Page 27 of A Duke to Restore her Memory
“Oh, I am so very glad to see you again, My Lady,” breathed Harriet, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I thought that perhaps you had fallen into the sea and met your death. I waited and waited for you to send me a letter telling me that you had reached Edinburgh safely, but it never came.”
Christina reached out, taking her maid’s hand within her own and squeezing it tightly. Her heart was filled to overflowing to see Harriet again.
As soon as she had seen her maid, the memory of her smiling face had come rushing back to her, as fresh as a daisy, and with it, the realization of how much she loved the girl and the part Harriet had played in aiding her flight on that momentous day.
It seemed so long ago now. And conversely, it seemed like no time had passed at all.
Her heart twisted, thinking about the reunion with her parents, their utter shock when they had seen her standing on the doorstep, looking bedraggled after standing in the rain for so long.
Her mother had almost fainted. Her father had choked back tears, begging for her forgiveness, saying he had been a shell of a man since she had vanished, seemingly without a trace.
They had both expressed, in the strongest way, their regret about trying to force her into marriage with Lord Powell and assured her they would never arrange a marriage against her will again. It had been a comforting and loving reunion.
And now, she was ensconced in her old chambers at Draycott Manor, with Harriet by her side, as if she had never been away at all.
She blinked, taking in the familiar furniture, the wallpaper, the paintings that hung on the walls – the little details of her former life that hadn’t changed at all in her absence. It was like reentering a dream.
A feeling of unreality stole over her. Had she really been living at Newquay Hall for the past six weeks? Had it ever really been her home? Or had she hit her head and imagined the whole episode entirely?
“I am so sorry, Harriet,” she whispered in a quivering voice, squeezing her maid’s hand again. “The plan went so terribly wrong.” She sighed heavily. “I only stopped to take a short rest that day, to walk along the top of the cliffs after a long ride, and then I fell into an abandoned mine shaft and lost the memory of who I was entirely.”
Harriet gasped. “I cannot believe it! You truly could not remember who you were, your life at Draycott Manor, or even why you had been out riding that day?”
Christina shook her head. “I could not remember anything,” she confessed, tears filling her eyes, vividly remembering the pain and shock of that day as if it had only just occurred. She paused, biting her lip. “The Duke of Newquay was so very kind to me. He helped me enormously … calling for a physician … and then, when it became obvious that I had no idea who I was or where I lived, he offered to look after me in his manor home.”
Abruptly, she stopped talking, staring at Harriet, trying not to burst into noisy tears. All she wanted to do was weep now.
Thinking about the duke and how kind he had been to her right from the beginning, how he had offered his home to a complete stranger and cared for her, was enough to bring her to tears.
Her heart shifted in her chest, thinking about how kind he had been tonight. How courageous and heroic, setting out to find her in the darkness of night, with the wind howling and the rain pelting down.
How he had defended her against Lord Powell, punching him to the ground. And then, how he had found a carriage so she could be out of the rain as she journeyed to Draycott Manor.
Her breath caught in her throat. He had followed her here, as well, on his horse, to make sure that she got home safely. The rain had cleared about halfway through the trip. She had eventually dozed in the carriage, waking up to a pink and orange sky as the sun rose on a brand-new day.
Home. She had known she was close as soon as she had gazed out that window. The landscape was different near Exmouth compared to the Cornish countryside and Newquay Hall. Her heart had filled with a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. It was so bittersweet.
He had hung back as she reunited with her parents, but after she had tearfully greeted them, he had stepped forward, telling them everything about what had happened and how he had looked after her.
They had thanked him profusely and then seeing that he was white with exhaustion and likely to fall off his horse if he tried to ride home straight away, they had offered him a room, where he was ensconced now.
Christina realized she had started to shake just thinking about him. He was just down the hallway, so close, yet he seemed so far away. She hoped he was sleeping soundly. He deserved rest and recuperation after all that he had done for her.
“The duke sounds like a very nice gentleman indeed,” said Harriet solemnly. “I will pray for him this evening before I go to sleep, thanking him for looking after My Lady so well.” She shook her head incredulously. “I am so grateful for your safe return.”
“He is wonderful,” declared Christina, her voice thick with emotion. “I have never met a man like him before.”
Harriet looked at her closely. “You seem different,” she said slowly. “I cannot quite put my finger upon it, but you do not seem to be quite the same as when you left the manor all those weeks ago, milady. Is it something to do with this duke? Do you have finer feelings for him?”
