Devine failed her to the very end. At times she regretted not marrying him when she came of age, but this moment reminded her of his failures. He had not killed the woman at all. She lived!
“LIVED!” Lucille roared. It was no longer the past. Napoleon had risen. Her friends were dead. But soon, everything would be set to rights.
It was 1814 and the products of Devine’s betrayal stood cowering before her. “All the work I did ruined because that imbecile could not obey my instructions.” She pointed a pistol at the Thea.
Emma’s presence was not part of her plans. She had hoped to do away with Thea after all these years. But her niece’s presence stilled her finger that hovered over the trigger. Despite herself, Lucille truly loved her niece. She was not to blame for her parentage. But Thea was.
Her niece stared at her. She had angled her body in front of Thea, offering a form of protection to her long lost mother. She stared at her aunt, eyes accusing. What she suspected was disappointingly the truth.
“By the time I found out it was too late, they had been her for years.”
“I have known for some time of your crimes,” Emma said. Her back was rigid, hands balled into fists. “At first, I was appalled to even consider you as a murderess. You had always been so kind to me during the times my mother was not. If you hated my kind so much then why did you make such an effort to ingrate yourself to me?”
A wave of warmth surged across Lucille’s face as she considered her niece. She lowered her gun arm. “I loathed you when I first met you. I avoided you at all costs, but you managed to worm your way into my good graces. Far more than Caroline ever did. I don’t know why I came to love you and still despised the unclean.” Lucille choked out a laugh. “You were innocent. You did not ask to be born to such parents.”
“I still do not understand why you thought it best to dictate the lives of other people.” Emma said without rancor. “Your love for me does not excuse your actions.”
“I never expected it to.”
Thea watched this exchange with a slow-growing anger. This woman thought she knew best for the world based on the views learned as a naïve young maid. Young girls often believed the nonsense whispered from the lips of handsome men. She had been such a fool and hated herself for years. Only to find out his honeyed words were not lies at all. Too many years she had allowed her heart to grow black with hate. She still had Juliet…and now, Lady Hartwell. Emma. Emma. She had twins. Two beautiful twin girls. They were women now. Her memories of their birth had always been hazy. Now Thea considered that Rollings and Devine had been involved. She had spent that day in excruciating pain. Her final concrete memory was of Joseph’s face. The tanned handsome face she knew as well as her own. His brows were threaded with worry but his mouth smiled down at her. He had squeezed her hands with a fervent, “I love you, Thea. But they said I have to leave now. ‘Tis no place for a man it seems.” Joseph kissed her lips. “I will return just as soon as I am allowed. I cannot wait to meet our child.”
Thea did not know if she ever returned those words of love a final time. Then he was gone. Thea’s next memory was awaking in a fresh bed with a babe in a cradle nearby. She never saw Joseph again. Learning of his demise now, she wished he had, in fact, abandoned her. In that reality, he, at least, still lived happily with a new wife and family.
Revenge. Retribution. She suddenly saw no other possibility in sight. She craved it all. Thea hoisted her skirts above her knee. Emma turned her head sharply.
“Whatever are you doing, Thea? Do you need to relieve yourself? Surely…not in front of us?...” She gasped as the innkeeper pulled out a pistol of her own. She leveled it at Lucille, her dark face twisting into a sneer.
“This cannot happen,” insisted Emma. She backed away from Thea, moving towards a wall. “Are you two going to duel? Whatever will those pistols do for you? If we only sit down at talk this out, we can s--“
“Hush, child. I have spent twenty years hating myself and Joseph when it all came down to a nosy chit who thought herself to know better.” Thea stepped forward.
Lucille’s responding cackle sent shivers up Emma’s spine. “I do know better than you. Europe is littered with half-breed brats who think because they have an English father or a French mother that they deserve the same as me? I lived in France for years making sure those men and women knew their place.”
“Who are you to say that I or anyone like me is not as good as you? You had the fortune to be born an Englishwoman. If you were not, could you still claim the English to be superior to all others?” Emma’s heart beat in her chest like a stampede of horses. Once false step and they would all end up dead. Not today. She could not die today.
