Page 24 of A Duke to Restore her Memory

That evening, Christina stayed in her room, still on tenterhooks, waiting to see if the duke would send for her to tell her about what had happened with Hester. She sat in the window alcove, agonizing about approaching him instead, when there was a sharp rap on the door.

She stood up, her heart pounding hard, smoothing out the creases in her gown. Was it him?

“Come in,” she called in a tremulous voice.

The door opened. Christina’s jaw dropped, and she felt herself turn pale. For it wasn’t the duke standing in the doorway – it was his sister Lydia.

The lady was dressed in a rose silk dinner gown with delicate lace on the bodice and sleeves, her dark hair swept up into an elegant chignon. Understated diamonds twinkled in her earlobes and around her neck. Clearly, Lydia had been out for the evening at a dinner party or some other event.

The lady took a step into the room, gazing around slowly, in an almost curious way, as if she had never seen the inside of this room before. But then again, perhaps she hadn’t seen it in a very long time – Newquay Hall was very large, after all.

“I am glad to see that you are well looked after,” said the lady with a decisive nod. “This is one of the best guest rooms in the manor.”

Christina’s eyes widened. She tried to keep her expression neutral, to mask her shock. It was an odd thing for Lydia to say, given how hostile she was to her most of the time and the fact that she wasn’t reticent about the fact she wanted her gone.

Christina cleared her throat. “Why are you are here, My Lady?”

Lydia turned to her. There was an awkward silence for a moment. Christina shifted on her feet, staring at the lady, waiting for her to reveal herself. Lydia had never condescended to visit her in her chambers before. What was going on?

“I have news for you,” stated the lady abruptly. She paused, taking a step closer, a slight frown creasing her brow. “I have discovered who you are, Georgina.”

Christina gasped loudly. One hand flew to her throat. She staggered slightly. Her mind was spinning violently. Desperately, she tried to gather her wits, taking a long, ragged breath.

A feeling of elation was starting to flutter to life in her belly. She was thrilled, feeling as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to fall or fly.

She knows who I am. She knows who I am!

“Who?” she cried. “Please, tell me now. Who am I? How did you discover my identity?”

“I have just returned from a dinner party,” said the lady with a slight smile. “I was sitting next to a gentleman who is a major investor in the family mine business – his name is Lord Powell, the Earl of Cheltenham.” She cleared her throat, staring at Christina. “I heard him mention to the person seated next to him that he has been searching for a lady. He has been searching high and low for her … and will never give up the search.”

Christina’s heart was racing frantically. Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t speak.

“After the meal was ended, I approached him,” continued Lydia. “I asked him to tell me about the lady he is searching for and why he is searching high and low.” She hesitated. “He took a small locket from the pocket of his jacket and opened it, telling me the name of the lady … and I was suddenly staring at a small portrait of you – Lady Christina Whitford.”

Christina gasped again. “That is my name?”

Lydia nodded slowly. “Yes. You are Lady Christina Whitford, the daughter of Viscount Draycott. Your home is Draycott Manor, which is located near Exmouth, about three hours’ journey from here by carriage.” She paused. “Apparently, you went for a morning ride on your beloved horse and vanished entirely.”

Christina gasped again. Images were flashing into her mind like cards being shuffled quickly, so bright and vivid that she could hardly keep track of them.

Walking into a parlour and sitting at a grand piano. Gripping the poster of a tall bed while a maid laced her into a corset, chatting like starlings.

An older lady with a kind smile placing a hand on her forehead as she lay coughing in bed. Sitting at a long mahogany dining table. Riding like the wind down a long driveway on the back of a black horse – the same black horse who was now in the stables at Newquay Hall …

She blinked rapidly, barely able to breathe, as the images kept falling into her mind, over and over.

The images of a house she knew but still didn’t quite recognize as her home. Desperately, she tried to grasp them, to fully open her mind and realize the truth of what Lady Lydia was saying … but it wasn’t coming. Not yet, at any rate.

Her heart filled with a pure joy, unlike anything she had ever felt. It didn’t matter if she didn’t fully remember that life yet or who she was within it.

She was sure it would come in the fullness of time. It was as if Lydia had given her the key to the door. She just had to find the right lock to open it.

“I am Lady Christina Whitford?” she said the name slowly as if she were tasting the words on her tongue. “I am the daughter of a viscount?”

“You are,” stated Lydia, her smile widening. She hesitated. “I was not sure if it was entirely appropriate or not but I thought you would be very eager to hear all the details of your life and would not object.” She hesitated again. “Lord Powell is here now … Christina. He is waiting in a carriage outside to talk with you.”

“He is waiting for me in a carriage outside?” Christina frowned, her mind racing.

She hesitated. As much as she tried, the gentleman’s name wasn’t ringing any bells in her mind. Her eyes flickered to the clock on the mantelpiece.

