by Joyce Alec
Edward met with Chloé’s doctor in the foyer. “She’s improving physically, but her mental state is quite fragile,” he told Edward. “She must be kept calm and, hopefully, she will gradually regain her memory. Don’t push her to remember.”
Edward was ecstatic to hear those words. He was quite sure he did not want her to remember their relationship prior to now. It would surely destroy her and any real happiness they had a chance at would disappear. “Yes, sir,” he answered the doctor. “I will instruct the staff. Thank you.”
“Fry,” Edward called to his steward after the doctor left. “I am off. Please keep the lady calm and without distress per the doctor. Get word to me at my father’s if anything should arise. Thank you.”
Fry nodded and carried his master’s bag to the waiting carriage. “My condolences, sir,” he bowed to Edward as he ascended the carriage stairs.
“Thank you, Fry. Take care of her. Oh, and please find a governess quickly. It will not do to have a young lady staying with us alone.”
“Aye, sir. I shall take care of it.” Fry paused before turning. “And, thank you, again. For the promotion.”
Edward nodded as the carriage pulled away.
***
Edward returned from his father’s with a renewed conviction. He had a unique opportunity to change his fate. He married Chloé at the behest of his father to save the family, and never intended on having any real feelings for her. He certainly would not be the first of his circle to marry for a reason outside of love. But he saw something in her innocent eyes trusting him… with everything. She was so vulnerable, but entirely confident that Edward was there for her. He was struck by the feeling that surged in his soul when she looked at him with that trust. It made him want to protect her. To heal her. To, perhaps, even love her.
He spent the next few days bringing her food and sitting with her in her bedchamber, which vexed her new governess, Ms. Parker, to no end. He told Chloé they were distant cousins and, after the death of her parents, she was now in his charge. The story was basically true, but he omitted a few thorny details.
Her memory was still entirely absent. She depended on him for every piece of her jagged puzzle. She asked him about how her parents passed away. He truly had no idea how her mother died, and he had vague details of her father. He initially explained to her that the doctor advised against filling her head with information. It was better, he said, to let everything come back on its own.
Her attitude was brilliant. She agreed to ask no more questions about her past and, instead, dedicated her time to finding out about Edward. She found him so easy to talk to and felt a deep trust in him. She was not sure why, but something deep inside told her he was good, so she held to that feeling and genuinely wanted to know more about him.
After a few days, Edward took her for a short stroll to the park across the street from his house. She breathed in the wet London air and brushed her hands across the patch of bright red poppies growing around a tall apple tree.
Edward picked a ripe red apple for her. “Mmm, perfection,” she cooed after taking a hearty bite.
Edward enjoyed watching her experience things like she never had before. Everything was new and fresh. It made him feel new and fresh, feelings he could not remember ever having. They sat down on a cold stone bench and enjoyed the rest of their apples.
“I must go out tonight,” he told her. “But I shall not be late.” He was planning on putting in an appearance at Almack’s. He had not been since he returned, and rumors of his demise in the shipwreck were beginning to take flight.
“I shall miss your company, dear sir,” Chloé said coyly.
“And I yours,” he returned, rising. “Shall we return to the house, then?” he asked, offering his hand. “I do not want to over tire you. And Ms. Parker will be unnerved you’re unaccompanied.”
She snickered and rose shakily, almost falling. Edward caught her at the waist, and her face flushed hot with embarrassment. “I am so sorry, sir,” she apologized.
He straightened her and placed her trembling hand on his arm. “Do not apologize, Chloé,” he said, using her given name. She blushed and bowed her head, allowing him to guide her back to the house.
***
When Edward entered Almack’s, every head in the house turned. He was dressed in full dandy-wear. His fitted waistcoat spread elegant across his shoulders, and his starched cravat was expertly knotted by Fry. He had no idea the fellow was so talented with a cravat. He strutted across the room like a proud peacock. The ladies in the room released a collective sigh as he crossed in front of them. He certainly was the star of the ton.
“Edward, chap,” his friend, Lord Andrew Dreshere, Marquess of Albany, called across the room.
Edward joined the table full of gamblers, looking over his friend’s shoulder at his cards. “Albany, you fool, fold on a pair, what are you thinking,” he jested, intentionally revealing Albany’s hand.
Albany jumped up from his chair, falsely-confrontational, grabbing Edward around the waist. “Edward, you just cost me a monkey!” he bellowed.
“Is that bloody all?” Edward jeered. “Well, I’m quite sure you would have lost far more if I let you play that appalling hand.”
The two men sat down, still half-embracing. “Oy, mate, where have you been? We thought you’d gone off and died somewhere. Heard something about a ship,” Albany blustered.
“Ah, the stories of my passing have been greatly exaggerated,” Edward quipped. “There was a capsized ship, however.”
“Aye?” Albany asked, leaning forward. “What happened?”
“I was on my way back from France, and we were tossed about by a massive storm. The ship went over. It was quite rough,” he confessed. “I’ve been recovering. Lost my steward, as well.”
“Oh, that’s remarkable,” Albany replied. “Glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you.”
“Condolences on your mum’s passing as well,” a friend to Edward’s left, Tembly, added.
