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

Chapter Three

The following morning dawned clear and mild, perfect weather for Freddie's first venture into the garden. Hester found him already seated on the stone bench beneath the ancient oak tree, his fair hair catching the morning light as he studied the wild Welsh landscape spread before him.

"I hope you haven't overtaxed yourself," she said by way of greeting, noting how he still held himself carefully, as though his head pained him.

"Not at all." He shifted to make room for her on the bench, a gesture so naturally courteous it made her wonder again about his background. "Your aunt Cecilia gave me permission for this little expedition, though I noticed she's watching me from the kitchen window."

Hester smiled, unsurprised by her aunt's careful oversight. "We've grown rather protective of you, I'm afraid. Three days of watching over an unconscious patient will do that."

"I cannot thank you enough." His blue eyes met hers with genuine warmth. "Most families would have sent me straight to the parish house, or called for the magistrate immediately."

"We're not most families," Hester replied, thinking of Aunt Felicity's morning ritual of checking her tea leaves for portents, and Aunt Cecilia's quiet strength.

"No," he agreed softly. "You're rather extraordinary, actually. All of you."

Something in his tone made her cheeks warm, and she looked away, focusing on the distant mountains. "How much do you remember now?"

"Bits and pieces. Nothing useful." He sounded frustrated.

"I know I can ride, for instance, though I can't recall learning how.

I know I prefer coffee to tea, though I couldn't tell you when I first tasted either.

And I know my name is Freddie, though everything else about myself seems shrouded in mist."

"It will come back," Hester assured him, though she had no real basis for such confidence. "Aunt Fliss is quite certain the thyme will help."

That drew a chuckle from him. "Your Aunt Felicity is quite something. This morning she insisted on hanging rowan berries over my door to 'ward off mischievous spirits who might be hiding my memories for sport.'"

"She means well," Hester said, feeling defensive of her aunt's eccentricities.

"Oh, I know she does. It's rather touching, actually." He shifted on the bench, wincing slightly. "I have a feeling such genuine kindness isn't something I encounter often in my normal life, whatever that might be."

Before Hester could respond to this intriguing statement, Aunt Cecilia's voice called from the house. "Breakfast is served! And Fliss has made her special restorative tea, though I wouldn't ask too closely about the ingredients if I were you."

The morning meal proved to be a cheerful affair, with Aunt Felicity expounding at length about the protective properties of various herbs while Aunt Cecilia quietly ensured everyone's plates remained full.

Freddie handled it all with remarkable grace, accepting both Aunt Felicity's charms and Aunt Cecilia's practical care with equal gratitude.

"You seem comfortable with books," Hester observed later, finding him in her father's library. "Perhaps that might tell us something about your background?"

"Only that I'm well-educated," he replied, running his fingers along the leather spines. "Though I suppose that's not surprising, given my accent and manners." He paused at a volume of Shakespeare. "I know these plays. I can quote whole passages, yet I can't remember ever seeing them performed."

"Which is your favourite?" Hester asked, curious.

"'Much Ado About Nothing,' I think. Though I couldn't tell you why." He smiled ruefully. "It's maddening, having all these fragments of knowledge without context."

"Perhaps you enjoyed the wit of it," she suggested. "The way Beatrice and Benedick trade clever insults while falling in love?"

"Perhaps." His eyes held hers for a moment longer than strictly proper. "Though I think I prefer direct honesty to wit, these days at least."

The evening found them all in the drawing room, where Aunt Cecilia worked on her eternal mending while Aunt Felicity arranged and rearranged her herbs by moonlight properties.

Hester tried to focus on her book, but found her attention drawn again and again to Freddie, who sat by the fire looking more at ease than she'd yet seen him.

"I know this is temporary," he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "That soon enough my memory will return, or someone will come looking for me. But I want you all to know how grateful I am for your kindness to a stranger."

"Nonsense," Aunt Felicity declared, not looking up from her herbs. "The tea leaves told me you would come, though I will admit they were a bit vague about the timing."