“Look at our empire and how we conquer the masses,” replied Lucille. She rolled her eyes. “If they were equal to us, they would be free.”
“Napoleon has done the same, as you well know,” she reminded.
“But he is losing to us.”
Emma just sighed. Lucille would argue until she breathed her last breath. Somehow she believed in her words. The stance was not a peculiar one for the English and yet hearing the words still stung.
“Enough!” Thea’s yell, laden with fury, broke through the nighttime air. She aimed her pistol at Lucille and pulled the trigger. Emma screamed, her cries certain to awake the inn. Lucille fell to the ground clutching her stomach. Blood trickled from the wound. The room began to stink of the metallic stench.
“EMMY!” Thomas charged into the kitchen with Nathaniel on his heels. Both men were half-dressed, their linen shirts open at the chest. Thomas, too, carried a pistol. Nathaniel was weaponless.
The shouts below had awoken him. Thomas appearing at his door in the dead of night was alarming. But not as alarming as the single gunshot that sent his friend bolting into the kitchen.
Emma remained rooted in her spot, back rigid against the wall. Her hands grazed across the uneven wood, splinters lodging themselves into her smooth palms. She spun her head to look at the intruders. A wild look overtook her face, trying to place these men in the chaos. Thomas let out a sigh of relief. Emmy was alive. Shaken, but alive.
“Is she dead?” she asked in a small voice.
“If I wanted her dead, she would be,” Thea explained. She dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor. Wiping her hands on her woven apron, she approached Emma. “I only shot her in the abdomen. If she dies, it will be painful. But she still may live though she does not deserve it.”
Nathaniel stepped around Thomas to view the injured party. “Why the devil did the innkeeper shoot Lady Wren?”
“Ms. Thea is Emmy’s birth mother and Captain Wren’s widow,” replied his friend. He stuck his gun in his waistband.
Nathaniel sputtered, looking between Thea and Emma. “How the devil do you always know everything?”
“I make it my business to do so.” The Marquess walked slowly towards his wife. She know sat on the floor in a heap of bottle green satin, her hair wild about her face.
“Emmy…”
Her brown gaze flicked up to him. For once, he could not read her expression. “You must have known for some time.”
“I pieced together some intelligence tonight. I could never imagine that this would happen.” He tugged on his hair, a sheepish expression tinting his grey gaze. He fell to his knees at her side.
“I should be sorry about Aunt Lucille, but I really am not. She deserved it all. I am just shocked.” Emma’s hands grabbed onto the fine linen of his shirt. She rested her head against his chest. She felt better at once. Not herself, but closer than she had been in some time.
Thea massaged her temples. “I cannot believe this still. One of my daughters is a marchioness.”
“And later a duchess,” Thomas remarked.
The innkeeper turned her light eyes to Thomas. She almost smiled. “You are my son-in-law.”
“That I am.”
“I shall have very handsome grandchildren when the time comes.”
&
nbsp; Nathaniel cleared his throat. They ignored him. He cleared it again. They continued in their ignoring. He noticed Lady Wren’s gun and picked it up. He looked it over and then pointed it to the air. He cleared his throat a final time. No recognition. He pulled the trigger. The clamor filed the room.
To answer the glares directed at him, Nathaniel shrugged. “You did not listen to me. What shall we do about Lady Wren?”
The woman herself groaned. Her hand fumbled for something amongst her skirts. Pain seared across her features with every reach. But she continued on until she grunted, fingers curling around yet another pistol.
“Good god!” Nathaniel yelped. Before a soul could move, Lucille raised the gun to her temple. Her eyes remained open, intermingling emotions struggling to the surface. A final shot rang out but the marchioness’ screams rang louder. They curdled the blood of all those in attendance.
“Now, she is dead,” Thea muttered. She lowered her voice even further, an unknown language spilling from her lips.
