Page 22

L ast evening, Richard had executed his duties to Sir Hunter to the best of his abilities and with only a modicum of ribbing on his part.

Marksman and Thompson had departed by the time Richard had arrived home, leaving word that they meant to partake of the alternating-weekly games offered at Lady Victoria Jenest’s home this evening.

A widow, left nearly penniless by her late husband and equally indifferent son, Lady Jenest dared to break the law by hosting games of chance for friends and highly placed members of the ton in her home, converting sitting rooms and the supper room into rooms for a variety of card games and skills of the players.

Those who partook of the activities paid a small fee to attend, and Lady Jenest also received a portion of the winnings.

Yet, those conditions were not discussed with others of the haut ton .

Richard knew his friends hoped to learn something of importance of what surely would be a seditious effort by the growing number of Luddite sympathizers among those not only in the working class, but society.

Ordinarily, Richard would have been keen to join his friends, but not this evening, though he had made a point of calling in at his club for a small meal and conversation and to know assurances he was seen by his fellow members of the aristocracy.

He held no desire for cards and drinks. He thought it impossible, for their coming together was only for a matter of days, but he missed being in the same room as Lady Emma.

“I understand Sir Hunter did his duty to Lord David’s daughter. You attended him?” Lord Orlando asked.

“Signed his wedding register as witness,” Richard responded. “Wickersham and his new lady meant to travel to Guernsey for several days. The baronet maintains a small estate on the island.”

“Using your yacht?” Orlando questioned.

“No, Wickersham purchased one of his own over this last winter.”

“That is capital!” Orlando declared.

That had been two hours earlier. Now, Richard was sitting in the dark in his quarters and sipping a brandy, his mind firmly on Lady Emma Donoghue.

When had his whole world shifted so far from his well-ordered life?

The answer was easy: More than a year ago, nearly two, he had viewed Lady Emma Donoghue locked arm-in-arm with a line of women, none of whom could he recall, only the woman who haunted his dreams. “Only the one I have kissed. Often kissed,” he added with a smile.

“ How did everything change so dramatically? Was it purely coincidence that the man I followed led me to a part of Covent Garden where Lady Emma had known trauma?” he wondered.

“Face it, Orson, the answer is more than a bit evident: Lady Emma has you wrapped around her little finger, and the woman does not realize how lost I truly am. Lady Emma is the reason I traded away one of my favorite guns to my friend so Beaufort would escort the woman to Buckinghamshire and keep her safe until I arrive. She was the reason I wished I possessed a means to prevent Hunter Wickersham from making a mistake that would haunt my friend for the remainder of Hunt’s days.

“ A relationship is not the joining of two people who each are emotional invalids. It is two complete people who join together for something greater than himself or herself. The potential for happiness should rest equally on the shoulders of both. ” he considered seriously.

Yet, Richard inherently knew he and Lady Emma were a better match than Hunt and the former Miss Elizabeth David.

“Obviously, I am not supposed to approve of a woman who had belittled my lifestyle at the top of her lungs. I could have my pick of more than half of the ton’s eligible young ladies to serve as my wife and, if I was so inclined, another dozen that would gladly take on the role as my mistress.

Yet, Iam not of that nature. Since setting my eyes upon the woman, she has become the ideal by which I judge all others.

Will likely forever judge all others ,” he told himself.

Buckinghamshire proved to be lovely. She did not think she had ever visited the area.

Tall trees lifted their majestic limbs upward to claim a bit of the pale blue sky and the brilliant sunshine.

Her traveling companions had again fallen asleep.

Emma thought they had missed some of the most beautiful scenery possible, though she supposed they had viewed it often enough.

Even so, she wondered if she had traveled much in England. Somehow, she doubted doing so.

The villages they had traveled through had been vivid patches of green.

Flower boxes full of multi-colored crocuses and bountiful wildflowers in the open meadows said May had been genuinely welcomed in England.

A tall bronze steeple of a church off in the near distance reached upward into the heavens and threw purplish shadows on the ground.

“Incredibly serene and welcoming,” she murmured.