It was getting late – it was after ten in the evening. It was hardly a time to go outside and speak with an unknown gentleman in a carriage. Lydia was right – it wasn’t really appropriate.

“Lord Powell is so eager to see you, Christina,” continued Lydia. “He just wishes to confirm that it is really you, which is quite natural in the circumstances.”

Christina’s frown deepened. An uneasy feeling was entering her heart. She couldn’t recall this gentleman at all.

And even though Lydia had told her that she was certain she really was Lady Christina Whitford as she had seen a portrait of her, she didn’t know if she could trust the lady. After all, Lydia was hardly her best friend.

She bit her lip. But then again, why would Lydia go to all this trouble to enact a lie? That didn’t make any sense at all. Still, she hesitated.

The fact that the gentleman was remaining in his carriage and not entering the house was odd, as well. Why wouldn’t this Lord Powell simply wait in the parlour to see her?

“Perhaps I should go and see his grace before I meet the gentleman in the carriage,” she said hesitantly. “He should know that this is happening.”

Her heart pulsed at the thought of the duke. How would he react when he heard that his sister had discovered who she truly was? Would he rejoice … or would he feel sad that she would be leaving his home at long last? How did he truly feel about her?

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew he found her attractive. She knew he admired her, even when he was trying to fight it.

It was just there in every small glance. It was there in the way his eyes shone when he looked at her … and how he had trailed his fingers down the side of her face and softly asked her to wait for him.

But then, her heart fell slightly, and her eyes filled with tears. But admiration and attraction were not love. Would he say he was sorry to see her go but then let her go without a backward glance?

“My brother has not returned home from the dinner party yet,” said Lydia, with a small smile, shrugging her shoulders. “I left him to mingle with some gentlemen over brandies. He said that he had serious business matters to attend to, so I was loathe to interrupt and tell him about Lord Powell and the discovery of your true identity. He has so much on his plate since the mine accident. I am sorry, Christina.”

Christina’s heart crashed to the floor again. She had no idea what had happened when he confronted Hester yet – perhaps the serious business that Lydia was alluding to had something to do with his nemesis. She couldn’t blame him. Still, the news that he wasn’t in the house at all was very disappointing. What should she do?

“Lord Powell simply wishes to confirm your identity, Christina,” continued Lydia, in a pensive voice. “You are not leaving Newquay Hall yet. You will have time to pack … and to say your farewells to my brother and to thank him for his hospitality.”

Christina’s heart twisted. Of course, she knew that she must leave Newquay Hall now that her true identity had been discovered. She had a home. She had a family. She didn’t belong here. It was what she had yearned for all this time.

And yet … her heart ached at the thought of leaving. It ached badly at the thought of leaving him. She had only just discovered that she loved him – and the feeling was so new, tender, and raw. It was like a tiny fledgling about to stretch its wings and fly for the very first time.

“The earl is waiting, Christina,” prompted Lydia, gazing at her steadily.

Christina jumped. She must decide whether she would go downstairs and greet this earl – an earl she couldn’t remember, who had apparently been searching high and low for her and just wanted to confirm her identity. What harm could it do?

“Very well,” she said quietly, her heart jumping.

Lydia gave a dazzling smile. They left the room together, going down the back servants’ staircase to the rear of the house.

Christina frowned – she hadn’t realized that the gentleman was waiting in his carriage at the rear of the house. That uneasy feeling stole over her again. She glanced at Lydia, and the lady gave her a quick smile.

They reached the carriage. A footman held a lantern aloft. Hesitantly, Christina walked towards the door, noticing a hand on it, wearing a black leather glove.

Suddenly, the carriage door opened. She gasped, rearing back instinctively. A large, middle-aged man was staring at her, with black hair threaded with silver and a rather large bulbous nose. His eyes were as black and hard as currants.

“It is you,” he rapped in a hard voice. “I have been searching for you everywhere, Christina.” His eyes narrowed. “Come along, then.” He held out his gloved hand to her impatiently, imperiously.

Christina’s eyes widened in shock and horror. She didn’t recognize the man at all – and she didn’t like the look of him … not one little bit.

“No,” she stammered. “I-I have only come to speak with you. I am not getting into this carriage. I do not recognize you!”

She turned to Lydia to entreat her, but to her shock, the lady had vanished.

It all happened very quickly after that. Suddenly, the gentleman grabbed her hand, pulling her into the carriage. The footman holding the lantern pushed her from behind, bundling her inside. The carriage was already moving by the time she even realized what was happening.

“At last,” said the gentleman, in the same hard voice. “You have led us all on a merry dance indeed, Christina. But I am afraid it is over now … and we will marry within the week.”

Christina opened her mouth and screamed. And screamed. But there was no one to help her. No one at all.