Sobs overtook Emma’s body. She mumbled to herself until she began to choke. She gasped, trying to take in air to her lungs. Everything was changed. It would never be the same. Never again would Emma look forward to the visits of her beloved aunt. This woman who admitted to killing her father. Then, Lady Hartwell fainted to the floor and Lord Hartwell went white.
“I cannot believe I slept through all of that,” whispered Lady Hedgeton to her husband. Two days later, Lady Lucille Wren had been buried after a quiet ceremony. Helena was still unbelievably shocked that she had slept through three gunshots and her friend’s heart wrenching sobs. Nathaniel chuckled, squeezing her hand. They stood in the drawing room at Kellaway House. It was, at last, time to bring an end to this chapter in all their lives. With the suspect dead and buried, there was no need for the interference of the judicial system.
Lord Sheridan spoke in hushed tones with the other peers in the room—Lord Kellaway, Lord Hartwell and even Lord Carradine. Nathaniel did not know why he was not invited to their conversation, but it probably pertained to matters of Captain Wren’s will. The blond did not like legal matters.
Lady Sheridan shared a couch with Lady Carradine and Lady Caroline Wren, likely swapping descriptions of favourite gowns adorned with gilded thread and lace ruffles. That is what women discussed, was it not? His wife, however, could prattle on endlessly about Napoleon and politics. Mayhap they too were discussing the latest exploits of the emperor. But then Caroline shrieked with laughter and repeated, “Tangerine feathers.” Ah, dresses.
The main feature of the event, Lady Hartwell, paced across the sitting room. She held a handkerchief in her hands that she had seen better days. Her body trembled as she walked, still remembering her aunt’s grisly death. She awaited the arrival of her mother and twin sister. It still had not registered there was another being walking around London that resembled her.
Thomas looked to his wife. He wanted to be by her side, but there was business to discuss. With the arrival of Thea and Juliet, Captain Wren’s will had to be re-examined. With Emma as the sole beneficiary, she insisted most of the money must go to them since she had a dowry from Lord Sheridan and had married the son of a duke. Money was the least of her concern. There was also couple of properties that the newlyweds would go visit while on the Continent.
The butler knocked upon the door. All the conversation drew to a halt. Thomas bowed to the other men and went to join Emma’s side. He rested a hand upon her shoulder. The door opened and two women stepped in.
“Mrs. Thea Wren and Ms. Juliet Wren.”
Thea was transformed from her role as lonely innkeeper to a fetching widow. Her dark skin gleamed and her bright eyes glowed in happiness. At her side stood her beloved daughter, Juliet. When they had heard word of a twin of Emma’s, most expected an exact replica down to the last springy coil of hair. But not Juliet. No one could ever mix the pair up. Where Emma’s dark hair was a mass of untamed curls, Juliet’s hair could be likened to chestnuts and curled lightly around her face. Instead of her twin’s fetching golden-brown eyes, Juliet peered at the word with eyes a shade darker than her mothers. Even her skin did not have Emma’s brown cast to it. Anyone who viewed her would consider her an Englishwoman or maybe even half-French.
“Wow,” breathed Nathaniel.
Emma stared at Juliet. She wondered immediately why she was taken to England and this girl remained in Africa. Clearly Juliet would have been far more suited to grow up in a noble household. Was she angry at her lot?
Juliet stared at Emma. Her twin appeared like an exotic bird next to her perfectly English husband. Yet, she was a marchioness and Juliet spent her days toiling below stairs. Fate had led them to different lives. She both hated and loved this sister of hers on sight.
“Welcome to our home. Well, it is still His Grace’s home, but Th—Lord Hartwell and I too live here.”
“Any home of mine is yours, dear girl. You are the mistress of this house,” Lord Kellaway interrupted with a magnanimous grin.
She flushed. “I had forgotten. It is still very new to me and it has only been about a week since we wed.”
“But a lovely week nonetheless,” insisted Thomas. “Except for some parts,” he amended.
