He did not wait for a reply but left Oliver standing in the middle of the stable yard. His head was rushing with images and thoughts that wanted to assemble themselves into words…memories perhaps. Seeing the barouche drive away had caused him to experience the same feelings of familiarity once more. And there was something else, something that…
“Laddie! Dunnae stand there daydreaming. Authority. Paddock. Now.”
George’s harsh voice had a way of yanking him from any thoughts he might have been able to put together. Not wishing to endanger his position, Oliver made his way across the stable yard and into the box with the name ‘Authority’ above it.
Oliver leaned on the fence to the paddock and watched as the two horses he’d escorted here walked across the large field.
It was warm today, although not unpleasantly so. He would have enjoyed a few moments of peace and quiet, away from the busy stable yard, but his mind would not allow him the rest.
The name Alderbridge had struck a chord with him, but he did not know why. Did he know the man? Had he worked for him, perhaps? It was odd, the name was so familiar, yet he could not picture him at all.
Perhaps I will have a chance to see him on the morrow. Perhaps seeing the face will allow me to form a memory.
“Excalibur!” The sweet voice of Seraphina called out to him and he turned. Instantly, he broke into a wide smile and found himself waving at her. She raised one arm to return the wave and walked toward him. She was a vision in a yellow round dress that floated with each step as she made her way toward him.
A white spencer covered her arms and a straw bonnet with a white ribbon around it hid her beautiful dark hair. In one hand, she was clutching a bunch of wildflowers.
“Good day, Lady Seraphina,” he bowed to her and was caught off guard by the frown on her face as he straightened.
“You are ever so formal, Oliver.”
“We are not alone, My Lady,” he nodded toward the west side of the paddock were workers were attending to the field.
She shrugged. “Very well.”
He nodded toward the flowers in her hand. “Mighty pretty. A gift for Lady Oxshire?”
She shook her head, a horrified expression on her face.
“Never. Mama despises flowers in the house. She says they make her sneeze and her eyes water. They are for my sister. Cynthia.”
“The one who helped look after me when I had taken ill.”
“The same. She is returning to London soon and I want to give her something to brighten up her chamber.” She shook her head for a moment. “I was there only once and it was such a sad space, desperately in need of some cheer.”
Oliver frowned.
“It does not sound as though her husband provides for her very well. Does your father know of their circumstances?”
Seraphina raised her eyebrows, a confused expression on her face. Then her face lit with understanding.
“I am ever so sorry, Oliver. It had slipped my mind that you do not know the circumstances. My sister is not wed. She has chosen to instead dedicate her life to the poor. She is an Assistant Matron at the London Asylum for Orphaned Girls. She has been there for two years. I miss her ever so much when she’s gone.”
Oliver found himself surprised to hear this news. He’d sense a certain charitable air around Seraphina’s sister when she’d taken care of him. Still, he’d simply assumed that she was a noble woman, married to a lord as most daughters of influential peers were.
“Are you very close to your sister?”
She nodded and placed the flowers on the floor beside the fence before sitting down. She patted the grass beside her and indicated for him to sit.
Oliver glanced out over the paddock toward the stable yard.
“I am sure George will be looking for me shortly.”
She shrugged. “Do not fret. We will say you assisted me with…a matter.” She squinted for a moment and then looked at her flowers. “Yes! I know. Perhaps you can hold the flowers while I select and assemble them into a pretty bouquet for Cynthia. That will be helpful.”
Oliver grinned for he was certain that assisting the Duke’s daughter in making a floral arrangement was not what the Duke of Oxshire had in mind when he gave him a position. Nonetheless, he enjoyed her company too much to refuse.
He squatted down beside her and took the flowers. She had to have been selecting them for hours, for there were many different kinds. He spotted a rose, a daisy, and even a tulip.
“Are these from your garden? I do not believe I’ve seen this many different varieties there.”
She shook her head and pulled the rose out of the bunch and surrounded it with a circle of greenery she’d also picked.
“Not the one outside the Castle. There is another, a little further out near the gazebo. Papa had it planted, for my mother, with all manner of beautiful flowers. She likes to go and sit in the gazebo when her nerves are bad.”
She pulled out several yellow tulips and placed them around the greenery. The deep red rose looked lovely surrounded by the green and yellow.
“I’m sorry to hear her nerves are bad.”
To his surprise, Seraphina giggled. “Only when her children will not do her bidding, that is all. She suffered with the nerves something awful when Cynthia told her she had no desire to be anyone’s wife and would rather spend her life with the orphans.” She reached forward and was about to take another set of greenery from him when her fingers brushed against the back of his hand and he found himself almost losing his grip on the flowers. The jolt that had rushed through his body by the sudden connection shook him. When he steadied himself, he realized the same was true for her.
