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“Not that I could tell,” Richard admitted.

“Though it was the night’s middle, and you must remember, lilies are bulbs.

A few might have survived in that manner.

All I could see without having a lantern to assist me was that the bed where the lilies and the other more exotic flowers were planted had recently been changed.

The bricks had been moved to provide it a more heart-shaped appearance, rather than the semi-circle, which the outline of the bricks in the dirt indicated.

We have had no rain since the night of Lady Emma’s attack to wash away the imprint of the bricks.

You know what I mean,” he said to his friends.

“That small raised ridge of dirt that forms between the bricks, no matter how close they are set beside each other.”

“My mother will be devastated,” Lady Emma said. “She always asks about them when she writes to me.”

Beaufort asked, “The flowers assuredly have sentimental value, but unless the petals were made of gold, why would someone wish to rip lilies from the ground?”

“That is a most excellent question.” Richard turned to the woman who held his heart in her grasp. “Lady Emma, have you any suggestions?”

She looked at him as if he had just slapped her, and Richard knew instant regret. “I hold no explanation.” She stood then, pausing only long enough to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt with her palms. “If you gentlemen will pardon me, I shall leave you to your conversation.” With that, she was gone.

“I apologize,” Beaufort said in dismay.

Richard meant to rise and to follow her, but Graham held out a hand to prevent his doing so.

“Lady Emma has had several more memories and a unsettling encounter where she thought her attacker had returned. Beaufort and I found her curled up in a tight knot on the floor beside her bed. She had relived her attack in her mind.” Richard again half rose from his seat to follow her, but once more Graham motioned for Richard to wait.

“Beaufort and I have discussed it. We think our shooting yesterday affected her.”

“You believe someone shot at her?” Richard demanded. “I found no evidence of that nature when I discovered her. Could someone have used a gun to strike her?” He could not imagine how frightening such must have been for Emma.

“We were well away from the house,” Beaufort assured, “so the sound of gunfire would not have been as if someone was firing shots nearby. Cook said the gunfire sounded more of the nature of someone chopping wood.”

“How did Lady Emma describe it?” Richard demanded.

“Her ladyship said nothing of the sound itself, but she spoke of again experiencing each blow exacted against her.”

Richard sat back into the loose cushions tossed upon the settle. “My God! Someone struck her over and over while she cowered at his feet.”

“Though the lady did not describe what she experienced in those terms,” Graham summarized, “such was what both Beaufort and I assumed.”

“What do I do now?” Richard pleaded.

“What you have been doing,” Graham assured. “Her ladyship must first remember before she can truly forget.”

Emma was not assured whether she was thankful Lord Orson had not followed her or devastated by his abandonment.

She supposed she was very experienced at being alone, and so she would be again.

“ It would be different if I could truly recall what occurred. Being alone in the world is an art that many cannot tolerate. Did I consider myself above others who were also alone? Was my beating my punishment for my vanity—for thinking myself above all other singles in this world?”

She sat in the chair where she might look out the window.

“Were they correct?” she asked a cloud crawling across the sky.

“Am I unlovable? Would not my parents wish to be in England to celebrate my reaching my majority? Have they even considered the day? Why did I permit others to paint me into a box? An empty box, at that ?”

Emma heard the sound of the front door opening, and she rose to peek out the window facing the front of the house to view Lord Beaufort providing instructions to Lord Orson’s footman, who carried in his lordship’s trunk, while the Orson coach rolled away towards the rear of the house.

“ Which room will Lord Orson occupy? ” she asked aloud, though no one was near to respond.

“Three of the six bedchambers already hold occupants. Hopefully, it will be the vacant one across from me. Despite being vexed at the man, I would feel safer—just as I did at Duncan Place.”

“ Duncan Place ...” she mused. “ Filled with expensive antiques and fine china and artwork, but also with love and acceptance and noise and teasing. What of Donoghue House? ” She assumed there was little of her in the house except, perhaps, her quarters.

“ Hopefully something of me can be found within there. How cold and hollow might my life truly be? Does it reflect in my home? What of Lord Orson’s house?

I imagine it resembles Lord Duncan’s, though without a feminine touch.

