know.”
He knew she was right. Emma was seldom wrong. It shook him to his core to think that someone he had known for years may have drawn that.
Lord Sheridan cleared his throat. “Have you fetched him yet?” He asked over to Lewis.
“Yes, my lord. I have sent James.”
“Excellent.”
“But Papa…” Emma’s voice was weak.
“Let him know. You two will decide together how to approach this.” Lord Sheridan bent down to hug his daughter. He held onto her tightly. “I love you. I do not like to see you hurt.”
“You cannot protect me from the world anymore.”
“I know. I still wish I could.” He wiped at his eyes and then left the breakfast room. Emma dabbed at her cheeks with her napkin. She dipped her fingers into her water glass and flicked it on her face. After a few steadying breaths, she felt better. Not complete, but better.
“Blast,” she whispered. Her current dress would not do for accepting callers. If Mother woke up and saw her in such a state, she would likely die to find Emma still in morning dress.
Even if one’s world was falling apart, one must always follow the rules of society. Especially when they pertained to clothing. Like all the queens and tragic lovers who met their fate, Emma would buck up and put on a pretty frock.
“Something green,” she decided. “Lewis, where is Mary?”
The butler bowed to her. “She stepped out, Lady Emma.”
Frowning, Emma paused on the stairs. “Did she say when she would return?”
“No.”
“Very well. Please send up Anna to help me.”
Under normal circumstances, Caroline would take her correspondence into the back parlour. It was quiet and no one bothered her there. However, today was not normal. Emma rose with the sun this morning when she was most likely to laze about in bed until at least two.
The house was in uproar over some matter. But none of the maids she stopped knew. Caroline would have to ask her sister. Lately, the focus of the house was on her. It suited Caroline fine. She had been the star for too many years. She also needed to devise the best way to inform Mama that this would be her last Season.
Since today was abnormal, she should have realized sooner that the back parlour would be occupied. Even if she had considered the possibility, she would not have known that its occupants were lying on the couch in a compromising position. At least they were engaged.
In the doorway, she paused to stare at the couple. Emma lay atop Thomas. His hands were tangled in her hair to yank out her hair pins. The intimacy of the motion stilled Caroline. Thomas had never been that way with her. Throughout all the years he had professed his love to her, their kisses never shared any real passion. It was obvious to her now that he kept it in reserve for Emma.
She stepped back into the hallway and shut the door firmly.
“Was that the door?” Emma asked.
“I do not think so,” replied Thomas. Then they were quiet.
The blonde shook her head. Now where could she go? With Mama visiting with a caller in the sitting room and Papa in the study, Caroline only had the library left. She did not mind libraries. But as everyone had their own room in the house, Emma had claimed the library at an early age.
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