Page 28 of A Duke to Restore her Memory

Christina’s heart pounded hard as she stood on the front steps of Draycott Manor to bid farewell to the duke.

Her parents had already said their goodbyes to him, thanking him profusely for all he had done for their daughter and telling him he was always welcome at their home.

She turned to face him. Now, they were entirely alone. She noted the lines of weariness still evident in his face, but he looked much less tired than he had.

Her heart somersaulted as she studied his strong jawline, those velvet brown eyes as warm as molasses, and his strong, commanding physique.

She loved him. Oh, how she loved him. She wanted to rush to him now, caress his face, and tell him how much she cared for him. But how would he react if she did such a bold thing?

She hesitated, hanging back. She just couldn’t do it. While he was attentive to her, there seemed to be a distance between them.

Perhaps it was just because she was returned to herself and her home … she was no longer a waif called Georgina, who he must protect. She was Lady Christina Whitford, the daughter of the Viscount Draycott. Another woman entirely.

And somehow, she felt unworthy of his affection, as well. She had always been such a burden to him.

“So,” she said, taking a deep breath, her heart pounding hard as she gazed at him. “It is over. I am home.” She hesitated. “I just wanted to thank you again for everything you have done for me …”

“There is no need to thank me,” he interjected sharply. “It was my pleasure, as well as my duty.”

His breathing held a ragged edge. Their eyes met and locked before his eyes hastily slid away. Christina’s heart fluttered in distress.

It was such a bittersweet moment, filled with longing, that could not be expressed. Or perhaps she was just imagining that he felt the same way as she did, anyway. Perhaps he had never felt anything for her at all. Perhaps it had always been in her imagination.

“Well, I should go,” he said abruptly. He smiled weakly. “I am glad that your memory is returned and you are safely back home, My Lady.” He paused, his dark eyes flickering slightly. “Your father has assured me he will not force you to marry Lord Powell … or anyone else, for that matter. You do not need to feel the weight of that burden any longer. I wish you all the best in life.”

Christina nodded, gulping, not trusting herself to speak. She knew her voice would break with emotion, and she might burst into tears. She might rush to him, clinging to him, begging him not to leave her. And that would not do at all.

A heavy sorrow, unlike anything she had ever felt before, entered her heart. This might be the last time she ever saw him. In fact, it was likely it was.

They lived a great distance from each other – she wouldn’t encounter him at social events. It would be as if they had never met at all.

I will always love him. I will never love another. But it seems that it was never meant to be.

“Thank you,” she murmured, dropping into a low curtsey so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I wish you all the best in life as well, Your Grace.”

She rose slowly. He looked at her for another moment before turning and walking to his horse. She watched him mount, and then he was gone, riding down the long driveway and through the tall gates without a backward glance.

Christina staggered, falling against the door frame, her heart so full of sorrow and loss that she could barely contain it.

Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She had got her life and her home back, but it seemed she had lost something precious in the process. Something that she could never hope to replace as long as she lived.

***

Three days later, Sebastian sat in his study, nursing a brandy, as he gazed into the flames of the fire.

He was in a dark mood, beset by a terrible melancholy unlike anything he had ever felt before. He wasn’t usually prone to dark moods at all and he didn’t know how to handle them except to retreat.

He shifted in his chair, thinking about Christina and their parting at Draycott Manor.

He had yearned to tell her how he truly felt about her, how much he longed for her, but fear of rejection had kept him mute. She had looked so self-possessed and contained, returned to herself, the lady she had always been.

She was no longer Georgina, who didn’t know anything about her life. He didn’t know who this beautiful, poised woman, dressed in a fine muslin white gown with her hair swept into a chignon, was at all.

I have lost her. I have lost her forever. It is over. She will get on with her life now that she no longer has the threat of marrying Powell hanging over her head. She will find her true love. It was never meant to be me.

He jumped at a sudden rapping on the study door. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, before straightening in the chair and placing the brandy on the side table.

“Enter,” he barked through gritted teeth. He didn’t feel like talking with anyone. He just wanted to be alone, ruminating, wallowing in the pain of his loss.

The door opened, and Lydia entered, dressed in a crisp green gingham gown. He stiffened. He had barely spoken with his sister since he had returned to Newquay Hall after rescuing Christina from Powell.

He was still so angry at how she had interfered and sanctioned the abduction. But he supposed they had to talk sooner or later, and it may as well be now.

