Page 19 of I Never Forget a Duke (The Night Fire Club #1)

H ugh entered the house and was at first struck by the familiarity of the front hallway.

It was painted a deep olive green, with paintings in gold frames on the walls.

Most of the paintings seemed to be still lifes of flowers or fruit, although Hugh paused before a portrait of a man that he recognized but could not name.

Stand up straighter, my boy. You must never let them forget who you are or where you come from.

His father. The portrait was of his father. And his father was no longer alive, which was how Hugh had come to be the duke.

Hodges cleared his throat. He clearly knew Hugh was coming, because he was calm as he allowed Hugh back in, but Ventnor, Hugh’s valet, gasped as he hurried down the stairs.

Hugh knew his valet’s name was Ventnor.

“Your Grace, what are you wearing?” Ventnor asked, smoothing the front of Hugh’s jacket.

“You are not elated to see me then?” said Hugh.

“Of course I am. It is most agreeable to see you in what appears to be good health. But these clothes are not befitting a duke of your wealth and stature.”

“I am certain you will rectify that at my nearest convenience. But first, I should like to see my mother.”

“Of course, sir. She is in the red room.”

Hugh looked down the hall. In between the paintings were a series of doors. Hugh could not remember which led to the red salon.

“I will escort you,” said Hodges. “Mr. Ventnor, perhaps you can see to His Grace’s luggage.”

“The formal suit I wore to the Rutherford ball is at the top of the trunk. It has already been laundered, so please just hang it in my closet.”

“Of course, sir,” said Ventnor. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Hugh followed Hodges to one of the doors, which he opened for Hugh. Hugh walked inside and saw an older woman in an elaborate day dress seated on a settee with needlework in her lap. She stood as soon as he walked in.

“Oh, gracious. Hugh!” She immediately crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.

This was his mother.

You look so handsome, Hugh. Soon you will be full grown and getting ready for a wedding of your own. I will undoubtedly cry. I can only pray that you visit me often while you are married. I do adore you, my son.

“Mama,” he whispered.

“I have worried about you so. Are you all right?”

“I am still missing a lot of memories, but I can already feel things coming back to me now that I am here. But I feel all right, except for the occasional dizzy spell. The doctor I consulted with says it is normal for head injuries and will go away in short order.”

“While I am not happy to hear you are still missing memories, I am elated to have you back in good health. I was so worried.”

Hugh closed his eyes for a long moment and then looked around the room.

This was the room the Duchess of Swynford used for family. He knew suddenly that there was a more formal room closer to the front of the house that was used for social calls.

He could see himself running around the room with Lark or one of his cousins.

The scar on his knee, which he’d noticed while bathing a few days prior, had been caused by his running into a low table at the center of the room.

He could see his father reading while lounging on the settee off to the side.

He could see his mother working on her needlepoint or writing a letter to a friend.

This house was not very old, Hugh suddenly knew; it had been purchased by his father when Hugh had been a boy.

“You recognize me and this room,” said the duchess.

“I do, suddenly. I feel more things coming back to me. Images, memories. Did there used to be a blue chair right here?” He gestured at a space on the rug.

“You and Lark broke it when you were about ten by climbing on it. That was twenty-five years ago.”

“There does not seem to be much rhyme or reason to when things return.” Hugh sighed and sat on a chair. “Things may return in dribs and drabs. Or I will never recover my memories. There is no way to know.”

Lark entered the room then. Hugh looked up and saw his friend as the adult he was now and not only as the child he was starting to remember. Lark had accompanied him home but had busied himself making sure the carriage and horses were taken care of before coming inside.

Hugh understood that Lark was handsome, but in a different way than Hugh.

Where Hugh was athletic, Lark was almost dainty.

Tall but thin, with long eyelashes and long fingers.

He had an elegance about him, even now as he took off his gloves and walked into the room.

They’d grown up together but had diverged at some point, too. Hugh wished he knew why.

“I am glad you found your mother,” Lark said.

Another memory hit Hugh then. He stared at Lark. “We had a conversation in this room about two weeks ago.”

“We did, yes.”

Hugh closed his eyes.

Mother says I must marry soon, although I do not understand her rush.

She wants grandchildren. And she is not getting younger.

The same must be true of your mother, and yet she is not exercising that same pressure on you.

I am not a duke.

