Page 4 of A Duke to Restore her Memory

Sebastian tightened his arms around the woman on the horse, sensing her fear, scared that she would topple to the ground in fright. But then, she slumped against him, her head turning left and right excitedly.

She is starting to relax at last. That is good.

His heart contracted. He had been impulsive, offering to care for her, but what else could he have done in the circumstances? She was injured, and she had lost her memory.

No one knew who she was. She had nowhere else to go. And she had suffered her injury on his land, in one of his mines, which hadn’t been boarded up properly. He was duty-bound to offer her care and sanctuary.

She could be anyone. She might be a thief. She might be a local confidence woman. I simply have no idea. It is a risk.

Georgina. The physician had given her a temporary name. He wasn’t entirely sure it suited her, but it was good enough for the moment. He was suddenly consumed with curiosity. Who was she? Why had she been riding along the cliffs so early in the morning … and how had she fallen?

He glanced back at the black horse he was leading. He knew his horseflesh – it was an expensive animal, which would indicate that she had considerable status. It wasn’t a common carthorse.

But on the other hand, she was dressed so plainly, like a servant or someone without much wealth, and her small, faded bag hadn’t contained anything of value.

His heart contorted again. Had she stolen the animal? Was he harbouring a thief?

His frown deepened. Then there was her voice. She spoke with the clear vowels of the upper class – she didn’t have a local accent. That suggested she was a gentlewoman of some sort. But no gentlewoman would have been riding alone at that time of day dressed in such clothing. It was a great puzzle.

Georgina was a mass of contradictions. She was a paradox.

“How are you?” he called, the wind threatening to snatch his voice entirely. “Are you comfortable?”

She turned slightly in the saddle. He noted the perfect line of her profile. She really was a very beautiful woman. He felt warmth enter his body, and his arms tightened around her. Somehow, it felt natural for her to be sitting against him in such a way.

“I am well,” she replied. Her green eyes were alight. “I am enjoying the ride. It is very beautiful here.”

He smiled. “It is. It is the most beautiful pocket of England … but then, I am biased. I was born here and have lived here for my entire life.” He took a deep breath. “Do you recognize anything we have passed? Any farmhouse or landmark, perhaps?”

She shook her head. “No. Not at all.” He heard the dejection and confusion in her voice. “It is as if I am seeing it for the very first time.”

He sighed. “Give it time, just like the physician said. Your memory will return. In the meantime, you are very welcome at Newquay Hall … we are approaching it now.”

“Where?” she asked, swivelling her head around. “Where is it?”

He pointed towards the left. “It is there, on the top of that hill, in the distance.” His heart filled with pride as he gazed at the house. “It is the finest home in the district. Even if I do say so myself.”

Georgina laughed. “Clearly, you love your home, Your Grace.”

“I do,” he replied, his mouth twitching. “I have never wanted to be anywhere else. I have spent time in London and abroad over the years, but nothing compares to Cornwall’s wild, untamed beauty. I miss the cliffs and the sea if I am away from them for too long.”

He realized he was speaking from his innermost heart as he uttered the words. It was true. He was always restless and sad if he was away from here for too long, yearning to return. It was an urge he couldn’t control. Something was always pulling him back to Cornwall and Newquay Hall.

“That is your home?” Her voice was filled with awe. “It is … magnificent. I have never seen anything like it.”

“How would you know?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “You cannot remember. Perhaps you work in a great manor house just like my home.” He frowned suddenly. “You are a puzzle, Georgina. Your clothing suggests you are a servant or perhaps a farmer’s daughter … but you speak like a gentlewoman.”

She sighed heavily, looking distressed. “I wish I knew. But the harder I try to remember, the more it evades me. It makes my head pound so hard …”

“Do not distress yourself,” he said in a quiet voice. “You have suffered an injury. You need rest. The truth of who you are will reveal itself in the fullness of time, just as Dr Watson said.” He paused. “Do not try to push it.”

She nodded, but her eyes misted with tears. He felt a defensive urge sweep over him – a desire to protect and help her, which was so intense that it was astounding. He had just met this woman, after all. He had no idea who she was. He knew he must remain cautious, but it was proving hard.

“You are so very kind, Your Grace,” she said, visibly swallowing. “To open your home to a stranger like this is so very generous. Thank you … from the bottom of my heart.”

“You are welcome,” he said, his eyes lingering on that perfect profile before flickering to the angry gash on her head, cleaned and dressed now. “Here we are. Newquay Hall. My home.”

They rode through the high, imposing gates. The house loomed ahead of them. He felt her stiffen in apprehension, and the impulse to soothe and reassure this mysterious woman swept over him again.

