Any unease that petrified her would quickly be forgotten when she remembered her husband was close by, watching. How clever they had been to have him leave their home more than an hour before her. He'd gone to William's where he dressed, emerged a woman, and was assisted onto a fortified cart to sit next to one of the senior members of the Birmingham army. She'd been shocked to learn her husband's family needed so many highly qualified armed guards. It wasn't as if William was still dealing in gold bullion. Adam had explained that they still shipped large amounts of money throughout the Continent, as well as in the British Isles.
At Madame De Guerney's she was greeted enthusiastically by the owner. "Oh, Mrs. Birmingham, I am so happy you have come. Your beautiful gown is ready for a fitting. You have saved me a trip to Curzon Street."
How did the modiste know her home was on Curzon Street? Emma's heart sank. Had Maria lived there? Had Madame De Guerney brought Adam's mistress's gowns there? Thinking of Maria made Emma low. That explained why Adam had not told her he was in love with her. Hadn't he once told her that he would always love Maria?
Emma was confident that Adam loved her—first, like a stray pup, or a cherished relation—perhaps even as a lover.
But he was not in love with her as he'd so agonizingly been with his long-time mistress.
She tried on her gown, and when she peered in the looking glass, her eyes grew moist. I am going to meet the queen. A month earlier she would never have believed it. What a grand adventure she was having since she'd come to London.
The waist needed to be taken in a bit more, then Madame would have it delivered to her. That's when Emma remembered that Madam's staff had delivered all her pretty dresses there shortly after her marriage.
Perhaps that odious Maria had not lived there. Emma sighed. Would she ever have the courage to ask Adam if Maria had ever lived at their house?
When she left the shop, she tried to surreptitiously determine if anyone gave the appearance of being interested in her, in following her. She didn't think anyone was. Many men as well as women crowded the pavement on either side of the busy street, and so many conveyances constantly swept past, seeing those on the other side of the street proved impossible.
The only way she could see those behind her was to stop and peer in the shop windows, which she frequently did. But no one seemed to be interested in her. What a pity all these Birmingham soldiers—and Adam, bless him—had gone to such lengths to nab Ashburnham and the evil men he associated with, and it was all for naught.
Ashburnham was most likely still waiting for the man with the eye patch to return from the north—with Emma. How long would it be before he even realized she'd gotten away, that his man had been killed?
She had watched carefully as her coach had pulled away from their house earlier that afternoon. Not a soul appeared to be following them.
How long would they have to keep trying to entrap Ashburnham? How long before he realized she had safely returned to London? How tedious this was going to be.
As she strolled along the pavement, she casually moved her head toward the street and tried to catch a glimpse of the cart Adam was riding upon. She didn't see it. Of course, he would be following at a discreet distance. She could see him if she fully turned around, but she could not do that.
Even if all of this was for nothing.
On this stretch of the street, foot traffic was particularly thick. More than once she was bumped into. Being bumped into and having a strange man breathing down one's neck were two entirely different things. Now a man was practically affixing himself to her back. She walked faster. So did he. She was about to turn around and reprimand his rudeness when he spoke into her ear.
In a deep voice, he said, "Do not turn around, Mrs. Birmingham."
A chill coiled down her spine.
"If you value your husband's life you will do as I say. Turn left into the next lane. If you try to turn around, one of our men has been instructed to drive a stiletto into Mr. Birmingham's gut."
Trembling violently, she almost imperceptivity nodded. She did not want to make any move that would jeopardize Adam's life.
She quietly slid to her left at the next crossing. It was a very narrow alleyway which housed not a single place of business or residence.
A lone, banged-up, enclosed carriage blocked her progress. Its door flew open, and the man behind her picked her up and tossed her inside as if she were a sack of potatoes. He came and sat beside her.
"You're taking me to James Ashburnham," she said.
"I'm takin' ye to a place—a very private and remote place—where Mr. Ashburnham will be meeting with you."