“They will be staying at Sheridan House indefinitely,” Henry offered.
“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands together happily. “I suppose I could order a new gown or two as well…” she said thoughtfully.
“What about your trousseau?” Thomas lifted his eyes to the ceiling where a floor or two above, her wardrobe was bursting at the seams with frothy satins and delicate muslins.
“I want a bottle-green evening gown,” she stated firmly. “I think the colour looks well on me. Don’t you agree?” She peeked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. Thomas stilled, eyes closing as he was hit by a memory.
A delectable memory of Emma clad in only the bottle-green dressing gown. Her olive skin glistened in the candle light, glowing against the rich fabric. But then she slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall into an elegant heap on the thick carpet.
“Bottle-green?” he mumbled absently. “Yes, it looks magnificent on you.”
Thea covered her mouth to hide a smile. Bottle-green did, in fact, look well on Emma. She thought of the expensive dressing gown she wore that fateful night at the Seaside Arms. Ah, her inn! What would become of it now? Should she shut it down? Sell it? She would ask Lord Sheridan’s advice. Having lived so long without the intervention of man, Thea was happy to give her problems to another to fix. At some point, there was not much she, as both a woman and an African, could do to further her life. The truth was unsettling, but one could not ignore it. Besides, she was tired and her soul was quiet for the first time since she heard of Joseph’s death.
A sigh escaped her lips. Joseph Wren. She missed him still. The wanting came in waves and for once she did not want to smother it. It would soon engulf her entire being. Grief must be dealt with when the time arrived.
Emma’s clear voice cut through her thoughts. “Mrs. Wren? Mrs. Wren?”
“Forgive me, Lady Hartwell. What is the matter?”
“Please do not call me Lady Hartwell. It feels so grand. Emma will serve just fine,” she insisted. “But would you like to accompany us on the shopping trip tomorrow?”
“Are you sure that is wise?”
“Dressmakers will garb anyone for the right price and title. I am the daughter of an Earl, daughter-in law of a Duke and wife of a Marquess. They will accept you and dress you with a smile upon their faces.”
Her surety of the power of the men in her life almost made Thea laugh. This child knew all too well what men could do for her.
“I will send armed footmen along too as I always do when Emma goes out.”
“What need have we for armed footmen?” Juliet asked, considering it to be an unnecessary extravagance.
“There was an occasion when a man accosted me in a bookstore. He just shoved me and said some nasty words. It was not matter truly, but Thomas felt it would be b—“
“’It was no matter’?” he repeated, tone aghast at her words. “Emmy, you should be able to freely buy books and walk on the street without fear of strange men attacking you!” His voice boomed in the ears of all present. Juliet went wide-eyed at the ferocity in his grey eyes.
“It is not as if it is the same as the time this man---“Emma clapped a hand over her mouth. “Never mind that,” she said smoothly. Thomas just stared at his wife.
“What man did what?” he grunted.
“Now is not the time for this discussion.”
“I am sure the others are awaiting our return,” Lord Sheridan stated, looking to Thea and Juliet. Thea took the bait and rose to her feet.
“Yes, I should like to get to know them better.” She pulled Juliet to her feet. “Let us follow Lord Sheridan to the sitting room, dear.”
“Just Henry,” reminded the aging earl.
Within seconds they safely removed themselves from the library. Thomas counted to ten before allowing himself to speak again.
“What. Happened.”
“It was at that rout at Lady Worthing’s a few weeks ago. I left to go to the powder room when one of the guests—ah—well, frankly he grabbed at certain parts of my body after pushing me onto a balcony. He said there was some bet at Brook’s on…eh…’deflowering the half-breed.’” She coughed to cover her shaking voice. Thomas had turned away from her. She stared at his straight back and broad shoulders. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.
“Who was it?”
Emma looked down at her hands. “I did not catch his name.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“I was sick of complaining to you about all that was happening.” She wrung her hands together, voice clouding with sorrow.
“I am your husband, Emmy. I exist to fix your problems and make sure you are respected by members of the ton.”
