The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part fifty-five

The Truth

Posted as a gift of my time and thoughts to the readers of my books, thank you for the lovely messages of appreciation,

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this novel should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18 ,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33,34,35,36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54

Emerald

The black lace fan that Emerald swayed beneath her chin was now the only black in her attire, she was in half-mourning, in mauve. She lifted it a little higher to cover her face, so she could stare across the top of it. The ballroom was crowded. Sometimes in this country there so many people they were crushed in, shoulder to shoulder. She could not dance because she was in half-mourning but even if she could she did not think it would be pleasurable in such a tight squeeze

The room felt suddenly suffocating. “I feel faint Aunt Millicent, may we find some air?” It was so thin in here, with so many people breathing it and the noise was becoming irritating. People talking over the orchestra playing in the gallery above and their feet tapping on the parquet floor all intermingled. It had made her head ache.

“Nonsense child. It is too cold to go outside this evening.”

Emerald sighed and turned to The Duke of Sunderland, touching his arm, he was speaking with a friend. He smiled down at her. “Forgive me,” she said to the Duke of Pembroke, whose conversation she had interrupted. Then to her Cousin she said. “I have a headache, may we take the air.”

“And I have told her it is far too cold,” her aunt pressed.

“It is not cold,” The Duke of Pembroke, responded, smiling , “I was outside myself earlier, the cooler air is refreshing. Take Miss Martin on to the terrace, Sunderland. Such a pretty lady cannot be allowed to suffer in this heat.'” The comment was punctuated by a bark of laughter.

“Come then, Cousin. Excuse us.” The Duke of Sunderland lifted his arm towards her, as he gave his friend the slightest of bows.

She laid her fingers on his arm, recalling the times she had accepted Richard’s arm.

Her aunt trailed behind as they began to walk about the hall, passing through the crowd that parted for The Duke.

Women looked at him as they moved out of the way, and then at Emerald with eyes that expressed envy. She should be happy, everyone in this room would be happy to be with The Duke of Sunderland. But she could simply not lift herself out of the doldrums. She had become trapped by unhappiness. It was ungrateful. But she was bored and lonely most of her days and the homesickness that had sometimes whispered on the ship, screamed.

Her friends in Calcutta would have lifted her mood and made her laugh. Her father would have held her.

Perhaps when she could dance she would feel better, life was so tedious when it was constant conversation and everyone said the same thing. Afternoon calls, at-homes, late breakfasts, garden parties, then came dinners and musical evenings and balls. Her cheeks ached constantly from pretending a smile, and her head hurt from trying to maintain a placid conversation when they spoke of her mother who none of them knew.

A footman moved and opened the French door before The Duke could. The cool night air rushed into the room. Her aunt had probably been right, but Emerald breathed in the refreshing air and stepped out beside The Duke. Of course the men were in their shirts and coats, she had bare arms and thin silk gloves.

“Is that better?” The Duke asked as he turned her to the right to walk along the terrace. The sun was setting on the far side of the river and the lawn and trees was gilded with the last throws of sunshine.

“I feel cooler, yes,” she said, as a shiver stirred the arm that held his.

“Would you rather leave early?”

“No.” That would be cowardice, and she was not a coward. This was what her father and mother had wanted her to do. “Thank you. I will be happy to return to the room in a moment.”

He walked to the balustrade and stopped, looking out across the garden, silent. Her aunt stopped and waited behind them.

In her head she stood at the rail on the ship beside Richard, and he was pointing out stars to her, while her heart was breaking over fear for her mother. Where was he? He had said he would come back but he had not. He had lied about that too.

The Duke never spoke to her of his business, he would disappear in the morning after breakfast and leave her with her aunt and uncle. She knew he attended the House of Lords, sometimes he’d speak of it to her uncle, but never to her.

With Richard she had never been bored.

Here, her aunt and uncle told her what she may and may not do, and her Cousin treated her with condescending gentleness. She felt like a child among them. The dumb little bumpkin, raised in India, who must be taught even the merest social act. She should rebel for the sake of her sanity, but she did not have the heart. This was what her mother had wished for.

Another memory of Richard came to her, of him leaning over the charts beside her, pointing out their position and route. Richard had conversed with her as an equal, as her father had. And that had been before they were close.

She missed him suddenly. It was foolish but it was true. Every time she remembered the knowledge swept over her like a high wave crashing over the deck in a storm. Had he returned to India? Her heart ached for India, for her father and for Richard. There it was admitted. But nothing could be done. Perhaps that was why she was letting herself recall her affection, because it was too late. This was her fate.

‘It is a very pretty sky, is it not?’ The Duke commented.

‘It is.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Let us go back.’ Running away would not help.

Richard increasingly pushed into her thoughts. He was in her mind every hour now his memory had been unleashed, and despite believing he must have returned to India long ago she started looking for his card in the hall every day and listening for his name when the door knocker struck.

The last words he had spoken to her played in her mind as she listened to others speaking. “I wish you to know my feelings are unchanged, Emma. I am staying in England. I will give you time to grieve. But afterward I shall call upon you.’

Why had he not come then? ‘

“I love you, believe me. Believe I meant you no harm. I did what I did for the best.”

Was it because she had pushed him away. “What we had was built on a lie. You were wrong.”

To be continued…

The Marlow Intrigues: Perfect for lovers of period drama

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The Lost Love of Soldier ~ The Prequel #1 ~ A Christmas Elopement began it all

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan #2

The Passionate Love of a Rake #3

The Scandalous Love of a Duke #4

The Dangerous Love of a Rogue #5

The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel #5.5

The Persuasive Love of a Libertine #5.75 now included in Jealous Love, (or free if you can persuade Amazon to price match with Kobo ebooks)

The Secret Love of a Gentleman #6

The Reckless Love of an Heir #7

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Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romance stories, and the author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Romance novel in America, ‘The Illicit Love of a Courtesan’.Click here to find out more about Jane’s books, and see Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part fifty-four

The Truth

Posted as a gift of my time and thoughts to the readers of my books, thank you for the lovely messages of appreciation,

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this novel should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18 ,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33,34,35,36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53

Richard

It had been weeks, and it need not be much longer.

