Page 14 of Lady Farah Creates a Scandal (The Season of Secrets #2)

R ockwell’s heart was still pounding in his chest. Lucien was alive, and he’d found him. He wished he could hug his friend until the memory of standing over his graveside vanished. He didn’t even care that the man before him couldn’t remember who he was.

How awful that all he could feel was relief in learning that Lucien had lost his memory and hadn’t just turned his back on his friends and family.

He stood looking at the man he’d grown up with and considered one of his best friends, but the blankness in his eyes proved beyond a doubt that Lucien didn’t have a clue who he was.

He ran a hand through his hair and wondered how to proceed.

It was going to be a lot for Lucien to take in.

“What on earth are you talking about? Why do you keep calling me Lucien?”

He watched as if in a dream, as Farah put her hand on Lucien’s arm to calm him. Rockwell could see fear and confusion enter his friend’s eyes. Farah gently spoke. “We know you. We have a story to share with you and it will not be easy to hear.” She turned to Rockwell. “Show him the locket.”

He scrambled in his pocket, pulling out the locket Lauren had given him when he’d asked for a keepsake of Lucien’s, and opening it.

He shoved it toward Lucien and let him see.

Lucien’s hand reached out and took the jewelry from him and he stood staring at the images inside for a moment.

There was a picture of Lauren and one of Lucien, himself.

He handed it back, then shifted Ava-Marie onto his other hip, and said, “My cottage is about a mile from the village. We can talk there. I have my cart here, so you don’t need to walk.”

Rockwell looked at Farah. “We have our own carriage. Why don’t we just meet you at your cottage? I’ll need directions.”

Lucien nodded. “If you keep following the road along the cliff tops past the vicarage, after a mile, you’ll come to a small cottage with a swing in the front yard. That’s my home.”

Farah smiled tentatively. “Thank you. I know this is very confusing for you. But you need to hear what Lord Ware has to say.”

Lucien nodded. “Aye, I think I do. Come Ava-Marie, we need to go.”

“But we haven’t played hide and seek today,” she complained.

“Next time,” Lucien promised, and they walked off. At the gate, he turned to look at them, or was it Ava’s grave, before leaving?

“We’re going to hurt him—a lot. All those around him have lied to him. He thinks the woman in that grave is his wife. I wonder if they were ever married or if she merely told him they were.”

Rockwell cursed into the wind, and if he could have hit something, he would have. “How could she have done that to him? How could she take advantage of an injured man?”

“We will never know. But you said it in the carriage—women are strong and will do anything to survive. Ava saw an opportunity and took it. She wanted out of the horrible life she’d obviously had in that brothel.

So, she brought a man with no memory home from Dublin as her husband and I suspect no one was the wiser.

I also think she hoped he’d be happy and that she really wasn’t hurting anyone.

He probably was happy, for he was crying over her grave.

He must have loved her.” She sighed. “He’d have remained happy or at least content, and he’d be none the wiser if we hadn’t showed up.

The one thing I know for certain is the child is his. ”

“Agreed. The little girl is the spitting image of him. But he deserves to know the truth, doesn’t he?”

She turned to him and slipped her hand over his arm and tugged him along to walk back to the village. “Yes. He does. But it doesn’t mean he will not be hurt as we turn his life upside down. And perhaps, he won’t want to leave here.”

“Of course he will. He’s the heir to an earldom.”

“An earldom that is all but broke.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me. I don’t think I could have handled this very well on my own.”

And that was the truth. He didn’t care that there would be consequences. Rockwell needed her. He was so cut up inside and now filled with such anger for his friend and family, that he needed Farah’s touch to calm him. She would know how to help his friend and for that, he would be forever grateful.

She smiled like an angel. “I’m glad I’m here with you, too. I’m so happy you’ve found your friend.”

*

They easily found Lucien’s cottage. Nestled amidst the rolling green hills near to the sea, stood the cottage, weathered by time and the elements.

It was nothing like Lucien’s ancestral country house, but it was obvious that he took pride in it, as the gardens were immaculate and the stone fences well kept.

The cottage was constructed of rough-hewn stone, its walls coated with a layer of whitewash that had faded to a soft, weathered hue over the years. A thatched roof, now patched in places, sloped gently downwards, offering shelter from the frequent rains that swept across the countryside.

Outside, a small garden flourished, its borders delineated by neatly stacked stone walls. To the side of the cottage were rows of potatoes, cabbages, and carrots thriving in the rich, dark soil. A path of worn cobblestones led from the garden gate, passed the swing to the cottage door.

As they approached the cottage, the scent of peat smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding fields. Rockwell glanced through the small, paned windows, and noted the warm glow of a fire flickering within, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floorboards.

Lucien flung the door open and waved them in. He’d placed chairs by the fire for them to sit.

Inside, the cottage was cozy and inviting, despite its modest size.

A hearth dominated one wall, its stone mantle adorned with an assortment of trinkets and keepsakes—a wooden pipe, a faded daguerreotype, a rosary blessed by the local priest. Above the mantle, a crucifix watched over the room, its presence a silent reminder of the family’s faith. Another lie. Lucien wasn’t Catholic.

Furniture, though sparse, was sturdy and well-made—a wooden table and chairs, but Lucien sat in a worn but comfortable armchair by the fire, a simple wooden bed tucked into the corner looked feminine with a quilt a rainbow of colors.

Was that Ava-Marie’s bed? Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and crockery.

Each item appeared cherished for its practicality or sentimental value.

Despite the obvious hardships of rural life, the cottage was an inviting place of warmth and hospitality. Only Rockwell understood how Lucien would feel about this cottage once he returned to England.

“Ava-Marie and her cousin Caitria, are in the barn. I thought it would give us privacy to talk, as I’m pretty sure I will not like what I hear.”