But you will be if heaven forbid something should happen to your father. Do you intend to marry?

When I must.

I cannot fathom committing myself to some chit just to satisfy my mother .

“What did you discuss?” asked the duchess.

“Hugh’s allergy to wedlock,” said Lark.

“I think,” Hugh said, “that it is not an aversion to wedlock per se but a reluctance to marry one of the empty-headed debutantes I had met this season.”

Lark grinned. “Ah, there you are. That is exactly the sort of thing your old self would say.”

Hugh nodded. He had not seen Adele that day. She’d sent word through Wilton that the countess needed her attention, but Hugh knew she was avoiding him. He had felt quite disappointed by that; he’d hoped to see her one last time before he left.

Had he bought into her thinking that last night really had been the last time? He had meant it when he’d say they’d take each day as it came because the thought of never seeing her again was unbearable.

“Are you all right?” his mother asked. “You looked quite pained just then.”

“I apologize. I feel all right, but this situation is very confusing. There are some things I know and some things I once knew that still seem to be hidden from me. Putting it all together to create an understanding of who I am and what my life is… it is a unique challenge.”

“I can only imagine,” said his mother. “Perhaps a meal would help. I can call on Mrs. Fairchild to fix up a meal.”

“I am a bit hungry,” Hugh conceded.

After they ate, Lark offered to escort Hugh on a walk to Grosvenor Square for some fresh air.

He explained as they left the house that they would undoubtedly run into people who knew about Hugh’s disappearance, but Lark had spent the better part of the last thirty-six hours leaking that Hugh had merely been under the weather and adjourned to the country to recover.

“So expect to hear many men greeting you by saying they are happy to see you in good health.”

“I supposed it is not even largely untrue. But what about how I came to be a convalescent to begin with? Are we any closer to finding out who hit me in the head?”

“No, but I am hoping your presence at home again will lure him out. I have not told your mother this, but Owen and I hired a fellow he knows to guard your house. He is a former royal guard and is very good at hiding in plain sight.”

“A royal guard? Aren’t those the fellows with the red uniforms?”

Lark grinned. “You remember that?”

“Apparently.”

“Owen assures me this man will be discreet. He should be arriving at any moment. Oh, here he is.”

A man on horseback stopped in front of Hugh and slid off his horse. Lark snapped his fingers and a groom appeared.

“Michael, would you please see to Mr. Sedgwick’s horse?”

The groom nodded and led the horse away. Mr. Sedgwick, a man about Hugh’s age with thick brown hair and drab, nondescript clothing, shook hands with Lark.

“Your Grace, may I present you with John Sedgwick, the man I was just telling you about. Mr. Sedgwick, this is Hugh Baxter, the Duke of Swynford.”

Hugh shook Sedgwick’s hand.

“Sedgwick, you may go inside and let Hodges know who you are. I’ve asked the duchess to order a room prepared for you if you need it.”

“That is not necessary,” said Sedgwick. “Does this gate lead to the garden?” He pointed at a wrought iron gate next to the house that Hugh had not noticed before.

“Yes,” said Lark.

“I shall be fine.”

Hugh found this behavior puzzling, but then he did not know how a guard did his job.

“His Grace and I are going for a quick walk in the square. We shall return shortly.”

“Not a problem.”

Hugh shook his head and focused forward as Lark led him toward the square. There was a fence around a massive garden full of colorful flowers. Men and women walked slowly through the square in groups of two or three.

Something about the fence was familiar. It was…

It was the last thing Hugh had seen before being hit on the head.

“Oh, god.”

“What?” asked Lark.

“The Rutherford ball. I was walking home from the ball, and it was right here.” Hugh took a few steps forward and stood where Upper Brook Street met the edge of the square.

“I was thinking about how Mayfair couldn’t really be very dangerous at night since the only people on the street were likely to be drunk aristocrats when a red rose caught my eye through the fence.

As I looked at it, I thought I heard someone call my name, but I wasn’t certain so I didn’t look.

Then someone I did not see hit me in the head. ”

Lark leaned forward. “Can you recall anything else?”

Hugh closed his eyes. “I can picture it clearly, but I did not see the man coming. I just recall pain at the back of my head and then waking up at the Sweeney House.”

“I supposed your recalling the man’s identity would have been too easy. But you heard someone call your name. Did you recognize the voice?”