“Yes?” he snapped, his eyes glittering with anger. “What is it?”

Lydia bit her lip. His sister looked uncharacteristically uncertain. She was usually so decisive and confident.

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, Sebastian,” she said mournfully. “I am so terribly, terribly sorry.” She took a deep, troubled breath. “I was wrong about Georgina … I mean, about Lady Christina. I was only trying to protect you and our home and business … but I got carried away.”

Sebastian glared at her. “Yes, you did. You got very carried away indeed, Lydia.”

She looked pained but then nodded. “I deserve censure. I wanted you to marry Frances and was pushing you both towards matrimony against your will. I see that now.” She hesitated. “Frances tells me that she is courting Daniel, and they are both very happy. She told me she loves me dearly, but I must mind my own business.”

Sebastian gave a bark of laughter. “She is telling the truth of it.” He stared at his sister. “Alright, I accept your apology. But you must promise me that you will never, ever interfere in my life like that again, Lydia. I mean it.”

“You have my word. I will never do anything to jeopardize our relationship again.” She blinked rapidly, staring at him, her eyes drifting towards the half-drunk glass of brandy sitting on the side table. “You seem melancholy, brother. You are not your usual, vibrant self. It is because of the lady, is it not?”

Sebastian’s heart shifted in his chest. “Yes,” he admitted. “It does not seem the same without her here at all.” He hesitated. “But I am very glad that she has her old life back, of course, and that she is not being forced to marry Powell. It is the way it should be.”

He tried to shrug nonchalantly, but it felt stiff and unnatural. He sighed deeply, picking up the glass of brandy and draining it. An awkward silence fell between them.

“You should tell her how you feel,” said Lydia slowly. “You should tell her that you rather wish she lived here always … alongside you, as your wife.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. They stared at each other. The only sound in the room was the clock ticking on the mantelpiece.

“I know you are in love with her,” continued Lydia gently. “I think I have always known you were falling in love with her, which was why I became so fixated and stubborn about you choosing Frances. I did not want you to marry a lady I did not choose, you see.” She laughed mirthlessly. “I wanted to retain my position here … and I thought if you married Frances, it would be assured.”

Sebastian’s heart shifted in his chest. “You are my beloved sister, Lydia, even if you do occasionally drive me to distraction,” he said. “You will always have a home with me. You do not need to feel insecure about it.”

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, brother. But it is hard for a lady in my position. I was only trying to secure my situation … in the best way I saw available.” She hesitated, staring at him. “You should go and declare yourself to Lady Christina. I think she will be receptive. I have a feeling she feels exactly the same way about you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. His heart started to pound uncomfortably. “Do you really think so? I just do not know.” His face contorted with agony. “She seemed different when I left her at Draycott Manor. So very poised and self-possessed. I hardly know what she truly thinks about me …”

“Go to her,” insisted Lydia, in an almost impatient voice. “You are mooning and distracted, Sebastian. You must put your heart on the line … or else, how will you ever live with yourself, knowing that you let her get away? That you had a chance at real happiness … and let it go for fear of rejection?”

Sebastian stood up. He started pacing the floor. His heart was racing now, and he felt a little sick. He wiped his hands on his britches. They had started to sweat, and his palms were moist.

His mind was spinning violently. He wanted to do what Lydia told him with his whole heart. He wanted to ride over to Draycott Manor right now and declare himself to Christina. But the fear was stronger, almost strangling him.

She is so beautiful. So exceptional. She can have her pick of anyone now that her betrothal to Powell is broken. Why would she choose me?

He stopped pacing, staring into the flames of the fire. He was suddenly recalling every moment of connection between them, right from the very start, when he had pulled her injured from that pit.

The way her green eyes shone when she looked at him. The way she sought him out. The tone of her voice when she spoke to him …

His heart seized. He knew that Lydia was right. If he didn’t at least declare himself to her and put his heart on the line, he would never know how she truly felt about him. He would lose his chance with her forever. They lived a hundred miles away from one another. He wasn’t going to run into her at a ball or a garden party.

If he didn’t go to Draycott Manor and declare himself, the chance would be gone. She would move on with her life. She would marry someone else. It was now … or it was never.

He kept staring into the flames. The agony of enduring this love and not knowing if she felt the same way was unbearable. What was he going to do?