Very masculine. Could I prove to be an accomplished mistress for his homes?

Likely not, for I have never been made to make such decisions. Would his lordship care? ”

Though she could not speak to the interior appearance of Donoghue House with any confidence, she suspected little had changed since her paternal grandmother had been its mistress.

Her own mother had never lived within its walls.

“In truth, neither have I,” she whispered.

“ Lived, that is. I have reportedly shouted my disdain, while secretly hoping some great man would notice me. Notice how essentially lonely I am. ”

Tears filled her eyes again, but she dashed them away with the knuckles of her balled fists, vowing once more not to continue to cry.

“Face it, my girl,” she warned her heart, “you are unlovable. Forgotten by your parents. No one even thought to look for you when you went missing. Not a parent. Nor a sibling. Nor a servant.” A small smile claimed her heart.

“ Only Lord Orson. Though, in truth, he had not come to Covent Garden for me. In fact, I do not know why he was in that particular area, though I recall him saying to the coachman that he would return the coach for his friend. Sir Hunter, I believe the name is. Likely, he and his friend were visiting a house of ill repute. Even so, Lady Theodora said the earl has set his heart on me, but, first, I must prove myself worthy of his notice. ”

Emma sighed heavily. “I must begin with what I know.

I hold memories of my parents, so I have not lost all my reasoning.

My father was a bit pleasingly plump and his brown hair was thinning, when last I saw him, but he always presented me with a smile.

My mother is petite and always perfectly coiffed.

Auburn hair. My parents held me to high expectations regarding my behavior, for it was a reflection of them as British diplomats.

Perhaps, such is why I chose to protest with the other women.

“ Though I do believe their cause is an excellent one, mayhap I wished my parents to learn of my actions and, finally, take notice of how they have left me to my own devices for too long .” Even as she spoke her criticisms aloud, Emma recalled how her parents often had included her in their entertainments and how they shared long, leisurely afternoons every Sunday in games or conversations or reading.

When a soft tap came on her door, Emma jumped in surprise. “Lady Emma, it is Lord Orson. Might I come in?” he said close to the door.

Emma rushed to admit him, quickly shoving the door closed when he entered. She needed to speak her apology without an audience. “I am grieved for being so difficult earlier.”

“You are not difficult,” he claimed. “The world, as you knew it, has been turned upon its head. Your only fault, my girl, is that you take no credit for how strong you truly are.” His hand cupped her chin and his thumb stroked her cheek. “I admire you more than words can express.”

“Enough to kiss me?” she asked with a blush. “I know it is not appropriate, but I have missed you holding me. I feel safer when you are near.”

“I am prepared to follow your order, my lady,” he said with a warm smile. Orson leaned in and pressed a brief chaste kiss against her lips. “Will such suffice, Lady Emma?”

Instead of words, she caught his lapels and pulled him into her. “Do I appear satisfied, my lord?” she challenged.

Her fingers traced his chin line and the curve of his lips, while his hand spread heat along the curve of her back. “You are too tempting, my lady,” he whispered.

“Am I to speak my regrets, my lord?” she murmured against his neck.

“I have missed you terribly, Lady Emma,” he admitted, as his fingers traced her chin line and buried themselves into her hair.

“Even if I am constantly falling apart?” she asked, as she studied his countenance.

“You are one of the strongest women I have ever encountered. I cannot imagine any I know within the haut ton , or elsewhere, for that matter, who would still be fighting to know justice. Most would declare themselves to be a victim.”

“I have moments when I do feel the victim,” she admitted, “but not regarding the attack. Rather how I have permitted myself to be a single in a world meant for people to travel two-by-two.”

Emma did not know how much she wished to view something resembling affection or even desire upon Lord Orson’s features until it was there.

“If you do not wish me to kiss you again, my lady, say so now, though, please know, I do not intend for my next kiss to be a simple expression of my concern for your injuries.”

When she did not respond, again Lord Orson leaned in, but it was not the passion she had expected and was afraid not to know. Instead, his lordship placed another gentle kiss upon her lips. They remained as such as her hands rose to cup his face.