“But, Thomas, if I told you about them all, I am sure you would go mad. You get so angry and then storm off to go slay my dragons.” It was inevitable. His anger over the slights and barbs was limitless. Even when Emma insisted she was perfectly fine, Thomas said he had to protect her honour.
“That may be true, but you must inform me about incidents like that. That man needs to be called out for his actions. And this bet at Brook’s?” He shook his head. “I cannot allow this slight.” He let out a breath before turning to Emma. “It has been too long though,” he said. “I am sure the bet is over considering our nuptials.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “You do not have to tell me about it all, but if I am near or if any person lays hands on you, you must tell me.”
“I will,” she promised. No one would be foolish enough to speak ill of her when Thomas was within earshot. It had happened once and only once. Emma did not know what happened to the poor dunce, but she had not seen him since the opera some months ago. Rumour has it that he is convalescing in his country home after a rather savage beat-down from the elegant Marquess. Anyone who believed that was a fool.
Thomas breathed out through his nose. A quivering calmness overtook his body. The anger, for now, was gone. He only wanted to protect her from any sadness or hurt. He failed so far. How could he have missed the molestation at Lady Worthing’s rout? He recalled Emma returned from the powder room looking ashen, but she claimed to have developed a headache. He escorted her home with no further questions. She had clung to him in the carriage, drawing her strength from his warm embrace.
“I love you so much, Emmy.” His voice caressed over her body like a soft summer wind. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I love you too,” she whispered. It was strange to think she had not expected much from the year 1814. An uneventful Season and then a return to the country. But, no, this had been the most exciting year of her life. At least the lows were eclipsed with magical highs. She could handle the betrayal and murder when she considered all the good present in her life: friends, good health, new family, and, of course, a wonderful husband.
Thomas pulled away from her. He looked down at the familiar dark head. She tipped her head back to gaze at him. He offered the same smile that had so entranced her at her ball. His grey eyes crinkled in pure happiness as he beheld his precious wife.
He pressed his lips to her ears. Emma shivered beneath the light touch. Her heart stopped when he murmured, “You are the best of the Wren sisters.”
At that moment, the former Lady Emma Wren felt at peace. No fears. No worries. Just incandescent happiness and hope for the future. She was inferior to no one and would not let anyone make her feel as such again.
She was the wife of a Marquess; the daughter of a Captain; the niece of an Earl; and the daughter-in-law of a Duke.
But most importantly, she was just Emma and that was all that mattered.
Epilogue
They clomped through the wet grass and wetter mud. It was June at last. Only small patches of snow and ice betrayed the end of winter. Everywhere else one looked, the grass shone verdant and leaves budded from winter weary branches. The small group made their way to the family graveyard. For centuries, those of Sheridan blood
were buried in this ground. Only the groundskeeper had tended these stones since the family laid Captain Wren to rest.
Another death. Another body to bury. But, they had not come to pay their respects to the late Lucille Wren.
“We are close,” assured Lord Sheridan, his breath coming out in shallow puffs. His companions slowed their pace. Emma went to her father’s side and took his arm.
“I shall perish from this walk,” she whispered to him in a teasing voice. He patted her hand.
Behind them, Thomas offered his arm to his mother-in-law. Thea accepted the assistance without a word. Juliet followed last, her booted feet dragging through the muck. She had not wanted to join this outing. But her mother insisted. She needed to see his grave with her own eyes. Then and only then, could she traverse the road to acceptance.
Juliet, however, did not need that. He was dead. Her aunt was dead. Lord Sheridan was more than happy to assume a paternal role. Why dwell on the past? Life carried on even when people died. Why, every hour of the day, another soul was lost. Besides, Juliet thought, she never knew her father. Her heart did not ache in memory. There was nothing to remember. All she knew was her mother’s tales of a tall man with curly brown hair and kind eyes. A man with a gentle spirit who commanded his men without threat of mutiny. A man who had cried upon hearing she bore his child. Could such a man have existed?
