Emma nodded and followed Courtney to the sofa, where she watched as Richmond walked to her brother. The men whispered together before Edgerton nodded.
“Courtney, may I have a word, my darling?” Edgerton said, holding out his hand to his wife.
Emma had no idea what was going on and wondered if she’d find out anytime soon. She’d barely touched her tea when her mother hurried into the parlor.
“Your Grace, I just heard about Lady Charlotte’s accident,” Lavinia said, rushing into the parlor. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Richmond nodded. “I must check on my sister,” he said before exiting the room without a backward glance.
Lavinia rushed to Emma’s side. “What happened?” she whispered furiously. “Do you have any idea the damage you’ve caused?”
Emma’s mouth fell open at her mother’s accusation. “Mama, a rabbit spooked Charlotte’s horse. It was an accident.”
“I’m sure it was your idea to drag Charlotte out on one of your rides. What will His Grace think of you not being properly cautious of his sister’s well-being? His bad opinion of your recklessness could cost you the chance to make a good marriage.”
Emma nodded miserably. “But—”
“You’ve ruined the house party. The only thing the guests will be talking about is Lady Charlotte’s accident and the duke’s displeasure, not what a good time they’ve had at Emerson Hall. I certainly don’t relish having the Duke of Richmond unhappy with our family. How couldyou be so reckless?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll do whatever I can to help Charlotte,” Emma said.
“See that you do. Now, I must go to the dining room to soothe our other guests as they learn about this fiasco. I can’t even imagine the gossip that will make its way back to London. You know how much I dislike gossip. I’m most displeased with you, Emma,” Lavinia said before sweeping from the room.
Courtney went to Emma to offer comfort after Lavinia’s stern lecture. “My dear, don’t let this upset you overmuch. Edgerton has gone to talk to your mother. It was most unfair of her to blame you for the accident.”
“Thank you, Courtney. If you’ll excuse me,” Emma said, her eyes filling with tears. Her mother’s anger wasn’t something to take lightly. Having both Richmond and her mother displeased with her was too much to bear. It would be best for everyone if she made herself scarce for a while. She went out the French doors to the garden. It was her place of comfort, and she needed the solitude more than ever after this morning’s events. Her perfect summer now lay in ruins, and she had no one to blame but herself.
***
Richmond had paused outside the parlor door when he overheard Lavinia berate Emma. How dare she put such guilt on her daughter? It was an accident.He wanted to go to Emma, take her in his arms, and soothe away her tears. He hated to see her so upset. She was becoming very dear to him, more than he’d ever thought possible, and he wanted to protect her, even from her mother.
He was relieved that Edgerton had been accommodating to his request to stay at Emerson Hall while Charlotte recovered. He wanted the chance to be near Emma while he tended to his sister’s needs. He wished it wouldn’t be inappropriate to go to her now and comfort her. More than anything, he wanted her to know he didn’t blame her for anything and that he cared little for any gossip that might reach London.
All he cared about was her.
Chapter 8
James, Lord Bishop, trusted agent for the Crown, studied the crowd gathering at St. Peter’s Field in Manchester. The Manchester Patriotic Union had organized a rally to promote a law that would allow all male citizens the right to vote regardless of income, property, or religion. Two years ago, a petition had gathered three-quarters of a million signatures and was submitted to Parliament, but the House of Commons had flatly rejected it. Now the people were more restless than ever, and they’d come today to listen to a famous orator who advocated for reform without insurrection.
It was one of the largest rallies Bishop had ever seen. Men, women, and children crowded the grounds, and as he passed through the throng, he listened to a few snippets of conversations. Some advocatedpeaceful protest, while others thought the only way to change things was through violence. He wondered if the Home Office was aware of the conflicting opinions. There were more than just rumors, and he needed to gather as much information as possible before writing to Director Jeffries.
Shouts erupted from the crowd when the orator appeared on the platform, but the Manchester Yeomanry Cavalry charged into the people before the man could utter a single word. They were trying to reach him, most likely to arrest him, but the crowd was too thick, and the horses became mired in a sea of humanity. Drawing their sabers, the soldiers began to hack their way through the people, driving the crowd into chaos.
Seeing a soldier bearing down on a woman and child, Bishop jumped into action, struggling through the crowd to reach them. In the mass confusion, he was stabbed in the side by the soldier’s saber as he pushed the woman out of the way. Intense pain filled him, and he barely kept his feet under him. If he went down now, he’d be trampled in the confusion. Grasping his side to try to stem the blood, he helped the woman and her child to their feet and fought to make a path for them through the stampeding crowd. He left them a safe distance from the melee and hurried away.
By the time he reached his horse, he was weak with blood loss. He’d never make it back to London in his present condition. He had to get to Emerson Hall and report everything he’d witnessed to Edgerton. No one could have predicted this massacre, and as he rode away, he had no idea how many innocent citizens lay wounded or dead behind him.
It took many agonizing hours of riding, desperately trying to keep his seat, to reach Emerson Hall in Warrington. Bishop rode up to the kitchen entrance and slid from his horse. His feet went out from under him as soon as they touched the ground, and he landed hard, biting back a groan. He had no energy left to drag himself to the door. He drifted, weak and getting weaker, until an older woman in an apron bustled out the door and, seeing him, stopped short, trying to comprehend the scene before her. Bishop lay motionless in the dirt.
“Oh, my!” she screamed, running to his side.
Mr. Hunt, the Emerson Hall butler, heard her cry and raced outside after her. “Mrs. Spencer, what’s wrong?”
Bishop forced his eyes open when he heard the butler’s familiar voice. “Get Edgerton,” he whispered weakly, fighting to keep his eyes open and losing the battle.
Recognizing Bishop from his previous visits with the viscount, Mr. Hunt said, “I’ll send some footmenout to help carry him into the house while I inform Lord Edgerton.”
Mrs. Spencer nodded as she looked at the pale man lying so still in the dirt. “Hold on, sir. Help is coming.”
