The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part sixty-two

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, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61

Chapter Seventeen

Emerald

“The Earl of Wroxeter, the Countess of Wroxeter and Lady Rosalind Farrow.” The Butler bowed as Emerald rose, her gaze looking helplessly towards her aunt before she looked at the drawing room door. This call was unexpected and unwanted and The Duke and her uncle were out.

She stepped forward instinctively as an older woman walked into the room.

Emerald had heard the carriage, then looked from the window to see Richard alight and then she had sent her maid for her aunt and run downstairs. She was not dressed for company. No one called this early usually.

“Countess…” Emerald curtseyed deeply. Richard had brought his mother.

Had he come to hound her again? She had not slept last night, not a wink, and she was tired and confused. Her heart thumped out the rhythm of her fear and anger.

Last night, The Duke had told her she was embarrassing him. “Slapping a guest and then meeting him in the gardens.” She had been seen by the servants and her aunt had been told. “Your actions imply something occurred between yourself and that man and rumours shall begin to that affect if you carry on with such behaviour.” The Duke had pressed. But he had not asked what did occur, even though she was sure she had blushed. He believed her foolish and pure.

She was neither.

“Wroxeter is a rogue, simply keep away from him.” he had said at the end of his diatribe.

But here he was. As Emerald rose from her curtsey he walked past his mother and took her hand to bow over it as his gaze captured hers for the instant before he bent. Without gloves she felt the warmth and texture of his kiss. When he let go, her other hand covered the spot. She was unsure whether it was to protect his kiss, or comfort a wound.

“Miss Martin,” he stated as she belatedly remembered to bob another curtsey at him.

“Please do sit down,” her aunt stated.

“I shall ring for some hot water for tea,” Emerald used the excuse to turn her back on them and gather herself up from her shock.

When she turned back his mother was seated facing her aunt, and his sister on the sofa where Emerald had been sitting. Richard was standing by the fireplace, in a posture which reminded her of his stature on the poop-deck as he had looked ahead.

“It is an honour…” Her aunt was saying to the Countess, Emerald did not listen as she took her seat, her eyes fixed on Richard. He smiled at her but said nothing.

“My son insisted on coming early. He wishes to resolve this.”

This? Her?

“Have you seen the paper?” The Countess seemed as cold and serious as her son. As her son in his business skin.

“No, I––” her aunt floundered for an answer.

“Well you ought to, Richard is accused of indiscretion and there is enough gossip. I cannot abide more. It is all over the gossip columns, that Miss Martin travelled with him and was then seen to slap him.”

“You are not to care what the papers say,” his sister whispered, leaning closer, covering Emerald’s hand with her own as it rested on the sofa beside her. “Richard has explained everything to me. He told us your mother died and that he knew she was ill and had not told you. We are to plan another public reunion so the gossips will be unable to talk behind your backs.”

Emerald looked at him, but he said nothing as his mother explained the same idea to Emerald’s aunt in more detail.

Emerald faced his sister. “He is presuming then that I want amity between us?”

She laughed. She was dark haired and brown eyed like Richard, but she had none of the stiffness and coldness he and his mother shared. “I do not know what he wishes, this is my mother’s idea.”

“What did the papers say exactly?” Emerald asked looking up at Richard.

“Miss M slapped the infamous Lord W at her own engagement dinner and was then seen to meet him privately the following day.” Richard’s voice cut through the room silencing the other women’s conversation. “Some say, Miss M had a previous relationship with Lord W; they are both lately returned from India.”

Oh. Heat bloomed beneath Emerald’s skin under his unflinching gaze. He knew everything that she knew.

“And how do you intend to repair this?” her aunt asked, of Richard.

“It is not my son’s issue you realise, it is His Grace’s as he is engaged to Miss Martin.”

“His Grace is not at home,” Emerald responded looking from Richard to his mother. She had never imagined Richard having a mother when they had lived in India. He’d been an entity––born of the world not humanity.

“My mother has suggested that you join us at the theatre this evening.” It was Richard who placed the invitation and he spoke to Emerald.

She looked at him once more. “I cannot see how my spending time in your company will help the situation.” She felt intensely uncomfortable facing him amongst his family.

“The invitation is to yourself and your fiancé. If the Duke is with us people can hardly continue speculating. Will His Grace be willing?”

“I am sure he will,” her aunt answered.

And yet he had expressed often that he hated Richard.

“Then it is settled,” Richard’s mother answered.

It was not settled. She did not wish to spend time in Richard’s company.

A knock struck the open door. “Come, bring the tea in,” her aunt called. “Set it down then go.” As the maid put the tray down on a table Emerald’s aunt looked at her. “Will you pour?”

Emerald nodded and rose. “How do you take your tea Countess, Lady Farrow?”

“She likes it with lemon.” She jumped, rattling the cup and saucer in her hand as Richard spoke near her ear. She’d not heard him move closer.

She poured the tea and placed a slice of lemon in the cup.

“I’ll take it.” He took the cup from her hand, meeting her gaze as he did so.

She poured her aunt’s next and he returned to take that. “Rose likes hers with milk and sugar,” you know how I like mine, the words were not spoken but she heard them, a reminder of their familiarity.

Her heart steadily thumping she poured his sister’s tea and let him take it then poured filled a cup for him. He he liked his tea strong.

When he came back for his cup he took it from Emerald’s hand, his fingers clearly deliberately grazing hers before he turned away.

Her hand trembled as she poured her own tea.

“Your father will be here soon.” The comment was made by Richard as she retook her seat.

She looked up at him. He was still standing as everyone else sat.

“You will need his consent,” he continued, holding her gaze.

“Miss Martin’s Uncle is her guardian. My sister-in-law gave my husband the right,” her aunt responded, taking exception to the comment.

Richard’s dark gaze past to her aunt, his eyes challenging her response with his cold directness. “Still I know Mr Martin would wish to be present, and I know Miss Martin would not wish to marry when he was not there.”

“My father cannot leave Calcutta,” Emerald answered, her voice shaking as much as her hands had a moment ago.

“You think he will not come?” Richard’s gaze came back to her, his eyes dark onyx pools of reassurance surrounded by rich brown.

She shook her head, “He cannot leave India on a whim.”

“Miss Martin, my experience of your father is that he would move heaven and earth for you. You cannot doubt he will come? When he hears of the loss of your mother…”

To be continued…

The Marlow Intrigues: Perfect for lovers of period drama

The Tainted Love of a Captain #8 – The last episode in the Marlow Intrigues series

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

Jane’s books can be ordered from most booksellers in paperback

Go to the index

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the story of the real courtesan who inspired The Illicit Love of a Courtesan,
another free short story, about characters from book #2, A Lord’s Scandalous Love,
the prequel excerpts for book #3 The Scandalous Love of a Duke

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-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.”