Page 3 of A Duke to Restore her Memory

Christina’s eyes fluttered open. She was lying on the ground outside, and faces were peering intently at her. She narrowed her eyes, squinting, trying to make out who they were and where she was.

The blue of the sky was behind the figures and the sun was shining brightly – so brightly that she couldn’t see properly.

She gasped loudly as she felt a searing pain in her head. Her mind was whirring. She reared up as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her.

“Whoa,” said a deep voice, clutching her tightly. “Try not to move. The physician will be along presently. You have suffered a head injury from a fall.”

She tried to focus on the voice, her eyes fixing on the man’s face.

“Who are you?” he whispered. “How did you fall into the shaft?”

Christina bit her lip in confusion. Her mind was spinning.

“I was … I was …” Her voice was fading in and out. “I … I cannot remember …”

A stab of pure terror gripped her. For she realized, as she stammered, that she really couldn’t remember a thing. Not how she came to be lying here with this handsome man attending her, but who she even was, or what her life was. It was all a great, gaping blank in her mind.

The man’s dark eyes flickered over her face. “Do not push yourself,” he whispered in a kind, gentle voice. “You are injured and have had a great shock.” Suddenly, he looked up, his face crumpling with relief. “Here is the physician now.”

Gently, he placed her down on the ground, taking his arms away from her. She felt the removal of them was a loss. Another man was there now, peering into her face. An older man with steel grey hair and jowls. He was wearing gold-rimmed spectacles.

“My name is Dr Watson,” said the man in an assured, comforting voice. “And you have hurt yourself, young woman, quite badly.” He put his hands on her head, peering at her forehead. “That is a nasty gash. I will clean it up, and then we will get to the bottom of this.”

As the physician cleaned her wound, she winced, gritting her teeth. It hurt. And not only that, but her head was also throbbing mightily.

Covertly, she glanced to the side. The handsome man who had rescued her was there, observing, a look of concern on his face.

She noted the fineness of his features, and her eyes widened. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes, a strong jawline, and a straight, commanding nose. He had black, curling hair, which was tousled. He frowned as he gazed at her.

He had a very commanding presence and was well-dressed in tan britches and long black boots. An ermine-lined black cape wrapped around him, moving slightly in the wind.

She realized, quite suddenly, that she was lying on sand and that the vast blue behind the handsome, kind man was the sea.

She was on the beach. How on earth had she got here? What had happened?

And who was she?

Another wave of terror swept over her as the physician dressed her head wound. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t remember.

She didn’t even know her own name. It was all a complete blank, as if her mind was a slate, and had been wiped clean entirely.

After the physician had attended her, checking for other injuries and finding that she was in generally good condition despite the head injury, with no broken bones or the like, he stepped back, gazing at her thoughtfully.

“And who are you, young woman?” he asked slowly. “Can you tell me where you live?”

“I do not know,” cried Christina, her voice filled with anguish. “I cannot remember a single thing. I do not know why I am here or how I fell down the shaft … and nor can I even remember my name or any details of who I am and my life.” She gazed at him, her eyes stricken. “What is wrong with me?”

The physician sighed heavily, shaking his head in sorrow. “I was afraid this might happen,” he said tersely. “You hit your head quite badly, and sometimes, memory loss accompanies such an injury.”

“She cannot remember who she is?” The handsome man’s voice was filled with incredulity. “How is that possible, Dr Watson?”

The physician sighed again. “We do not know how or why it happens,” he replied slowly. “But it does. If the blow to the head is sufficient, then memory loss can occur, ranging from minor details being lost … to full-blown loss of memory of the person’s entire life leading up to the accident. It appears that this is what has happened to this young woman.”

“I will never know who I am?” Christina’s mouth went dry from terror. “I will never recover details of my life or know my own name?”

The physician gave a bark of laughter. “You must be a local, young woman, and so someone will be bound to recognize you around here,” he replied dryly. “But in any case, the memory loss usually does not last forever. It may take some time, but you have an excellent chance of full recovery.”

“But what are we to do with her?” asked the handsome man, kneeling beside her, his brow furrowed. “Not one of the men who assisted in pulling her from the shaft knows who she is. None of them have ever seen her before.”

“That is a concern,” admitted the physician, frowning. “She must be looked after. She has suffered a major injury to her head and cannot even recall her own name. She cannot be simply allowed to walk away.”

Christina blinked, her mind whirring again at the enormity of what the physician was saying. She had no home to go to … because she couldn’t remember her own home. She was utterly adrift in the world, like a ship without an anchor. It was a truly terrifying feeling.

