“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Max grumbled. “Very well. Put her back on the donkey cart. I’ll follow in my carriage. And Chris—” He pointed at another white lord leaning against the wall. He was clearly amused by the whole situation. “Ride ahead and tell my mother what’s happened.”
The man straightened off the wall with amust I?expression, but rather than express it, he bowed with a mocking kind offlourish. “Capital,” he drawled. “I shall be in a prime place to see their faces.”
“Break it gently,” Max warned.
“Not possible,” returned his friend with a jaunty wave.
Pain was eating at her concentration. The bearers took their positions and lifted up the small palanquin, dipping and swaying her seat as they adjusted. To think she’d once wished to ride in one. What a foolish child she’d been. She pressed her arms against the cheap wood and prayed they didn’t drop her.
They left the palace as they’d come, with unsteady steps and the annoying bang of a gong. Then she was trussed up on the back of a donkey cart to sit in the hot sun while the foul stench of the city made her nauseous. Everywhere there were sound and smells, foreign sights, and the wretched beat of the sun. Once, she would have been fascinated. She would have drunk in every aspect of the world about her as she looked for advantage.
Today, she simply wanted to die. And if possible, to take these evil, wretched men with her.
She closed her eyes and fantasized about killing them, but something else slipped into her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure if it was an opium dream or a memory, but it captured her attention more clearly than violence.
Eyes the color of a blue flycatcher songbird. There was a softness to them, like dark feathers, and yet undeniably blue. She’d never seen eyes that color and they sang through her thoughts, pushing aside other things until everything became soft.
His eyes had brought her out of her daze and forced hope upon her. Even now when she wanted to sink into thoughts of death and revenge, they pushed her to wonder about other possibilities. Would he help her escape? Or was it all yet another mirage?
Chapter Three
Emmaline’s gaze wanderedpast the high back on the settee in their drawing room, through the glass panes of the windows, over the iron gate, and out to the street where occasionally someone would pass. A fashionable couple out for a stroll. A dog or a cat chasing something best not examined closely. Something, anything, to change the sameness of her days. Days which were supposed to be filled with delight and excitement at this most wonderful time of her life.
Ha!
“Emmaline! Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“You have no idea what I just said—”
“You are the most brilliant woman in all of London and your compatriots are stupid. They dress badly, set their hair in the wrong way, and say the most idiotic things. If only they would listen to you, then everyone would be much better off, but they are too stupid to know your value.” She turned her head until she was looking directly at her mother’s pinched, red face. “Did I miss anything?”
“You impertinent wretch!” her mother screeched, tears flooding her eyes. “How could you say such an awful thing to me? After everything I do for you! My every waking thought since the day you were born…”
The words went on. A litany of martyrdom. Emmaline had known she would pay for speaking so bluntly to her mother, buthonestly, how many hours of her life had been wasted sitting listening to her mother’s endless complaints? She was sick of it, sick of the days of her life ticking away to no point whatsoever. Much more of this and she would take to her paints to draw endless black lines of frustration over the canvas.
This was her third Season in London, and what was she doing? Exactly the same things she’d been doing in the country. Exactly the same thing she’d been doing nearly her entire life when she couldn’t escape into her paints. She was sitting and listening to her mother complain.
Her mother was outright sobbing now, fat tears streaming down her face. Bloody hell, if this went on much longer, then the woman would take to her bed and make everyone miserable for the rest of the week. It wouldn’t make a difference to Emmaline. She was always miserable as she catered to her mother’s every whim, but there was no reason to make the staff suffer.
Still, it was excruciatingly hard to voice the words. She did it anyway. She waited for her mother to draw breath, then rushed her words.
“I’m so sorry, Mama. I’m out of sorts. This is my third Season, and no one has looked twice at me.” That wouldn’t be enough to ease her mother’s mood. She had to go one step further. The words that felt like hot coals in her throat, but she forced them out. “Will you help me, Mama? I have no idea what to do to attract a man!”
That was a lie. She knew exactly how to attract a man. After all, she’d been doing it her entire life. All she had to do was hang on their every word, just like she did with her mother. She listened to the erstwhile suitor, focused on whatever he wanted, and gave it to him. Did he want praise? That was easy. Did he want someone to agree with his opinions and add on to his complaints? She could do that in her sleep. Did he want witty cruelty aimed at someone he considered beneath them? To herpersonal shame, she had done that as well even to the point of being cruel to a servant here or there. But she’d always felt wretched afterwards and so had sworn off that particular man-enticement.
In truth, she’d sworn off all her false tricks. They were exhausting to maintain, and worse, they were boring. And that’s where she was: bored with everyone in her life because they were so self-involved that they never once looked beyond their narrow perspective to see anyone else. To seeher. And she would not shackle herself to a lifetime of…well, of being married to the worst characteristics of her mother.
Meanwhile, her mother sniffed three times, each louder than the last. It wasn’t until the fourth sniff that Emmaline realized she was being inattentive.
“Oh, Mama! Did you want me to get you a fresh handkerchief?”
“Well, seeing as how I’ve soiled this one and half my dress—”
“I’ll fetch one immediately.”
She rose from her chair feeling like her shoulders were carrying an anvil apiece. When she finally gained her feet, she looked outside again, wishing for something to look different. Then froze when it did.