Who was she? Was someone looking for her at this very moment? Would she recover her memory, as the physician had assured her … or would she stay as Georgina forevermore? And if so – where would she go, and what would she do?

***

Christina’s eyes swept over the grand house called Newquay Hall as they passed through the high, ornate metal gates towards the property. She hadn’t lied to him – it really was magnificent. And very daunting.

The estate surrounding the house was sprawling, with immaculate lawns, formal flower beds, and hedges. The house had thick stone walls, large windows, and turrets. Workers were scurrying among the gardens, pushing wheelbarrows and the like. It was a hive of activity.

She swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “This … this is really your home?”

He laughed, pulling up in front of the house. A servant sprang forward, taking the reins of the horse. The duke dismounted, helping her down.

She tried to ignore her pounding heart at the feel of his arms around her. She had been supremely conscious of them for the entire journey here. They were so strong, and the heat emanating from him had made her feel quite weak.

“Thank you,” she stammered, hastily stepping back.

They entered the house, Christina trying not to gape as she followed him down a long hallway towards the back of the house. A middle-aged woman dressed in a pristine grey gown and frilly white cap stepped forward as they entered the kitchen.

“Your Grace.” Christina felt herself blushing as the woman’s eyes swept over her, taking in every small detail, from the bandage on her forehead to the dirt and grime on her gown and skin. “Can I help you?”

“We need your assistance, Mrs Sollock,” he replied in a commanding voice. “This young woman suffered a fall down a mine shaft, hitting her head badly, and needs attention.” He turned to Christina, his eyes resting on her. “She has lost her memory entirely, and we are calling her Georgina. I believe a hot bath is in order and rest. Could you handle it?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” replied the woman quietly, as if he had asked her to fetch him a drink, and it was nothing out of the ordinary at all. “I will take care of her.”

The duke nodded, turning to Christina again. “Mrs Sollock is the housekeeper at Newquay Hall. You are in good hands.” He hesitated. “I will check on you after you have settled. You need to bathe and rest.”

Christina nodded, biting her lip as she gazed at him. She didn’t know what to say to him now. The kitchen was teeming with people, all gazing at her, their eyes burning with curiosity as they went about their business.

Her blush deepened. She knew she must look quite a sight in her torn, dirty gown, with a large bandage on her head.

“Come along, miss,” said the housekeeper in the same quiet but oddly commanding voice. “This way.”

The duke smiled at her, inclining his head, before sweeping out of the room. The housekeeper took her elbow, steering her towards a stairwell. They climbed it, walking down a long hallway, entering a room with a large, four-poster bed and a window overlooking sweeping flower beds, topiaries, and rolling green hills beyond.

After she had bathed and was dressed in a long, plain white nightgown, the housekeeper assisted her to the bed, staring at her.

“You really have no memory of who you are?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she looked at Christina. “No memory at all?”

“None at all,” stammered Christina, slipping into the bed. Her eyelids suddenly felt heavier than lead. “It is like a blank in my mind every time I try to think. I cannot even remember my own name.”

She blinked back sudden tears. It was so distressing. And it was so disconcerting being here, in this unfamiliar place, being tended by strangers. A sudden yearning for the reassuring presence of the handsome duke swept over her, which was strange, given the fact he was as much a stranger to her as the rest of them.

“You talk like a lady,” mused the housekeeper, frowning slightly. “But that gown you were wearing belongs to a working woman.” She hesitated. “Could you perhaps be a governess? A gentlewoman down on her luck who was forced to work?”

“Perhaps,” replied Christina, shrugging her shoulders. “Are there any families in this area who have governesses?”

“Aye,” replied the housekeeper. “There is. The Acton family have a governess for their children, as does Lord Babington, who is a neighbour.” She paused. “I can make enquiries as to whether they are missing anyone in their households and at the other grand houses in the district. Do you want me to do that?”

“Yes, I would be very grateful,” said Christina, smiling tremulously at the woman. “I feel terrible imposing like this … but I had nowhere else to go. The duke was very kind.”

“Aye, he is a kind master,” agreed the housekeeper. “And quite a catch. All the young ladies in the district want to become his duchess, but he has never seemed inclined to marry, even though he is nearing thirty now and needs an heir.” She sighed. “We all think he must have suffered a broken heart. Anyway, you should rest. I will come to check on you in a few hours.”

Mrs Sollock turned, leaving the room without another word, closing the door firmly behind her.

Christina gazed around the strange room, which was as silent as the grave, thinking about the duke: the handsome, kind duke who might have suffered a broken heart and needed an heir. Then, she slipped into a deep slumber, losing herself entirely.