Christina’s cheeks started flaming. “Yes,” she admitted eventually, feeling as if she were choking upon the word. “I do.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “I love him, Harriet. I have fallen head over heels in love with him … but it can never be. He does not feel the same way about me … or if he does, it is a woman called Georgina who he admires, and not necessarily the woman who I truly am.”
Harriet looked confused. “I think you need to rest, milady. You have had a long journey and an emotional time. You will feel more yourself afterwards.”
Christina nodded as a wave of exhaustion swamped her. She let Harriet lead her to the bed and tuck her in like a small child.
When the maid closed the curtains and darkness enveloped the room, her eyes fluttered closed. Her last thought was about the duke and how brave he was before she drifted off into sleep.
***
Sebastian gazed around as he sat opposite Viscount Draycott, taking in the small details of the gentleman’s study. It was a cozy, warm room lined with bookshelves. A fire crackled loudly in the fireplace.
He turned, focusing on the gentleman. Christina’s father. The viscount was around fifty years old, with greying sandy-coloured hair and light blue eyes.
He had spoken with the viscountess, Christina’s mother, over a light breakfast, marvelling at how alike she was to her daughter. But to his disappointment, Christina was not in attendance. Her mother told him she was still fast asleep, and she did not have the heart to wake her yet.
“So,” said Sebastian, looking steadily at the gentleman. “I want to assure you, Lord Draycott, that your daughter has been well looked after at Newquay Hall. She suffered a nasty head wound and complete loss of memory, but otherwise, she has been well.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” replied the gentleman, his face contorting with emotion. “I am so grateful, Your Grace. Thank you for looking after our daughter so well. You have our eternal gratitude.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “You are very welcome.” He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat, before focusing on the gentleman again, his eyes sharp. “I would like to enquire as to what you are planning to do regarding Lady Christina’s betrothal to Lord Powell, given that the gentleman abducted her from my home and what I have told you about the part he played in plotting the downfall of my business.”
The viscount reddened. He looked mortified. “I have assured Christina that the betrothal is broken,” he replied, his lips thinning. “I will not force her to marry such a man. I will never force her to marry anyone ever again. We almost lost her. She is far too precious to us.” He hesitated. “You must believe me that I did not realize how brutish Lord Powell was, Your Grace. Nor how treacherous.”
“Why did you arrange the marriage in the first place?” Sebastian stared at him sharply. “Lord Powell is a lot older than your daughter. He does not seem like an ideal candidate for her hand anyway, regardless of the weaknesses of his character.”
The viscount’s colour deepened. “I … I am embarrassed to say that I was desperate,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “I invested badly and needed the money that Lord Powell promised upon marrying Christina. I am not proud of any of it.” He hesitated. “I will find another way to pay off the debts owing and save our home. I will figure out a way.”
There was an awkward silence as the viscount stared into the fire. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the flames.
“I will pay off your debts,” said Sebastian abruptly. “As long as you assure me that you will never force your daughter to marry anyone against her will again. I must have that assurance in writing to proceed.”
As the words tumbled from his mouth, he inwardly baulked, just a little.
Given the troubles in his mines, he would have to pore over the books and shift funds to do it, but he was determined to find a way. He was going to make sure Christina had a good life – even if that meant he played no part in it.
The viscount looked so shocked it was almost comical. Sebastian leaned back in his chair, waiting for the gentleman to collect his wits and respond to his offer.
His heart flipped in his chest. He knew that if the viscount accepted the offer, he might lose Christina. She would be free to marry anyone she wanted.
But it was important to him that she didn’t feel under duress to marry anyone – including him – just to save her family home. If she were to marry him, it must be because she chose him freely, not for any other reason.
His breath caught in his throat as he thought about her. As far as he was concerned, there was no impediment to him courting her, with a view to marriage, anymore.
She was a noble lady, the daughter of a viscount, with a fine pedigree. And she had never deceived him, as Lydia had asserted. She had run away from her home to escape a forced marriage to a brute, had an accident, and lost her memory. It was exactly as it had always appeared to be.
Her character and morals were not in question. They had never been. Christina was the woman she had always appeared to be – kind, clever, and utterly enchanting.
He wanted her for his own. He wanted her badly. But she must come to him with a free will, choosing him willingly. He would never force her hand.
“I am stunned at your generosity, Your Grace,” stuttered the viscount, his eyes shining with tears. “I accept with extreme gratitude.”
Sebastian nodded. A vision of Christina sprung into his mind, warming his blood. Would she be interested in him now that she had her old life back? Or had their connection been transitory to her? Would she move on and leave him behind entirely?