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“None,” Lord Beaufort stated, “with the exception of my coachman and footman, who are staying in the coaching house, though they may come in through the servants’ entrance for their meals.”

“Just those two?” she repeated. “I would recognize them.”

“We will only hunt on Beaufort’s land,” Lord Graham assured. “From the entrance to here. The hillside.”

“I suppose I must soon become accustomed to being alone again,” Emma announced in what she hoped sounded of reassuring tones, though her heart had begun to race again. “Go. Enjoy your day.”

“You may hear gunshots. As I said previously, we are seeking birds today,” Lord Graham added.

“Thank you for your explanation. I shall be well.”

Within a half hour, the men were gone, and Emma felt a familiar feeling, one she immediately recognized as being indicative of her life: being alone. She stood in the middle of her bedroom, taking time to study it. “Lovely,” she murmured, “every detail carefully appointed.”

The walls were covered with a pale-yellow material, almost white and richly embossed.

The rug was a light gold. French windows opened out onto a small balcony.

The draperies hung over the bars with alternating gold brocade and white sheer panels.

She had not paid much attention to the furnishings last evening, but, today, she took a closer look.

The bed drapes were also gold colored, but with floral leaves and flowers.

She lifted the bedding’s hem to look at the needlework—alternating red roses, purple irises, bluebells, and pale-yellow lilies. Her finger traced the flower. And again. And again.

“Just like those at home,” she murmured.

Emma sat heavily on the bed and tugged the hem upward into her lap.

“I am grieved, Mama,” she whispered as she continued to trace the flower’s outline with her fingertip.

“I failed you.” She laid out along the edge of the bed, tugging the cover’s hem up and over her and had a good cry.

Emma had no idea how long she had remained as such, but long enough for the shadows to lengthen and the soft zephyrs of a breeze to tease the curls about her face and to send the sheer drapery at the windows fluttering in the air.

“ I should go below and claim a small meal. I wonder if the cook would think it odd if I asked to eat in the kitchen ?”

As she stood to smooth the wrinkles from her dress, an unexpected image arrived, and she stumbled to a halt.

In the image, she was sitting at the servants’ table in a kitchen she easily recognized.

She, her cook, Mrs. Strauss, and Emma’s lady’s maid, Alberta, and nearly a dozen more were laughing and talking over each other until Mr. Palmer entered.

“You should be above, my lady. Your mother would not approve.”

Emma could feel the tension in her shoulders, just as it had been on that particular day.

She could see herself objecting. Then, the rapid sound of gunshots had Emma crouching on the floor beside the bed.

Part of her mind was announcing that Lords Beaufort and Graham had known success in their endeavor, but another part, the one refusing to leave the image of the scene at her household, prevailed.

Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might burst. In the recesses of her mind, she covered her head to protect herself, but the blows about her head and shoulders did not stop.

Someone kicked her hard in the side and along the legs.

With each sound of the guns, Emma made herself smaller and smaller, curling tighter and tighter into a ball.

“Lady Emma,” Lord Graham coaxed. “Come, my lady.”

His lordship made to lift her from the floor, but Lord Beaufort said, “I will do it.”

Emma had cried herself out. Her face must have been a wet mess and quite swollen, but Lord Beaufort ignored her appearance.

Instead, he lifted her, still curled in a ball from the floor and placed her upright in a nearby chair.

Kneeling before her, he said, “We would not have frightened you for the world.” He claimed one of her hands and held it between his two, as if warming it, while he stroked along her forearm with his thumb.

“It was another memory,” she confessed. “It was so real; it was as if I was living it again.”

Lord Graham asked, “You remembered something of your attack?”

“I recall someone striking me over and over, and I was begging him to stop,” she said in a whisper so as not to disturb the memory.

“Do you wish to speak more thoroughly on what occurred?” Lord Graham asked in tender tones.

“When will Lord Orson arrive?” she asked in desperation. Though Emma appreciated Lord Graham’s kind care and Lord Beaufort’s strength, she wanted both combined in one man: Lord Richard Orson.

“Duncan required Orson for a meeting this evening regarding the attack on Lord Duncan,” Lord Graham explained. “Moreover, I sent word of your other memories to Orson. I hold no doubt his lordship planned to examine the garden at your home.”

Emma shoved to her feet. “I could not bear it if something happened to him because of me!”

“Orson will know caution. His lordship—all of us, in fact—have experienced special training in such stratagems,” Lord Beaufort assured. “Orson is to leave London after church services tomorrow morning.”

“Will Lord Davidson follow him? Does not Davidson have someone watching Lord Orson’s house?” Emma asked in concern. “Such is what I was made to understand.”

“Even if Davidson wishes to follow Orson, his lordship will lose the man before he ventures into Buckinghamshire and long before he comes anywhere near this lodge.”

“Another of Lord Duncan’s teachings?” Emma asked without amusement.

Graham said, “All of us were left not only alone in this world, but also in danger. Lord Duncan did what was necessary to provide each of us a future, and such meant demonstrating, first, how to avoid danger, and, if such was not possible, how to eliminate it. In reality, every person on this earth should learn those lessons, for we all must face obstacles in our lives at one time or another to make us stronger. We simply take the tenets a few steps further. We do not act for personal good, but for God and country.”

“How is protecting me part of the ‘God and country,’ of which you speak?” she demanded.

“You are a daughter of the realm. Your parents have served this empire for more than two decades. Moreover, Richard Orson holds you in affection. However, even if he did not, he would act with the same care of your person. Such is what we have been taught. Such is what Lord Duncan, England, and our own conscience demands of us.”