Rockwell smiled. “I can see the head wound hasn’t scrambled your brain. You were always a clever man.”

“I must be mad to believe this tale, but something inside me always felt that this wasn’t really my home.

Besides, why would anyone come and tell me I’m English nobility unless it were true?

Plus, how is it I can talk like this?” Lucien had swapped to a very upper-class English accent.

“I take it you know me and know me well?” Lucien’s eyes swept over them.

He leaned forward. “We were—are—best friends since we could walk.”

With desperation in his voice, Lucien said, “Please tell me. Who am I?”

It was Farah’s soft voice that responded. “You’re Lucien Cavanaugh, Viscount Furoe, heir to the Earl of Danvers. You have two sisters called Lauren and Madeline, and your father is still alive.”

Lucien looked at them as if they’d gone mad and promptly burst out laughing. But his laughter turned into a croaking cry as he said, “Then how did I end up here?”

Rockwell told Lucien bluntly, not holding anything back. “We know some of the story but have had to surmise the rest. You left England to help quell the Irish rebellion in 1803. Your mother was Irish and you could speak Gaelic, so you thought you might stop the bloodshed.”

Farah butted in. “You were in the British Army in Ireland fighting in the Irish rebellion. I think you got wounded and taken into a gentlemen’s club where Ava nursed you back to health.

” She swallowed and looked at Rockwell, who nodded his encouragement.

“I think Ava must have fallen for you, and when she learned you’d lost your memory, she brought you here as her husband. ”

The anguish in Lucien’s eyes was almost too much for Rockwell to bear. “She tricked me. It was all a lie. We were never married, were we?”

“I don’t think so,” Farah said. “We would have to check the parish records in Dublin. If you married Ava, it must have been before your injury or you would remember. And I don’t think you were in Dublin long enough for a marriage to occur.

” She didn’t want to tell him about Courtney just yet. Lucien had enough to take in.

“That means Ava-Marie is illig…” And Lucien swore and got to his feet to pace the room. “How did you find me? After all this time, why did you come looking?” Lucien retook his seat.

Rockwell leaned back and told him the tale. “I was in Ireland on an errand for my brother, the Marquess of Wolfarth. I thought I saw you in a tavern one night. I tried to follow you but lost you in the street.”

“That was you? I thought some drunkard was after my money. I had just sold some potatoes to the grain merchant. I hid from you because you kept calling me Lucien.” He sighed. “Now I understand why.”

“I came back a few days ago to see if it was you.”

“On a hunch? You really were—are—a good friend. Thank you, I guess.”

Rockwell didn’t know what to say. “I know this is a lot to take in, but your family needs you. Your father—”

Farah interrupted. “You deserve to know the truth. It’s over to you what you want to do with it.” Farah gave him a stern look, as if to say, don’t overwhelm him all at once .

“Do my family in England know I’m alive?”

Rockwell’s heart almost seized. Was he considering not returning to his old life?

He looked around the small cottage. While Lucien’s family’s finances were not the best, if Lucien took control of the estates, he could turn it all around, especially if he married well.

And he was sure Courtney would welcome Lucien back with open arms. “I didn’t want to tell anyone I thought you were alive until I was sure. ”

Lucien nodded. “That makes sense.”

Farah leaned forward. “We are here to take you home.”

Lucien really looked at her. “And how do you fit into this situation? Are you Lord Ware’s wife?”

Rockwell spluttered and coughed. “Please, call me Rockwell.”

Once again, Farah saved him. “No. I’m a friend of his sisters. I accidentally got caught up in this adventure.”

Lucien seemed to accept this because, of course, he’d forgotten how the ton worked. He likely did not know the consequences of Farah being here.

Lucien sat quietly for some time with his chin resting on his peaked hands.

Rockwell prayed his friend would come home with them, even if they never returned to their previous friendship.

Regardless of his friend’s memory loss, Rockwell only wanted the best for Lucien and he wasn’t sure this was it.

“If I return with you, Ava-Marie and Caitria come with me. Ava and her father died two years ago from the lung disease, and I would not have survived without her cousin, Caitria. I don’t believe Caitria has any idea that this is all a lie.

She came from Cork to help when Ava fell ill and had not seen this side of the family for many years. ”

Rockwell inwardly gave a sigh of relief. Farah spoke once again. “Of course your daughter must come and Caitria, too, if she wishes. Her life will be very different in England, however. You might wish to ask her first if she wants to go home to Cork instead.”

Lucien nodded. “Of course.”

“How long will it take you to be ready to leave? We have a coach that will fit us all, and my ship is docked in Dublin.” He was conscious, as was Farah, that the sooner they left, the better for her ability to stop a scandal arising.

With a great sadness floating in his eyes, Lucien looked around the cottage. What did he see? Happy memories or hurtful lies. He watched Lucien’s mouth firm and his jaw tighten. “Let me talk with Caitria and get her decision. If she wishes to come with me, we can leave tomorrow.”

“That soon?” Farah asked tentatively. “What will you do with this holding?”

Lucien stood and moved to stand before the fire. “I shall keep it to remember this part of my life. Besides, this is where Ava-Marie was born.” His tone softened when he talked about his daughter.

“I can help you arrange for someone to look after the cottage and land once we are back in England.”

Lucien looked at Rockwell. “Thank you, my—friend.” He smiled.

Farah stood. “We’ll take our leave. Ava-Marie will need supper and to get to bed. It’s going to be a long journey for her. Besides, it’s likely getting cold out in the barn.”

As he showed them to the door, Lucien shook Rockwell’s hand, but he couldn’t help pulling Lucien in for a manly hug. Lucien took Farah’s gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Farah too pulled him in for a hug, and he saw tears form in her eyes. “I’m just so thankful you’re alive.”