Page 4 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)

"Perhaps." Aunt Cecilia's tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "But a young woman needs more than duty and responsibility. Your father understood that, even if he never had the means to provide it."

Before Hester could respond, their patient stirred slightly, drawing their attention back to more immediate concerns. The movement proved to be nothing more than a shift in his sleep, but it served to remind them of the strange circumstances that had brought him to their care.

"We'll need to go down to Builth Wells and notify the local magistrate," Aunt Cecilia mused. "Though I suppose our guest might wake and solve the mystery of his identity himself."

"Do you think he was robbed?" Hester asked, noting again the quality of his clothing.

She went to search the pockets of his coat, but found nothing that might identify their guest; only a purse jingling with coin.

She placed it, unopened, on the table beside the bed. "Or perhaps not, if he still has this."

"Nothing about his appearance suggests violence beyond the fall itself." Aunt Cecilia's practical nature asserted itself. "We shall simply have to wait and see. Now, off to bed with you. I'll sit with him until Felicity's watch."

Hester opened her mouth to protest but was betrayed by a yawn.

Her aunt's raised eyebrow brooked no argument, and truth be told, the day's exertions had left her exhausted.

Still, as she prepared for bed in her own chamber, she couldn't help but wonder about their mysterious guest and the circumstances that had brought him to their remote corner of Wales.

Sleep came quickly, but her dreams were filled with London ballrooms and elegant strangers, while Aunt Felicity's voice whispered charms in the background, keeping watch over them all.

On the third morning after finding the injured stranger on the mountain, Hester was sitting alone with their patient when his eyes finally opened.

Clear blue and confused, they fixed upon her face with an intensity that made her breath catch, before darting around the unfamiliar room in obvious bewilderment.

"Where..." His voice emerged as a croak, and Hester quickly reached for the water glass on the bedside table.

"Please, don't try to speak just yet," she said, helping him raise his head enough to take a few sips. "You've had quite a nasty bump to the head."

He submitted to her ministrations with grace, despite his obvious confusion. When she withdrew the glass, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you. I find myself at something of a disadvantage, Miss...?"

"Wynstanley," she supplied. "Hester Wynstanley. You're at Plas Wyn, in Radnorshire, mid-Wales. I found you unconscious, fallen off your horse, three days ago."

"Three days?" His hand rose to the bandage at his temple, fingers exploring the wrapping with careful touches. "I don't remember... that is, I seem to be having some difficulty recalling..."

"That's not uncommon with head injuries," Hester assured him, though in truth she was merely repeating what Aunt Cecilia had said. "Perhaps you might tell me your name? We've been quite curious about our mysterious guest."

A small frown creased his forehead. "Freddie," he said after a moment. "I'm quite certain about that much. But beyond that..." He trailed off, looking frustrated.

"Freddie will do perfectly well for now," Hester said with more confidence than she felt. "I should fetch my aunts. They'll be glad to see you awake."

Before she could move, however, the door burst open and Aunt Felicity hurried in, arms full of fresh herbs. "I had a feeling!" she announced triumphantly. "The rosemary in my tea leaves was pointing directly north this morning, and I said to Cecilia, I said, 'He'll wake today, mark my words.'"

Freddie blinked at this pronouncement, clearly unsure how to respond. Hester noticed his lips twitching slightly, as though trying not to smile.

"Fliss, dear, perhaps we might give our guest a moment to orient himself?" Aunt Cecilia appeared in the doorway, ever practical. "Good morning, sir. We're very pleased to see you awake. I'm Cecilia Wynstanley, and this is my sister, Felicity. We've been quite concerned about you."

"You're very kind," Freddie replied, his manner suggesting that courtesy came naturally to him, even in such unusual circumstances. "I find myself quite at a loss as to how to thank you for your care."

"Nonsense," Aunt Felicity declared, bustling forward to press a sprig of something fragrant into his hand. "Though you really must hold onto this thyme. Excellent for restoring memories, you know. My grandmother always said..."

"Fliss," Aunt Cecilia interrupted gently, "perhaps our guest might like a moment to refresh himself? And some breakfast?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. I'll fetch something at once." Aunt Felicity hurried out, leaving a trail of herb fragments in her wake.

"You must forgive my sister," Aunt Cecilia said, moving to efficiently straighten the bedclothes. "She means well, though her enthusiasm can be somewhat overwhelming."

"Not at all," Freddie assured her, though Hester noticed he was still holding the sprig of thyme somewhat gingerly. "I find I rather appreciate enthusiasm at present. Everything else seems rather... unclear."

A shadow passed over his features, and Hester felt a surge of sympathy. How frightening it must be to wake in a strange place with no memory of how one came to be there.

"Rest is the best medicine," she offered. "Though perhaps not quite so much as you've had already."

That earned her a smile, transforming his face from merely handsome to quite striking. "I believe I've imposed upon your hospitality quite long enough..."

He made as if to rise, but fell back against the pillows, clearly dizzy. Aunt Cecilia clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"You'll do nothing of the sort until you're properly recovered," she said firmly. "Plas Wyn has welcomed unexpected guests before, and I dare say it will again. You're welcome to stay until you're well enough to travel, or until your memory returns."

"You're very generous," Freddie murmured, though whether from gratitude or exhaustion was unclear. His eyes had begun to drift closed again.

"Rest now," Aunt Cecilia advised, gesturing for Hester to follow her from the room. "We can speak more later."

In the corridor outside, Hester's aunt fixed her with a penetrating look. "Well?"

"He seems a gentleman," Hester replied carefully. "Though obviously confused."

"Quite." Aunt Cecilia's tone was neutral. "We shall have to notify the magistrate, of course. But I think we might wait a day or two, until he's stronger. No point in overwhelming him with officials when he can barely keep his eyes open."

Before Hester could respond, Aunt Felicity reappeared, this time carrying what appeared to be every blanket in the house.

"Mrs Jones is preparing a strengthening broth," she announced.

"And I've brought extra blankets, in case the thyme doesn't work.

Grandmother always said warm feet were essential for memory recovery. "

Hester caught her aunt Cecilia's eye and had to look away quickly to hide her smile. Whatever else their mysterious guest might remember, he was certainly getting a thorough introduction to the particular charms of the Wynstanley household.