Seraphina sat in the grass, her hand which had reached for the flower still hung in the air as if forgotten there. She glanced up at him, their eyes momentarily meeting. He swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob. Just as the silence between them threatened to become uncomfortable, Seraphina proceeded to reach for more flowers and flashed a bright smile at him.
“I am certain Mama’s nerves will continue to suffer on account of my refusal to court the man she and Papa deemed suitable for me.”
The mention of a suitor for Seraphina unsettled him more than he could understand.
I only met her days ago. She is a duke’s daughter. It is not my place to have any feelings about her courting whatsoever.
And yet, he could not help feeling an intense desire to question her further on the matter.
“Why would it cause her nerves to suffer? Do you not like the man?”
She looked up; the smile replaced by a grimace. “I do not. We have nothing in common. He enjoys hunting, which I suppose most noble men do. I cannot harm an animal. I love my dogs; he finds them smelly and too rambunctious. I enjoy reading. He finds it taxing.” She shrugged. “But he is wealthy and owns a castle in Scotland as well as a large estate in Devon, which my mother adores. I suppose that makes him ideal for me.”
He swallowed as she continued to assemble the bouquet. “So, do you intend to turn down the courtship?” Her head shot up and there was a fire in her eyes.
“I do. I intend to say no to every courtship until…well. Until I cannot any longer. I will not be one of those ladies who are married off to just any lord for the sake of her family’s fortune. Mine is one of the wealthiest families and my father one of the most influential lords in the entire realm. I do not need to marry for an alliance, and I will not do so. Not if I do not like the man. I’d rather join Cynthia at the orphanage.”
Oliver could not help but grin. Her words warmed his heart. Not just because he found himself rapidly losing his heart to her, but because of the conviction and the fire in her voice.
“You remind me of Henrietta. I imagine she’d have held similar beliefs had she lived,” he heard himself say.
“Henrietta?”
He looked up and felt his face scrunch up in confusion. His head suddenly pounded, and he placed the remaining flowers on the ground in front of
him, rubbing his temples.
“I do not know why I…I do not know who that is. It just suddenly came out of my mouth. The name, the statement. I…”
The pain in his head was almost insufferable. He clutched it between his hands and applied pressure with his eyes squeezed shut.
“Oliver?” she sounded alarmed and placed her carefully assembled bouquet on the ground, crawling across to where he was. She gently wrapped her hand around one of his wrists and removed it from his head. A moment later, he felt two of her fingers apply pressure between his thumb and index finger. Under her breath, she counted to ten and then began to massage the area with a small, circular motion.
His eyes fluttered and he caught the intense expression on her face as she worked on his hand. After a few moments, she let go of his hand and motioned for him to give her his other hand. He did so without protest, for whatever she was doing was helping the pain in his head. While not gone, the throbbing had lessened.
“It is a Chinese practice. I found it in one of Papa’s books. Reflexology it is called.”
“Whatever it is called, it is helping. Thank you.”
“It is?” she beamed at him, delighted by her success. He nodded gently, hoping this would not lead her to stop. It didn’t. She gently continued to massage his hands, alternating between left and right as his headache was beginning to wane.
“I do not know what came over me. The pain just suddenly…it overcame me.”
Seraphina studied his face. “It seemed to come on at the same time you spoke of Henrietta. Do you know who she is?”
He shook his head and then paused.
Clearly, I know who she is, the trouble is I cannot remember.
There was, however, something he did remember.
“I am not certain who she is, but I believe I dreamed about her. Last night. I woke with a start from the dream. Although it is hazy, I did recall a young girl, upon a horse. I knew her. I am certain of it. When the name Henrietta came to my mind just now it was accompanied by an image of a horse.”
Seraphina stopped rubbing his hands and pulled her own away, leaving a vacuum where her touch had been.
“The way you spoke of her, it seems as though she had passed away.”
He shrugged, feeling the throb in the back of his head coming to life. “I do not know where any of it came from, Seraphina. There are just things that come to me. Familiar things. Flashes of images and names. Things I know I have done before or worn before.” He shook his head, frustrated at his inability to recall things more clearly.
“Oliver, that is wonderful. It means that your memories are not gone forever, just buried. In time, they will return, and you will know who you are and where you came from.”
He nodded, wishing he already knew. Then, out of the blue, a thought came to him.
“I have a favor to ask, Seraphina.” He had to remind himself not to call her ‘lady’ when they were alone.
“Of course,” the delight in her voice was genuine. “Anything I can do to help you.”