She prayed their destination would be likewise, for she sincerely wished for serenity.

She glanced to where Lord Beaufort stirred.

He slowly opened his eyes and smiled at her.

As she had noted previously, the man was quite a handsome young man with dark blonde hair that shone with bits of copper highlights.

His large brown eyes widened beneath darkly arched brows.

“We are nearly to Whaddon,” he said as he looked around to know his bearings.

“You should not have permitted me to sleep so long,” he chastised as he pushed himself up in the seat.

“You obviously required your rest,” she remarked.

One could easily view his Norman ancestors in the man’s features. He was taller than Lord Orson, by whom Emma had come to judge others. When had that happened? She could not say with any confidence, but it was true.

Even after riding for hours in a cramped carriage, Lord Beaufort could walk into any house in Mayfair and not be shunned for his untidiness. He wore a rust-colored jacket with dark brown lapels and a white cravat and a dark green waistcoat.

The carriage turned onto an access road. “What should I expect from this lodge?” she asked.

“It is not as rustic as you may have imagined,” he said in honest tones.

“Not too small nor too large. Imagine a farmhouse with a half-dozen bed chambers, a small kitchen and morning room, and a few sitting rooms. I employ more than a handful of staff to maintain it. A woman will come in each day to cook and two others to clean. Its main advantage is it sits upon a hillside so it will be difficult for anyone to approach without our knowledge.”

Emma did not respond, but rather nodded her understanding before again turning her attention to the scenery. They crossed over a gray stone bridge that spanned a steady stream of water, which appeared to be eight to ten feet deep. Smaller oaks and maples and willow trees lined its banks.

“The stream also passes through the last village we came through. Believe it or not, this water will eventually feed into the tributaries leading to the Thames and later to the North Sea,” Lord Beaufort remarked, and Emma turned her head again for a closer look.

There was a path through the woods and then a clearing filled with wildflowers. Their odor was heady, and Emma closed her eyes to savor it.

“The countryside has a strange effect on some people,” Lord Graham said from somewhere off Emma’s right side, but she kept her eyes closed and reached a hand to the man, who obviously sat forward to take it.

“I was going to say some people fall in love with the strong scent of fields of flowers, while others grow nervous and long to escape. Are you of the second nature, my lady?” his lordship asked as he switched seats to sit beside her.

She knew she had frowned, but Emma did not wish to abandon the memory.

“Keep your eyes closed, my lady,” Lord Graham coaxed softly. “Tell me what you see.”

“My mother’s lilies,” she whispered.

“What of them?” His lordship stroked the back of her hand.

“The yellow ones. Ripped from the ground.” She opened her eyes then to look upon a face others might find appalling, but Emma considered it to be comforting.

“Did your mother plant the lilies?” he asked in tones barely above a whisper.

Emma’s eyes searched Lord Graham’s face for its steadiness.

“Mother never lived in the house. She and my father have always served England elsewhere. She dug up the bulbs when we were in the Netherlands and packed them so I could plant them in the garden at Father’s London home.

She said I would be taking part of something she loved with me.

I planted them on the second day of living at Donoghue House. My governess assisted me.”

“And to the best of what you are able to recall, the lilies have been torn from the earth?” his lordship pressed.

“Yes. I broke into tears when I saw them. They are all I have of her. The lilies and the...”

“And what, my lady?” he asked in soothing tones.

Emma frowned. “I am not confident I can say.” Tears rushed to her eyes. “I simply see myself on my knees and in the dress in which Lord Orson discovered me. I was hovering over the lilies attempting to prevent their destruction.”

Lord Graham slid an arm about her in comfort.

“Orson will not be leaving London today. Likely not until Sunday. Beaufort can send a rider with a message. With your permission, I will explain both of the memories you have shared with me today. Perhaps Orson can concoct a means to view your garden and determine the state of the yellow lilies before he sets out for Buckinghamshire.”

“I do not wish to place Lord Orson in danger,” Emma argued.

“His lordship will practice great care,” Lord Graham assured. “Moreover, it will do my friend well to learn bits of your memory have returned. My note will provide him renewed hope of your recovery.”