She looked at the back of her twin’s head, adorned in an absurd poke bonnet trimmed in white roses. She spoke quietly with their uncle or the only man she knew to be her father. She appeared just as affected by it all as Juliet. At least she had fledgling memories of a man with laughter like warm cider. Juliet breathed out. She had wanted to stay in London.
“Here we are!”
Captain Joseph Edward Wren
Died 1796
Tricked into death, cheated out of life.
He leaves behind twins and a wife.
But on the wind, his voice assures,
Life is fleeting, but love endures.
The group slowed to a stop in front an ornate tombstone. The engraved letters of Joseph’s name had a weathered look to them. But the epitaph was new. The five of them gathered in a semi-circle around the grave. Emma knelt on the wet ground, surely staining her sprigged muslin skirts. She set her basket beside her. It was filled to the brim with assorted flowers from the hothouse.
They stood in silence, each reading the epitaph to themselves. Thea covered her mouth with her free hand, tears brimming in her eyes. Her muffled cries went unnoticed by the others.
Lord Sheridan removed his hat, clutching it to his chest. His lips moved in silent prayer over the grave of his beloved brother. He hoped his soul felt at peace now.
Emma dabbed away the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks. When her father suggested this outing, she had thought little of attending. She never anticipated the sorrow that overtook her bones. She picked up a handful of flowers, arranging them through blurry eyes.
“Let me help,” murmured Juliet, reaching into the basket for the remainder of the flowers. Emma did not know when she joined her side. Frankly, it shocked her. She had tried hard over the past week and a half to entreat herself to Juliet. The girl cared little for her attempts at conversation or finding common ground.
She turned her head fully to gaze upon Juliet. Her mouth fell open. She, too, was crying. The same quiet drops rolled down her rosy cheeks.
“Our father is dead,” Juliet said, the truth dawning in her voice.
“He has been gone for years,” Emma replied. She reached out to lay the flowers before his tombstone. Roses intermingled with lilies and sprigs of baby’s breath. “But now we are finally saying good-bye.”
“I am not sad she’s dead.”
“Me either.”
Juliet grabbed one of Emma’s hands in her own. “There will be no easy way to create a relationship between us, Emma. We are very different people who grew up in different circumstances. But, I think we can try to be friends.” Then she smiled. A tentative smile of one not used to using her mouth in such a fashion.
“We do have a long ship voyage ahead of us,” mentioned Emma. Her brown eyes were alight with merriment. “Yes, we can try.” She wiped away the last of her tears.
“It looks like rain,” Thomas commented absently as he handed a handkerchief to Mrs. Wren. “Shall we head back? We may make it to town before nightfall.”
“Yes, we should go,” Thea agreed with a nod. “Juliet still has so much to pack.”
The twins helped one another to their feet. Then they both flanked Lord Sheridan.
“Come on, Papa, let’s go home.”
He blinked his eyes a few times, focusing upon the visions before him. “Thea, will you and Juliet do me the honour of walking back with me?”
Once they found their walking partners, the group set off. A cool gust of wind blew across the meadows and the graveyard. Their passage did not last for long. They halted upon hearing a hollow whisper of, “Thank you,” on the breath of the wind. Thea shivered, a chill running up her spine.
Emma’s head jerked to look at Thomas. His dimples deepened as he smiled.
“But on the wind, his voice assures/Life is fleeting, but love endures.”
###
Thank you for reading my book! I hope you enjoyed it! If so, please leave a review at your retailer! Look forward to a sequel of Emma’s further adventures.
Thanks!
Chelsea Roston
About the Author
Chelsea Roston wrote her first story when she was twelve years old. Fortunately, it is lost to time as she soon realized she had no idea what she was doing. With time, she hopes her skills have improved. She spends her days attempting to enrich the minds of youth while daydreaming about plot holes and character traits. At night, her writing gets interrupted by cats traipsing across her keyboard.
The only part of North Dakota she likes is being able to keep ice cream frozen in her car for most of the year. She would rather live in a big city too many restaurants and too little apartments. This is her first novel.
Colors of a Lady Page 18