Colors of a Lady by Chelsea Roston Read Free Book Online

in Paris when
she received a letter from her brother. It meant a shorter trip to
London instead of having to trek from Southern Europe.
    Having arrived in Dover that morning,
Lucille was now riding through the streets on London. She politely
refused her brother’s offer of staying with the family. She found
that her rented lodgings could be used for wedding planning and
fittings, far from the prying eyes of her sister-in-law.
    As the carriage pulled to a stop, Lucille
leaned forward to look outside at her new lodgings. Lord Sheridan
had picked them in a fashionable part of Mayfair, much to her
annoyance. Lucille had hoped to avoid any unwanted run-ins with the
ton. The carriage shook as the footmen unloaded her trunks. They
dropped to the ground with a thud. Lucille silently praised that
she had not packed anything fragile.
    With a gloved hand, she pushed the door
open, too impatient to wait for assistance. Lucille elegantly
stepped out, shoes clicking on the pavement. She admired the clean
architecture of the newer homes. Rented lodgings did not hold
ghosts of times long gone. Everywhere she was reminded of her
youth. Those follies caused by her head-strong ways. Those days and
nights of unbridled merriment that ultimately resulted in
despair.
    Shortly before her sojourn in France, they
reveled in lopping off the heads of the aristocracy. Some escaped
with their lives but lost their fortunes. To many, it may have been
better to die than to be destitute. The English did not look too
fondly upon the refugees of a country that had supported the
colonists in their revolution.
    It was 1796 when Lucille arrived in Paris.
The country was in a process of recovery after beheading their
monarchs and unleashing a terror upon the populace. They had
reached a time of relative peace with the formation of the
Directoire. In only a handful of years, Napoleon would seize
control.
    France was in perpetual war, within itself
and outside its borders. She had known and lost many dear friends
in the campaigns. The wealthy in England did not know the heartache
of those who lost their kin and dear friends in battlefields across
Europe. The memories still ached.
    “Not today,” Lucille muttered. She did not
need more ghosts haunting her. Not all of those dear friends lost
in a senseless grab for power.
    “Lady Emma...? What are you doing here?” The
voice belonged to a long-legged man who was bounding down the
street towards here. Once he was in closer view of Lucille, he
stopped short. “Oh, I am sorry. I have mistaken you for someone
else.”
    Lucille tucked a few stray curls behind her
ear and smiled kindly. “It is no matter. Mistakes happen.”
    The man's cheeks flushed. He was not yet a
grown man. There was innocence to his features that told Lucille he
had not known hardship in his life. He probably dawdled about,
spending his days at the gentleman's clubs and his nights at the
countless soirees in London homes. The life of the ton was one of
leisure. They did not have the problems of the people on the
Continent who had been ravaged by war at Napoleon's hands for
years.
    “Are you newly arrived in London?” He asked,
looking at the footmen who were carrying her trunks into the
house.
    “From France, yes. I am here to help my
niece with her wedding.”
    “Niece?” He repeated. “Are you, perhaps,
Lady Lucille Wren?”
    “Why yes, I am,” she replied. “How do you
know my name? I have not been in England for many years.”
    “Lady Emma Wren, your niece, is my
betrothed.” He paused and shook his head. “I have forgotten my
manners. I am Thomas Blake, Marquess of Hartwell.”
    “Ah, my soon-to-be nephew. How delightful it
is to meet you at last. I met you once or twice before I left for
the Continent. But you would not remember, you were still a
baby.”
    “That is out of the realm of my memories. Is
Lady Emma aware of your arrival?” It had been two weeks since their
engagement. Every single time Thomas saw his fiancée she