With hands clasped behind his back, Richard stood before the hearth looking down at the flames that licked at the wood. The room was chilly, perhaps not to others but to his body that was used to the temperatures of India.

Beyond the one announcement in the paper stating that, Miss Emma Martin, distant cousin of the 5th Duke of Sunderland, had arrived in town and was residing with his Grace, following the sudden and unexpected loss of her mother, wife to the Governor of Calcutta and granddaughter of the 3^rd Duke of Sunderland, Richard had heard nothing of Emerald. But they had both been in mourning, and therefore tied to the house.

But not hearing about her had not stopped her from haunting his thoughts, he constantly wondered how she was. He had feared for her, wanted to call upon her, but knew he should not. She had not been able to accept visitors in full mourning. It would raised comment if he had called. He could not even claim that he was a close friend bringing felicitations and comfort, he ought to be nothing to her. He was merely the owner of the ship that had brought her here.

Was she happy? Was she with child? No. She could not have been, it would be known by now. Had she forgiven him?

The air dragged into his lungs.

As much as he could not lose the vision of her from his mind, nor could he lose the image of Sunderland. That man had been with her every day for weeks, and every time Richard thought of it envy licked at him like the flames about the wood.

Every morning he took his letters from the tray with a thumping heart, looking for her handwriting. It was never there. He still looked. His feelings were unchanged.

What of hers? Did she ever think of him?

He turned away from the fire, his hands separating, as though in a movement to go somewhere. His body urged him to run – to go to London. To speak to her.

He had never been uncertain about anything in his life until he’d met Emerald. He was uncertain in this. He feared if he spoke to her he’d not convince her to have him.

He crossed the room and sat down at the desk to try to focus on the ledgers again.

His father’s will had been read the day after his return and then, within hours, Richard had left London to take over the main property of his father’s estate. Not his father’s––his. Richard had to keep reminding himself of that. He had received the entailed property and nothing beyond it. His younger brother had been given everything else––the livestock in the parks, the furniture and ornamentation, the pictures of their ancestors, the farm machinery in home farm, everything, even down to the utensils in the kitchen. Their father had left Richard the bricks and mortar he had to and nothing else.

It was a damn good job Richard had spent his life amassing a fortune. It was also his good luck that despite Frederick’s initial antagonism, he had more sense than their father. Frederick’s reaction to the will had been a surprise. Richard had initially imagined Fred a spoiled, greedy and jealous man. He’d been wrong. Frederick’s frustration had been empathy for their father. Frederick had probably been too young to understand why Richard had left. However Frederick had not approved of the mutilation of the estate. His response to the will had been anger. He had not liked to be used as a pawn in their father’s revenge. He had refused his inheritance and signed everything over to Richard before leaving the solicitor’s office.

Richard had tried to thank Fred before he’d left London, but his brother had also refused the gratitude.

It had taken a dozens letters flying back and forth to persuade Frederick to take something. In the end he had agreed to a sum to be put in trust, and an increase in the sum of Rose’s dowry. An outcome of their communications had been a fragile peace, and Frederick making several visits here to bring Rose to see him.

Richard had been working with the steward here, going over everything to understand how the place operated, fighting impatience, looking at the facts and figures, the stocks, the yields, planning out what to do. It was all profitable, from everything Richard had seen his father ran a tight ship, little was wasted or lost. Richard did not need to be here, not really, and yet if he were not here, where would he be? Not on a ship back to Calcutta, he was waiting for Emerald. In London, then, knocking on the Duke of Sunderland’s door.

It was better he was not tempted and remained here.

But her deep mourning period was over within the week, and that was what was making him particularly fractious. Because why the hell was he not in London?

Because he could hardly be the first to call. He breathed out heavily, unable to focus on the figures.

He would wait another three weeks. He did not wish to risk her reputation in any way and calling too soon would insight the memory of the fact that she, and he, had been aboard a ship with the crew and servants their only chaperone for weeks. But in those three weeks he must decide what he would say.

How was he going to persuade her to accept his renewed offer?

He had made her stronger. She had made him a coward. The truth was he was avoiding the moment for fear he would not succeed.

But calling on her in three weeks would be unexceptional. Expected almost. He had said he would call. He was an acquaintance; he had reason to pay his respects.

***

In the next days, as Emerald ventured out of the house, word of her grew, she became the talk of the social press.

‘Miss Emma Martin, the Governor of Calcutta’s only child, who recently arrived in London, was seen on the arm of the Duke of Sunderland’––in Hyde Park––in the Duchess of Gloucester’s drawing room––at the theatre––in Oxford Street.

‘She is stunning,’ it was said. ‘Quite remarkable.’ ‘Charming.” He laughed at that, Emerald, his siren of the sea, enchanting, enthralling––but charming? It implied a sweet nature. She was vibrant and glowing, not sweet.

There had been speculation about him in the papers for some weeks. There had been rumours; the will had been made public, but not that Fred had given him everything back. But as the interest in Emerald grew, the supposition about him waned.

By the second week her name became linked with other influential men, lords and politicians; she was taking London by storm even though she was still not attending parties or balls.

Envy cut him harder as he told himself to hold fast for one more week. But the interest she was arousing may help him. If he called on her more than once it would be assumed that she had caught his interest on the first occasion as she had snared everyone else’s.