“Only a week?” Juliet had taken them to be married for far longer. The way she leaned towards him and how he looked down at her reflected a long-term companionship. Maybe they knew one another in their youth.
“And still very much in love,” Thea said.
Emma began to shake her head.
“Yes, I love very much being married to her,” agreed Thomas. He smiled down at Emma, whose upturned face was thunderous.
Caroline hopped to her feet and rushed over to greet them.
“I am Lady Caroline Wren, but just call me Caroline. I am Emma’s sister…well, no, her cousin since you are her sister…but we grew up as sisters…so it is all very confusing.” She turned to Thea. “I know for sure that you are my aunt. It is very nice to meet you.”
“Really, Caro, you are confusing us all,” Lady Sheridan admonished. She soon joined Caroline’s side. “Lady Sheridan, but I do believe Constance will work just fine. I am Emma’s mother.” She paled and shook her head. “No, I am her aunt. Her only aunt now after what happened with…well, ahem, I believe that I will cease speaking.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “That was not confusing at all.”
“Mrs. Wren, I find myself greatly moved at having met you at last. We have raised Emma as our own since Joseph first returned from Africa. She is a treasure to us all.” Lord Sheridan paused and adjusted his cravat. “I must say, however, that had I known you were alive, I would have done all I could to bring you to us.”
“I am sure you would have, Lord Sheridan. There is little time to dwell upon the past. We are all together now. All of us.” She looked to the Carradines. “More family?”
“Hardly,” answer Lady Carradine with a laugh. “I am Lord Hartwell’s business partner and this is my husband, the Earl of Carradine.”
“Pleasure,” he greeted with a bow.
“Now that we are all introduced, let us take some seats and discuss Captain Wren’s will,” announced His Grace. “Then we can get to eating. I am starved.”
Surely all of these people were not needed to discuss this will. Juliet shook her head. These people were quite odd, but they appeared friendly. Not one appeared at all bothered by the death of a murdering family member and the arrival of two new ones. Except Emma. She looked to pass out at any moment. Perhaps she had a poor constitution. Her husband hovered over her, ready to catch her if at all necessary. Grey eyes slid over to Juliet. He offered her a polite smile.
Juliet’s eyes narrowed. In her experience, polite smiles from noblemen were never what they seemed. Some hours later they were usually cornering her in a darkened hallway begging her to bed them. Surely this Lord Hartwell, with the obvious care in his eyes, would not stoop to such acts. Lord Hartwell was now her brother-in-law. These peop
le were her family. Surely she could dig deep inside of herself and trust them. But Juliet did neither trusted nor liked most men. So she continued to glare.
Thomas blinked at the hostile reaction. What had he done? They just met. He turned back to Emma.
“Juliet would be a society sensation if she did the Season,” his wife commented without a hint of jealousy or regret. She turned her doe eyes on him. “Don’t you think?”
“Certainly. The ton favors those with eyes that resemble jewels. It is easier for the bucks to pen poems.”
She scoffed. “I am well aware. All poems addressed to me involve witty rhymes about my figure or my assumed sexual prowess.” Emma paused. “Oh wait, we cannot forget my heritage. Not a single praise of my eyes though they do not resemble jewels by any means.”
He did not know what to say at first. Emma’s mood had been despondent of late. The recent events did little to improve it. In fact, she fell further into a depression. Her lovely lips frowned more than smiled. Thomas hated that he could not help her regain the lightness in her heart.
“Jewel-tone eyes are overrated, my love. Those big brown eyes of yours had moved me to pitiful poetry of epic proportions. I just do not pen it to paper.”
“Truly? Are they just awful too?”
“Abominably so.”
“Could I hear just a snippet?”
“On the condition that you laugh shamelessly at me.”
“I promise I will.”
The Marquess cleared his throat, ready to embarrass himself at drop of a hat. It must be the way her mouth upturned now at the corners.
“Oh Aphrodite of the chocolate eyes/whose smile sets my heart aflame/her springy hair as soft as a cloud/Coils betwixt my lonely fingers—“
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