Who am I? Where do I live? What is my name?

“I will take responsibility for her,” said the handsome man abruptly. “I will care for her at Newquay Hall. She can stay with me until she recovers her memory or someone recognizes her and takes her to her home.” He hesitated, his face contorting. “I feel responsible. I own that abandoned mine shaft, and somehow, it was unsafe. It should have been boarded up properly. The accident would never have happened if proper procedures were in place.”

Christina gaped at him. “Thank you,” she stammered, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. The gentleman was kind as well as staggeringly handsome and commanding. “May I ask … who are you?”

The physician snorted with laughter. “You are addressing his grace, the Duke of Newquay, young woman,” he said in a dry voice. “You are on his land. His grace owns over one hundred acres of this coastline.”

Christina’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh,” she said slowly. She knew a duke was a noble figure, almost as high as a prince. “I am very sorry, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect …”

“I am not offended,” said the duke with a slight smile. “There is no need to apologize at all. You are injured, and this is no place to think about correct protocol.” His smile widened. “You are willing to accept sanctuary at my home, then?”

“Of course,” said Christina, overcome. “I accept with gratitude.”

“I wish I knew your name at least,” said the duke, gazing at her steadily. “What can I call you?”

“How about we call her Georgina for now,” suggested the physician, shrugging his shoulders, “for the sake of King George. Would that be acceptable?”

“Perfectly,” said the duke, looking amused. “As long as it is acceptable to the young woman. Do you like the name?”

“I suppose,” said Christina, having no particular opinion on the name. “It is as good as any name … until I remember my own.”

A wave of sorrow swept over her. It felt enormous. The loss was so great that her mind reeled again. She couldn’t even remember her own name. It was the most basic thing anchoring her to her life and who she was.

Without it, it was as if she were nobody. It was as if she had as much importance as a shell lying on this beach.

Now, I am someone called Georgina. I have become a new person. It is as if I have been born again.

“Can you stand?” asked the duke, stepping towards her. “If you are agreeable, I will tie your horse to my own, and you can journey with me. It will be much safer.”

The physician and the duke helped her to her feet. She staggered a little before correcting herself. “Yes, I can stand.” She blinked rapidly, gazing around. “Did you say I have a horse? I can ride?”

“Apparently, you can,” replied the duke, his mouth twitching with amusement. “At least, I assume the beast belongs to you. It was wandering along the top of the cliff, looking quite distressed. It seemed to be concerned for you … and no one else has claimed it.”

Christina shook her head incredulously. She knew how to ride. When had she learned such a skill? Who had taught her how to do it?

But her mind drew a complete blank. She simply could not remember a single thing about her past life. It was so disconcerting. She could be anyone … but at the moment, she was no one. She was a woman called Georgina who had no past. She was a blank slate entirely.

The duke helped her mount his horse, then got on himself after tying a large, sleek black horse to his own. She stared at the beast. It was beautiful and spirited, stomping its hooves, tossing its mane.

She wondered what its name was. She wondered if she indeed did own it, or whether she had borrowed it from someone to journey here. She wondered why she was here at all.

“We found a small bag, as well,” said the duke, putting his arms around her to take the reins. “I took the liberty of going through it, to try to discover your identity, but there is nothing within it to indicate who you are. Just some items of clothing, a small amount of coins in a purse … and an apple.”

Christina drew a deep, ragged breath. “Well, I know that I like apples, at least.”

The duke laughed mirthlessly. “Indeed. Are you ready? Shall we go?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” replied Christina grimly.

The duke shook the reins, spurring the horse onward. Suddenly, they were flying like the wind across the top of the cliffs. Christina closed her eyes in pure terror for a moment, frightened that she would fall off the beast. Her head throbbed with pain.

But then, she felt the wind upon her face, as soft and cooling as a caress. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. She leaned back against the duke, gazing around, taking it all in.

She gasped. It was stunningly beautiful. The high cliffs dropped dramatically, standing guardian over the sea, which was so intensely vast and blue that it almost hurt her eyes to take it in.

The sky vaulted over it, almost the exact same colour. The sun was a golden orb in the distance.

This is my home. These cliffs, this sea, this sky. And yet, I cannot remember it. It is as if I am seeing it for the very first time.

She gasped again. She was going to the home of a stranger. A very handsome and seemingly kind stranger who happened to be a duke. But still, she didn’t know him. A pang of fear shot through her. Was she safe? What was going to happen to her?