"What my sister means," Aunt Cecilia interpreted, "is that you're welcome here for as long as necessary."

Later, preparing for bed, Hester found herself thinking about the way Freddie's eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how his obvious appreciation for her family's peculiarities revealed a genuinely kind nature beneath his aristocratic manner.

It was dangerous to let her thoughts wander in that direction, she knew.

Soon enough his memory would return, and with it, no doubt, a life far removed from their quiet Welsh valley.

Still, as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but remember the way he had looked at her in the library, as though she were something precious and unexpected. Perhaps Aunt Felicity wasn't the only one who could read signs and portents in ordinary things.

Freddie found himself increasingly drawn to watching Miss Wynstanley as she went about her daily tasks at the house.

Though his memories remained frustratingly clouded, his instincts told him a lady of her bearing ought to have an army of servants at her disposal, yet here she was, tending to matters herself with both grace and evident capability.

From his favourite seat by the morning room window, Freddie observed Miss Wynstanley in the kitchen garden, her tall figure moving with purpose between the neat rows of vegetables.

The early autumn sun caught the rich dark tones in her hair, drawn back simply but elegantly from her interesting face.

Her nose might be considered a touch too sharp by London standards, but Freddie found himself captivated by the way it lent character to her countenance.

She wore a plain muslin dress, protected by a serviceable apron, yet carried herself with the natural dignity of a duchess. Even as she set a rabbit snare to keep the pests out of her vegetables. He couldn't look away.

"More tea?" The smaller of Miss Wynstanley's two aunts appeared at his elbow with the pot.

"Thank you, Miss Cecilia." He held out his cup, noting how the elderly lady's hands trembled slightly as she poured.

The family's reduced circumstances were evident in a thousand small ways, from the carefully mended curtains to the absence of a proper butler, yet they maintained an air of genteel determination that he found oddly comforting.

His own circumstances remained a muddle of half-formed recollections and inexplicable certainties. He knew he was of noble birth, could feel it in his bearing and speech, yet the specifics eluded him entirely.

Miss Wynstanley straightened, basket now full of fresh vegetables, and caught his eye through the window.

She offered a small smile that transformed her entire face, warming her hazel-green eyes and softening the determined set of her jaw.

Freddie found himself returning the smile before he quite meant to, an unconscious response to her natural charm.

"Our Hester has quite the talent for coaxing things to grow," Miss Cecilia remarked proudly. "Even in this Welsh mountain soil, she manages to keep us well supplied with fresh produce."

"Indeed." Freddie sipped his tea, considering. "Though surely such labour is unnecessary for a lady of her station?"

Miss Cecilia's expression grew slightly fixed. "We manage very well as we are, my lord. Hester takes great pride in maintaining Plas Wyn, as generations of our family have done."

There was a gentle rebuke in her tone that made Freddie wonder if he had betrayed some ingrained prejudice.

He watched as Miss Wynstanley made her way back to the house, noting how she paused to exchange words with an elderly tenant farmer, her manner perfectly balanced between friendly and appropriately reserved.

When she entered the morning room a few minutes later, cheeks slightly flushed from her exertions, Freddie found himself standing automatically. Some muscle memory of proper behaviour remained intact, even if he couldn't recall where he had learned such courtesies.

"I trust you're feeling stronger today?" she enquired, setting her basket down. "Some gentle walking might be beneficial, if you feel up to it."

"I believe I would welcome some fresh air," Freddie replied, surprised to find it true. His head injury had left him wary of excessive movement, but something about Miss Wynstanley's steady presence made him feel more secure.

She smiled again, that transformative expression that seemed to brighten the whole room. "Excellent. I shall change my apron and show you the kitchen garden properly. You might find it interesting to see how we've adapted formal French patterns to suit our more practical needs."

As she left to make herself presentable, Freddie realised he was genuinely looking forward to learning more about this unusual young woman who combined such refined manners with practical capability.

There was something refreshing about her lack of artifice, so different from the hazy social memories that occasionally surfaced in his dreams.