Page 1 of Choosing Her Earl at Last
Chapter 1
“It has been my experience that change is seldom desirable,” Marchioness Emmeline Livingston, nee Frampton, informed her lady’s maid stiffly as their carriage bounced along the cobblestone streets of London, winding its way toward the Frampton family’s town house.
The bitterness in her own voice made her grimace as she scanned the hordes of people running to and fro about their daily business. She turned whisky amber eyes toward her companion in apology for her sharpness of tone. Whisps of auburn hair fluttered across her cheeks with the breeze through the windows, soft as a butterfly’s wings upon her skin.
Sarah gave her mistress a sympathetic look. Her gentle dove gray eyes held compassion, but also wisdom beyond her thirty-five years. “Change is a constant in life, my lady. It is best to come to terms with it early in life so as to save oneself from a continual state of fear.” She gave Emmeline a reassuring smile. “Returning to London for the Season will be good for you if you leave your heart open to the enriching possibilities that change can bring.”
Emmeline had hidden away from society as a whole during her first six months of mourning for the death of her husband, Norman Livingston, the Marquess of Worthington. She did not miss him. Theirs had been a cold marriage without issue, andthe estate had been passed on to Norman’s younger brother, Harry.
It was customary for a wife to mourn her husband for the span of a year. At six months, one could forego the wearing of solid black for the half-mourning grays and muted shades of purple.
Emmeline had opted for a lavender dress with soft gray trim. It was elegant, understated, and went beautifully with her natural coloring.
She eyed her lady’s maid thoughtfully across the confines of the carriage. “You may be right, but it has not served me well in the past.”
“I know, my lady, and sorry I am for it.” Sadness flickered across Sarah’s face. She had traveled with Emmeline from the Frampton family home in England to her husband’s Scottish estate upon their marriage.
She had been privy to everything that had occurred within Emmeline’s life. They had no secrets from one another. When the news had come that Norman had died in a fire during one of his many trips abroad, mistress and servant had breathed a synchronous sigh of relief that it was finally over.
Now, as Emmeline contemplated the crush of humanity that was London and theton, she for a brief moment wished that she were back in Scotland.
None of that now,she silently chastised herself.I will face whatever may come with courage and dignity. I only pray that my family does not attempt to wed me off once more upon the conclusion of my mourning period.
She lifted her chin in defiance. Never again would she allow herself to be bartered to the highest bidder. She had been young and naïve when her family had arranged her marriage to Norman.
She had been in love with another man, but she had not been given a say in the matter. While her family gained immensely from her marriage to a Marquess, she had lived to regret their decision more with every passing day.
“Freedom from an unwanted marriage is a positive change, is it not?” Sarah pointedly reminded her.
Emmeline inclined her head in agreement. “True,” she conceded. “As long as it is not immediately followed by another unwanted marriage.”
Sarah’s eyes told Emmeline that she knew she was right, and she did not argue. “You are young yet and could still marry and bear children, my lady. We both know that your family will not waste time in procuring another match for you. My advice is to enjoy the next six months of freedom that your widowhood allows.Let the troubles of tomorrow remain in the future. Today has enough concerns of its own.”
Emmeline sighed, turning her amber gaze back to the swarm of humanity rushing by her carriage window. “At least I will get to see my sister again. It has been too long, and I miss her radiant smile.”
As if on cue, the carriage turned the final corner and came to a stop in front of the Frampton family townhouse.
“Emmeline!” Her sister, Rebecca, came running down the stairs to greet them, her thick blonde curls bouncing golden in the sun. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled with joy as she flung her arms around Emmeline’s waist and embraced her exuberantly, the moment that Emmeline’s feet touched the ground.
She had barely descended from the carriage and was nearly toppled over back into it with the force of her sister’s excitement.
“Rebecca,” Emmeline greeted with a smile. She laughed delightedly as she returned her sister’s embrace. “It is wonderful to see you. You look well and happy.”
Rebecca leaned back and examined her sister’s face. “You look as lovely as ever, but there is a sadness to you that befits a woman of more advanced years. Your sorrow has aged you.”
Emmeline had never been able to hide anything from Rebecca. Her younger sister had an uncanny, intuitive nature that had a way of seeing all the way to a person’s soul. “I am in mourning,” Emmeline reminded her gently, brushing aside the truth of her feelings for a more acceptable excuse.
Rebecca cocked her head to the side, her eyes meeting Emmeline’s. “While the rest of society might believe that your husband’s death is the cause of your sorrow, I do not. I saw how the two of you were together, and there was no love lost between you.”
Movement from the corner of her eye drew Emmeline’s attention toward the Frampton threshold. Silent and rigid as a statue in a black dress stood their mother, Theodocia.
“Mother,” Emmeline greeted with a nod.
“Emmeline,” her mother’s cold clipped tone fell on her ears like icicles on a cold winter’s day. Her eyes passed over Emmeline’s half-mourning garb with disapproval but said nothing more.
It was her nature to be prim and proper at all times; such manners having been drilled into her since birth. Exuberance of affection was beyond her. Having greeted her daughter, Theodocia turned and reentered the house as silently as she had appeared.
“I see that she has remained in black,” Emmeline observed, stung by her mother’s reproachful gaze.