“Your father is going on the hunt on the morrow with a lord whose name has evoked something in me. Not a memory, but I know that I know him. I do not know how. Perhaps we are friends? Perhaps I have worked for him? Maybe he is a relative? I thought perhaps if I was able to meet him, or at least see him, it might jog a memory. Or he might know me.”
Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip, deep in thought.
“We will find a way to introduce you. Do not fret, I shall think of it and plan it all out. Who is visiting? I do not believe I have been told we would be having company.”
“Lord Alderbridge,” he began. “I am told they will be…”
He got no further for her demeanor changed at once and her nostrils flared in anger.
“Alderbridge? Lord Alderbridge, again?” She jumped up. “Papa promised. I was promised…this will not stand.” She stomped her foot looking suddenly like a petulant child as she balled her hands into fists.
“What is it?” He rose in hurry.
“Alderbridge is the latest lord my parents have tried to push upon me as a husband. The one who feels dogs stink and books are boring. I told Papa already that I do not wish to see him again. And now this!” Her pale face grew red with rage.
“Perhaps it is not to see you. Perhaps he and His Grace are simply friends who…”
“Papa does not care for him as a friend. Lord Alderbridge is thirty years my father’s junior. Before the Marquess expressed an interest in courting me, they hardly ever spoke. No. It is to see me. It is…” her words tumbled over each other as she spoke and then she turned her head with such speed he thought it might fly off.
“I must go, Oliver. I must attend to this. This is an outrage.” Without awaiting his reply, she turned and rushed off across the field and back toward the Castle.
Confused about this sudden turn in the day, Oliver stood and looked after her as she went. When she had disappeared into the distance his gaze fell to the floor where she’d left the beautifully assembled bouquet earlier. To his dismay, he found that many of the flowers had been crushed in her sudden flare up of ill temper. He squatted down and picked up those still intact and gathered them up in his arm.
Shaking his head, he made his way back to the stable yard, an idea forming as he left.
Chapter 13
Seraphina rushed into the Castle and up toward her father’s study which was one floor below the library and equally large and richly furnished. The footman was about to open the door for her when she rushed past him and threw open the door herself.
“Papa.” She stopped in the doorway, surprised to find her mother sitting in the armchair across from her father. The two hardly ever spent any time together when not socially required. Theirs was a classic example of the society marriage that Seraphina was so desperate to avoid.
Her mother, then Lady Elenora Banks, had been the daughter of the wealthy Marquess of Dunstable. Her grandfather had owned the lands adjacent to the Oxshire Estate and the match with the newly appointed Duke of Oxshire had united the two neighboring families and their wealth. Already rich beyond measure, the Duke of Oxshire was now one of the richest men in the country and the match had been hailed a stroke of genius.
The matchmaker, an elderly vicar familiar with both families, had died believing that he’d created one of the most successful matches in generations.
If only he’d known how miserable the two people he put together would be. If only society would see how they despise one another.
While they had more wealth than any one human would ever be able to spend in ten lifetimes and were envied for their riches, the Duke and Duchess of Oxshire despised one another. So much so that, after giving birth to three daughters, the Duchess had simply refused to try for a son. The idea of being near her husband in the way required to produce a child simply revolted her too much.
Seraphina only knew this because, on occasion, Lady Oxshire would take too much of the drink and begin to talk. Many a secret had been revealed in this manner.
However, to her surprise, today the two looked united. And the sight filled her with dread.
“I see you have heard the Marquess will be joining us tomorrow,” her mother said, her lips pursed as she looked Seraphina up and down. “Please wear something nicer. The beautiful silver lace dress from Glasgow should do.”
She ignored her mother and instead glared at her father.
“Papa, you promised me not to force a courtship with Alderbridge. I do not care for him.”
Her father was about to open his mouth and reply when her mother broke in.
“As you did not care for the Duke of Hamstead, the Earl of Ely, or the Earl of Rove.”
“They were all vile!” Seraphina heard the desperation in her own voice and reminded herself to remain calm. She would not give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her upset.
“The Duke was a drunkard, Lord Ely was more interested in Mary than myself, and Lord Rove kick
ed one of my dogs!”
Lady Oxshire rolled her eyes. “The dog nipped at him.”
Seraphina rook a deep breath. “Mobsley growled at him because he did not know the Earl. The Earl then proceeded to step on Mobsley’s tail, quite on purpose, I declare. If I were the dog, I would have nipped him too!”
At that, her father chuckled, earning a glare from his wife.
“In any case, you are gaining a reputation, and not a good one. There is talk you might end up an ape-leader like your sister. You are not getting younger. Do you wish to be on the shelf and live among the orphans like Cynthia?”
The Trouble with Saving a Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9