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R ichard handed over his purse, but Duncan handed it back.

Instead, he took out four calling cards and signed each.

On the back, he marked a fair amount for each man.

“If you will bring these cards around to Duncan Place either this evening or tomorrow, my butler, Mr. Fields, will see you are paid the amounts I have listed on the back of each, and he will present you a small meal. It is likely best to call at the back, for Mr. Fields will receive you more graciously there. My man is quite a stickler for proprieties.”

“We understand, sir,” the older man said. “You are most generous. If there be nothing else, my lord, we should return to our coaches.”

“Absolutely!” Duncan said and shook each man’s hand, as did both Graham and Richard; though Orson’s frustration still rested close to exploding, he knew shaking a man’s hand in appreciation of service was one of the first lessons Duncan had taught each of them.

With the exit of the porter and the carriage drivers, Richard collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. “Lady Emma must be frightened senseless. I swore I would protect her and...”

“And now you are going to get up off your arse and save the woman you love,” Duncan ordered. “No son of mine permits a... well, I do not use those words before my daughter, but you know what I mean. We have no time for your doldrums. What towns are north of Hornsey?”

“Tottenham Manor,” Graham suggested. “Fitzroy Square is a speculative development intended to provide London residence for aristocratic families. They were built by Robert Adam and two of the man’s brothers. Because of the war production has slowed.”

Richard snorted. “Naturally you would know about such projects, but what names might we associate with the Tottenham Manor project?”

“Fitzroy. Adam,” Graham began. “George, John, Frederick, Sackville, Grafton, Charles, Portland. Perhaps, Dorset.”

“Why Dorset?” Mrs. Ottoway asked.

It was Graham’s turn to shrug his embarrassment. “They used Portland stone brought by sea from Dorset.”

“What else is north of Hornsey?” Richard repeated.

“Cherson House.” Duncan suggested. “Bounds Green House. Wood Green Cottage. Grange. Chitts Hill.”

“No ‘Babbington,’” Richard repeated the obvious.

“What of Palmer’s Passage?” Theodora asked. “It is a street. The lower part of Gardner’s Lane. Named after James Palmer’s almshouses.”

They all turned to look at Theodora as if she had grown an extra head. “Lady Emma’s butler could be Miss Babbington’s father?”

Graham asked. “Could it be so obvious?”

“If so, that would mean Lady Donoghue had an affair with her family’s butler before she installed the man at Donoghue House,” Richard stated the obvious.

“Explains why the man spoke harshly to the house’s current mistress, the girl who displaced his own child,” Miss Ottoway surmised.

“And why Mr. Palmer did not burn the threatening messages,” Graham surmised.

Duncan said, “We must find Lady Emma. We can discuss what we should have recognized previously. Theodora...”

“I am not being sent home just because I am a female,” the girl said. “Lady Emma shall require my care.”

“I was going to suggest that you ride with Graham,” her father corrected. “Mrs. Ottoway, if you would be so kind as to straighten the room so Lady Emma does not return to this reminder, you would have our gratitude.”

“Absolutely, my lord. Please express my honest concern to the sweet dear.”

They still had no real reason to believe Palmer’s Passage was an accurate destination, but it was the only sensible choice based on what Mr. Sawyer had shared. “Could it be so easy that Palmer and Miss Babbington were Lady Emma’s attackers?” Richard asked Duncan.

“When people attempt to cover up their wrongdoing, it is rarely so easy to resolve. I can envision father and daughter attacking Lady Emma, but I still believe they did not leave her in Covent Garden, though we shan’t know with confidence until we locate Lady Emma and Miss Babbington.”

Duncan remained quiet for several minutes.

“While we are busy elsewhere, Graham and Theodora will secure Donoghue House. I sent a message to both Marksman and Beaufort to assist Graham. They are to question each of the staff and detain Palmer. I asked Graham to search for the sapphires. Obviously, or perhaps not so obviously, either Miss Babbington, Palmer, or Lady Emma ripped the lilies from the ground. The gold sapphires are the key.”

“Lady Emma kept saying. ‘Cannot find the three...’,” Richard explained. “I am guessing either the father or daughter threatened her, and when Lady Emma could not produce the sapphires, they beat her. I do not believe I have ever seen a gold sapphire. Have you? How rare are they?”

“I imagine most people believe they are topaz,” Duncan said. “I purchased a pair of yellow sapphire earrings for Elsbeth for our tenth wedding anniversary. I thought of presenting them to Theodora when she marries. I want Elsbeth there beside her.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts.

Richard’s were of Lady Elsbeth presenting him with his first telescope.

She always seemed to know what each of her boys desired more than anything.

He did not mind so much when he was sent to his room “to think upon what he had executed against one of his brothers.” It did not matter if he had lost his privileges, for he could look out upon the night sky, and hear Lady Elsbeth whispering, “It is an amazing world we live in, Richard,” as her arm would come about his shoulders.

“Just remember that the sun is strong enough to hold the planets in their places, but soft enough to coax flowers to open and seeds to grow. You must learn to be equally as strong, and for those you cherish, show them your gentleness, for you have an amazing heart, my boy, and that heart is the most precious gift one could ever receive.”

He wondered again about Lady Emma. Could he be both with her ladyship?

It was no wonder she was so frightened: She had been twice denied her memories, first, with Lady Donoghue’s absence from her life, and then, with the beating she had sustained.

