Page 13 of A Duke to Restore her Memory

“Frances looks particularly lovely in blue,” said Lydia, turning to Sebastian in the landau, as they trotted along the edge of the cliffs, gazing out to sea. “Do you not agree, Your Grace?”

“Pardon?” Sebastian turned from his contemplation of the sea to his sister, frowning slightly. “What did you say, Lydia?”

Lydia sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “I was complimenting Frances on the shade of her gown, saying that it suits her,” she said. “You must see how well the colour matches her complexion, Sebastian.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Sebastian hastily, turning to the lady, who looked very embarrassed at being the centre of attention. “You look quite lovely, My Lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” murmured Lady Frances, her colour deepening. “You are most kind.”

There was an awkward silence, and Frances bit her lip. Sebastian drummed his fingers on the edge of the landau’s door, wondering why he had let his sister talk him into this outing at all.

But Lydia had been particularly forceful this morning over breakfast, telling him that it was going to be a beautiful day and reminding him that they hadn’t been anywhere together in a long time.

A ride along the coastline, in the open-air landau, would be so refreshing, wouldn’t it?

Eventually, Sebastian capitulated, just to stop Lydia from going on about it. And now, his sister kept forcing him to compliment Lady Frances, which was just embarrassing for both of them.

Lydia, however, remained oblivious to their mortification, smiling brightly at them while chattering away like a starling.

I wish Georgina had come on this outing. Seeing her sitting in the landau, taking in the air would be wonderful. It would be wonderful just to see her at all.

His heart flipped just thinking about her. But, of course, there was no way he could suggest that she accompany them. Lydia would have thrown a tantrum. No way would she would have accepted Georgina’s presence on the ride … and his sister’s displeasure was not to be endured.

His heart almost stopped as they passed by the spot where Georgina had fallen into the mine.

He had made sure that it was fixed properly now – the wooden boards at the entrance had been nailed into place, and he had checked it just the other day to make sure his will had been done.

He was also investigating how the boards had been broken in the first place, leading to the accident, but so far, he hadn’t found who was culpable, much to his annoyance and frustration.

It had been three weeks since the accident. Three weeks since he had found her unconscious in the mine and taken her home with him. But she was no closer to getting her memory back.

Every day, he asked Mrs Sollock how Georgina was faring, and every day, the housekeeper shook her head sorrowfully, telling him the young woman still didn’t have a clue who she was or remember anything about her life.

He sighed. She was a stranger to this district. No one knew who she was. And no one was missing any member of their household. Georgina must have been running away from her home on the horse – it was the only explanation for it.

I must disseminate information about her further from home. Perhaps get some posters made and tack them onto walls in villages and towns. Someone must know who she is.

His heart clenched. As much as he wanted Georgina to recover her memory and return to her life, he was also reluctant for it to happen.

He was getting used to having her presence at Newquay Hall, to seeing her in the distance as she walked around the estate or sat reading in the library, even if he didn’t actively approach her or seek her company any longer. Just knowing she was there was enough for him at the moment.

“Frances wants a large family, you know,” said Lydia abruptly, turning to him with a knowing look. “She wants at least half a dozen children.”

Frances looked mortified, flushing a deep brick red and glaring at her friend. Sebastian passed a weary hand across his forehead. Lydia was truly relentless.

“That is nice,” he said politely, inclining his head. “A large family is always a joy.”

“You always said you want a large family as well, Sebastian,” stated Lydia, nodding her head emphatically. “Newquay Hall is so large, after all. It has so many rooms that it can easily accommodate many children … and the grounds are particularly impressive! So much space to run, hide, and jump for the little ones …”

Sebastian tuned his sister's voice out of his mind as she kept rattling on, talking about animals and children and climbing hills as if she were trying to sell his own estate to him.

He had to admit that Lydia was impressive – if she had been born a man, she might have run the world. He hadn’t met many people as efficient and doggedly determined as his older sister.

He turned to Lady Frances, watching her covertly. She really was a beautiful woman, with her auburn hair, willowy figure, and bright blue eyes. And her background and pedigree were impeccable.

A part of him really wished he could seriously consider her, for Frances had all the attributes that the next duchess must possess, but even if he could have contemplated courting her, he knew he could never follow through with it.

She is like another sister to me. There just isn’t any spark between us, no matter how much Lydia wants there to be. I wonder how long my sister will persist with this before she gives up.

His thoughts turned to Georgina. He started to grow warm. He felt plenty of sparks between him and the mysterious woman staying at his home. Too many. He felt a pang of regret consume him.

