“Why do you say that?” she asked.
Richard shrugged his response. “My explanation will sound odd.”
Theodora smiled at him. “I enjoy a bit of ‘odd.’”
“You always were inquisitive,” he said with an easy upturn of his lips. “Lady Emma is bold. Responsive. She is a bit fearless, for she has had no one to warn her not to stand before a powerful man and address his shortcomings at the top of her lungs and not expect some sort of strike against her,” he said in complaint, but Richard could not erase the smile from his lips. “I found nothing,” he explained, “that indicated an altercation had occurred near where I discovered her, and she was too disoriented to have walked far, especially with no shoes. One thing I asked of Mr. Rheem last night was to examine Lady Emma’s feet. If she had walked about for long while barefoot, her feet and stockings would have been cut to shreds from sharprocks and glass and God only knows what else is on the streets of Covent Garden.”
“So, you are of the persuasion to believe the attack came from someone the lady knows?” Theodora surmised aloud.
“Perhaps not intimately,” he said with a silent prayer for his instincts to prove truthful, “yet someone who is familiar with her habits.”
Theodora did not respond immediately, but Richard knew what she would ask. “Is there any information regarding who shot my father?”
“None beyond what you already know. Aaran means to attempt to work his way into some of the Luddite groups to learn if the attack on your father was purposeful,” Richard explained.
Emma was thankfulfor the efforts made by Lord Orson and Lady Theodora. Mrs. Chester and a footman had delivered the bag and the small truck. “Lord Orson and our young mistress have brought you some of your things so you might feel better in wearing your own clothes, though Lady Theodora says you should continue to use the ones I borrowed from her so you will have several options.” Mrs. Chester was unpacking each of the items reverently, shaking out the wrinkles, and handing them off to Marjory to hang in the wardrobe.
“You’ve shoes of your own, at last. See.” Mrs. Chester held up the shoes for Emma’s inspection, and she nodded her agreement, but she had no idea whether they were truly hers or ones from Lady Theodora’s quarters. “Would you care to wear a pair now?” Mrs. Chester asked. “You’ve been pattering about barefooted since Lord Orson carried you into this room. I find my feet are always cold when I do not wear shoes, even in the summertime.”
“I have not truly minded,” Emma admitted. “It was quite freeing, but I had thought if Lord Duncan would not mind, I would like to explore the garden I noted below. Do you think his lordship would object?”
Mrs. Chester said diplomatically, “Though I am confident Lord Duncan would not mind your praise of his garden, I suspect Mr. Rheem would prefer you did not venture too far. Mayhap, we might ask Lord Orson to escort you into the garden. We would not wish you to go out alone and then be frightened by not having someone near or by something you heard on the street. You require a bit more time to recover. You’ve not been with us even one full day. Do you not think my suggestion is wise, my lady?”
Emma accepted a pair of slippers and stockings and sat in a nearby chair to place them on her feet. “Naturally, you are correct,” she told the housekeeper. “It is just that the garden appears so tranquil and peaceful from what I can view from this room’s window.”
“It is lovely,” Mrs. Chester remarked as she placed undergarments and stockings into the drawers of the wardrobe.
“Do you suppose I have a garden at my own house?”
“I would imagine such is so,” the housekeeper said as she turned to Emma. “Most of these great houses have a substantial vegetable garden and a floral one, as well, though none of them could be as large as the ones upon their home estates. Lord Duncan is said to have an extensive garden at both his Scottish estate and the English one he inherited in the country.”
“You have not viewed them yourself?” Emma asked.
“No, my lady,” the housekeeper remarked as she turned to Emma. “I was born and raised in London proper. Likely I will die in London proper.” She paused to extract something from the bottom of the cloth bag. “Have you a need for these letters, my lady?”
“Letters?” Emma reached for the stack, tied together with a black ribbon, thinking they might be from her parents and could provide her a return of her memory, but when she looked upon them, fear struck through her, and she backed quickly away from them. “Please put those away for now,” she managed in what she hoped were not words of alarm. “I will read them later. I would not wish to jog my memory too quickly. Mr. Rheem said I should do so gradually.”
Emma held her breath until Mrs. Chester returned the letters to the bottom of the bag and squeezed the empty bag into a space at the bottom of the wardrobe. “Likely we should consult Mr. Rheem first before you read them again,” the housekeeper said. “You chose wisely, my lady.”
“It will be daunting enough to read them alone. Perhaps Lord Orson would agree to sit with me while I open up familiar memories. His lordship always seems to know what is best in those situations. Though I have not known him long, I have come to depend upon his judgment.” Emma pulled her legs up under her to sit in the chair Lord Orson had used last evening. She was not confident she knew why the letters had frightened her, but her instincts said they were not ones she should consider right now.