Emma had had no “Elsbeth” to set her feet on the right path.

Richard asked, “Who should we approach regarding Miss Babbington when we reach Palmer’s Crossing?”

“I am thinking we should speak to the local watchman,” Duncan said.

“If nothing less, someone noted a hackney driver from Hornsey, though, when we describe Miss Babbington, someone will know of whom we speak. Obviously, if the chit travels regularly to London to speak out against disenfranchisement, she is equally as vocal in Palmer’s Passage. ”

When they stepped down from the original carriage, Emma thought perhaps she could run or signal for assistance, but Miss Babbington kept a gun at Emma’s side as they left the original coach.

They walked perhaps a mile in silence before they came to one of the busier streets in the small town.

Under different circumstances, Emma would have enjoyed exploring the small shops with Lady Theodora at her side.

“Do not think it,” her companion warned.

“I was not,” Emma assured. “I was thinking how delightful it would be to enjoy the shops with a friend.”

“But not with me,” her traveling companion accused.

“There was a time I thought we were friends,” Emma admitted.

“But not sisters,” the woman countered. “Not someone with whom you dared to share your position in society or your clothes or your meals.”

“They were not mine to share,” Emma declared.

“They belong to my father. Despite your apparent relationship with my mother, nothing at Donoghue House belongs to her. English law could place us both in gaol if I gave away part of Lord Simon Donoghue’s property.

Even if Lady Maria Donoghue did so, she could be equally charged with theft.

Women have no legal rights: Such was our cause.

It was why we stood before earls and barons and viscounts and even dukes to demand they see women as more than property. ”

“Grow up, Emma,” the woman hissed. “We were there to draw attention to our lots. You were the only one who really thought we hoped for enfranchisement.”

“I was not,” Emma declared righteously. “I know others believe as I do. Women should be treated with more respect.”

“You think your precious Lord Orson will treat you as more than simple property?” her sister snarled.

“Just do yourself a favor and swallow your righteousness,” she ordered as she raised her hand to hail another hackney.

“Do not think of alerting the driver. At this range, a bullet can tear a hole through your insides.”

Obediently, when the coach stopped before them, Emma opened the carriage door and set down the dangling steps.

Placing her foot on the first rung, she hoisted herself into the box and turned to sit on the backwards-facing seat.

It was then that a more recent memory arrived.

It was the sound of Lord Orson’s voice, assuring her and reminding her that she was not alone.

He was carrying her away from the chaos of Covent Garden while whispering that she finally had an ally.

A protector. A friend. And perhaps soon, a husband and the father of my children , her mind announced.

Looking to her so-called sister, Emma realized in order to have it all, she had to survive this encounter.

She could no longer be the victim—no longer depend upon others to rescue her: She must assist in gaining her freedom.

Once her sister also stepped into the carriage, Emma demanded, “Did you do this to me?” as she moved her hair to the side to expose more of the cuts upon her cheeks and temples.

No immediate response came, but her carriage mate stared at her with what Emma would call apprehension.

“What do you want?” Emma continued. “And do not tell me the yellow sapphires, for I have no idea where to search for them. I will pay you to take your tale of woe and go away. Leave me be, and I shall leave you and your stratagems to reside elsewhere.” A long silence followed Emma’s challenge.

At length, a bit of laughter finally slipped over her sister’s lips, followed closely by a mocking salute as the coach rolled forward.

Relationships did not matter to her coachmate.

The threat was real, and Emma would likely be called upon to create her own opportunities to know freedom.

Now, she had the backbone to do just that.

Next, she must claim the chance to do so.

“And you are confident this Mr. Clements took up two women, one dressed in a light blue gown?” Duncan asked. They had stopped where three hackney drivers had congregated along the main street in Hornsey.

“Aye, my lord. We’ve all seen the one not in blue previously. Many of those from London won’t carry passengers even as far as Hornsey. Those who regularly depend upon transportation to and from London proper speak of changing coaches, at least two, sometimes three, times.”

Another of the men said, “The two ladies came walking up from the main road. The plainer one raised her hand, and the one in blue crawled into Clements’s coach.”

“Do any of you know the ladies’ destination?” Duncan asked as he pressed a shilling in each man’s hand.

“Palmer’s Passage. I have driven the woman there upon several occasions. Near the end of the road. Next to the last house. Set back a bit from the road. Small cottage. Not a terrace house. Fence about it. Three windows along the front. Most would only have one or two. Appears more prosperous.”

The last few miles to her destination had proven to be a wet, stained world as Emma looked out of the scratched glass of the let carriage.

Hues of brown covered everything visible by moonlight, and a chill crept into the already dreary interior of the carriage.

Drops of rain dripped from the eaves of all the buildings they passed, and as dark shadows reached across the road—the trees’ top branches were tangled together, creating a drape holding back the downpour—the tapping of raindrops on the coach ceasing momentarily.

Even so, odors of damp soil and molding leaves crept into the closed carriage.

If she could have her wish, Emma would curl up in a ball and sleep, but such would be too dangerous with her present company holding a gun on her.

She wanted to tell herself all this was a nightmare, but Emma knew otherwise.

The threat was real. Her “sister” was real.

The terror was real, so real the air she breathed felt as if she shared it with the Devil himself.