It was such a pity he had no idea who she was and her place in the world … and if he could indeed contemplate courting her.

Lydia had spoken an unpleasant truth again – there was a high probability that Georgina wasn’t a lady at all. There was probably no way he could ever contemplate her. And that was the end of that.

***

Christina gasped, rearing up in the bed, her heart pounding hard. She blinked, gazing around. All was darkness – she couldn’t see a thing. It was as if the darkness was consuming her entirely.

She was standing, facing an older man, who was well dressed and had thinning grey hair. A man who was very angry with her. The man’s eyes were bulging, and she could see a vein throbbing in his right temple.

His face was flushed with rage. He raised his voice to her, shouting at her, telling her she must obey him. She ran out of the room …

She blinked rapidly, trying to process it. She knew she had been in the midst of a very vivid dream. It was so vivid she felt as if she were still within it, as if the smell was still in her hair, the feel of it still crawling on her skin, and the sound of it reverberating in her ears.

She frowned, trying to slow her breathing. Her heartbeat was starting to regulate a little now, but the vision of the older man, who had been so angry with her, was still at the forefront of her mind.

It was hovering in front of her – so close she felt she could reach out and touch it.

Who was he?

A sickening, cloying feeling overtook her. She felt as if she really did know the man – as if he was a figure from her past and not just a figment of her imagination, a product of her dreams.

And if that were true – that she really did know the man – then perhaps there had been a good reason she had been riding the horse that day along the cliffs, with only a few clothes stuffed into a bag, along with an apple.

Her heart lurched with sudden fear.

Was he real? And why was he so angry with me?

She rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, slowly massaging them, trying to formulate the man’s face in her mind again, to conjure him from the depths of her mind. But all she could see was his figure from her dream.

If the man were a part of her life – if she did actually know him, and what had occurred in the dream had actually happened – then her mind didn’t want to reveal it to her yet.

She slipped out of the bed, padding to the window, the long white nightgown she was wearing swishing around her bare legs.

Her teeth started to chatter a little – it was cold at this time of night, whatever the time was. The dead of night, probably. Her mind still felt foggy with sleep and the dream, so real that it was as if it were real life, and her waking life was the dream.

She reached the window, pulling back the thick curtain, gazing out.

The sky was inky black, and the moon was full and high in the distance, a creamy, pearlescent dream of a moon casting light over the gardens and the hills beyond. Suddenly, she was beset with the urge to feel the cold air on her face.

She undid the latch, pulling up the window and gasping. The air was cold and bracing, hitting her like a frigid slap to the face.

She gulped, feeling her hair lifting, streaming behind her. She leaned out the window, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of it. It felt like she was swimming – as if she had just dived into cool water.

Who was that man? And why was he so angry with me? Why can’t I remember? Why is my mind refusing to tell me? What is my mind hiding from me?

A wave of frustration swept over her. It had been over three weeks since the accident. Dr Watson had told her she had an excellent chance of fully recovering her memory, and yet the basic details of her life, even her real name, still eluded her.

A feeling of dread entered her heart. Perhaps she was never going to recover her memory and her life. Perhaps she was going to be stuck in this dreadful limbo forever. And if that were the case, then what was she going to do? Where was she going to go? She couldn’t stay here as a house guest of the Duke of Newquay forever.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She gasped. As if she had summoned him she suddenly saw the duke striding along a garden path in the distance, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

Christina’s heart shifted as she watched him. What was he doing wandering the grounds alone in the dead of night? What demons had driven him from his bed and were causing him to wander in such a manner?

Abruptly, he stopped, turning around. He was looking straight at the window she was leaning out. Quickly, she drew herself back into the room, closing the window and pulling the curtains shut. Her heart was hammering, and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

She pressed herself against the wall, trying to compose herself. She didn’t know if he had actually seen her or not – perhaps he had just been looking in the general direction of this wing of the house.

The Duke of Newquay was enigmatic. She was living under his roof, but he was still a mystery to her. But she couldn’t deny she was drawn to him, like the moth towards the flame. Irresistibly.

It was dangerous, for his sister didn’t trust her and was watching her like a hawk, waiting for her to slip up and throw her out.

Christina took a deep breath. It was probably prudent to avoid him entirely, and since he was keeping his distance anyway now, that wasn’t hard.

Still, would she be able to do it forever? And what would happen if she didn’t?

She felt like she was leaning on the edge of a precipice and might fall at any given moment … just like she had fallen from that cliff into the mine. She had lost her memory that time. What did she stand to lose now?