“Thank you, Tem.”
“Arg, this nonsense must stop,” Albany thundered. “We’ve got cards to play!”
Edward chuckled at his friend’s segue. He admired a man who would not dwell on the inevitable. “Let us play, friends,” Edward agreed, tossing in his bet.
***
The next morning, Chloé joined Edward at the breakfast table.
“Pleasure to see you up and about, my lady,” he said, rising as she sat down.
“Thank you, sir. How was your evening?” she asked, reaching for a slice of warm bread.
“Fine, thank you.” He truly missed being completely rude and obnoxious with his friends. It was a fine release. He would get back into the swing of the ton soon enough. And, perhaps, he would be able to share it with his new bride. His expectations, which were once wretchedly low, were on the rise because of Chloé.
“Where did you go,” she probed, her curiosity killing her.
He smiled at her. She was so transparent. “Almack’s.” She stared at him blankly, obviously not knowing anything of the club. “It’s a fine club. I have many friends who frequent the place.”
“Oh,” her eyes dropped to her plate. “I see.” She felt a deep pang of jealousy that he may have been courting the attentions of another lady, or ladies, at the club.
He could feel her mood shift. “Perchance, you can come with me another time, my lady.”
She smiled, nodding in agreement trying not to betray her girlish mind. Edward was so enraptured with her coquettish frailty. His stomach churned at the thought that she may cast him out of her heart entirely once she regained her memory.
He suddenly did not feel like eating and rose to excuse himself. Chloé watched him stroll out of the room, his long stride purposeful. She felt like every time they had a moment, he pulled away. A glimmer of doubt was beginning to tug at her. She was missing something. She needed to regain her memory. She was sure that would help.
She sat in silence, p
ushing her eggs around her large white plate. Fry stalked into the room, not noticing Chloé sitting there. “Oh, dear, I am so sorry, milady. I did not see you there.” He turned to leave.
“Monsieur Fry, please wait,” she insisted. “May I please beg of you to tell me anything you may know of my past.”
Fry froze in his tracks. His master had made it clear that he, nor anyone else, was not to talk to the lady about her past. “I’m afraid the doctor advises against it, m’lady. He said that it is best you remember on your own.”
“But, surely, you must know something,” she pled.
And he did. He knew his master had married the girl in France and brought her to London on the ship that sank. “I am afraid I do not,” he lied.
She knew he was lying. “Do you not know how I came to get this rather large bump on my head?”
“Mademoiselle, I would love to help you, but I am afraid I cannot.”
“All right then,” she conceded. “Then will you at least sit with me for a bite of toast?”
Fry had grown to truly like his mistress, so he obliged. He thought it sad that she could not remember her past. And he was growing to question his master’s motives for keeping the fact they were married from her. He found it impossibly odd, even in her condition.
Chapter Five
Weeks passed, and Edward and Chloé had become incredibly close. Her memory had still not returned, and she had grown to accept that it may not. And she was fine with it. She saw her life as near to perfect. Edward had become so important to her in the last weeks, she felt like she could ask for no more. She thanked God every night for bringing him to her in her time of need. She felt truly blessed and looked no further than the present. The past was gone, and her future seemed bright. She was genuinely happy.
Edward felt much the same. More times than not, he forgot that this heavenly beauty was the same woman he met in France. He had the fortune of knowing she really hated him for what he had done to her. And she should. On the rare occasions reality sneaked up on him, he was quick to push it back down, deep inside his soul. He did not know what he would do if he lost the girl he had grown to… love.
He was so close to bringing Chloé out with him to meet his friends. Her health had improved greatly. She was physically ready, but something was holding him back. It was all a lie, and it vexed him significantly. He was nervous about making it so public. However, since he mentioned it to her, she would not stop attempting to convince him she was ready.
He promised her he would take her by the new moon. He was headed out that evening, and he left her with pouty eyes. “Next time, I promise, my lady.” She loved when he addressed her as “my” lady instead of “milady.” He said it with a possessiveness she yearned for.
“Yes, my lord,” she returned, equally expressive.
Edward entered Almack’s with his usual clamor. The ladies at the club followed his every move with their covetous gazes. One lady in particular had been pursuing Edward more than usual since his return from France. Charlotte Palmer, somewhat of a social climber, longed for Edward’s attention and had little desire to play coy. She shadowed him every time he visited Almack’s.
“Hello, love,” she whispered in his ear as he stood at the front door, surveying the crowd.
“Ah, Charlotte,” he said, moving down the steps away from her. “How are you this evening?”
“I will be much better, Edward, if you grant me a dance this eve,” she boldly drawled to his back, turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.
Edward ignored her as usual, finally laying eyes on his circle. “Hello, boys,” he exclaimed louder than needed.
Albany watched Charlotte drag herself away in another sad attempt on his bachelorhood. “She’s relentless, eh?”
Edward laughed, ineffectively trying to be discreet. The whole table of men erupted in boisterous laughter, and Charlotte scowled, somehow knowing it had something to do with her. She stomped out of the club, feeling quite humiliated. No one noticed.
***
The new moon shone brightly overhead. Edward was in his study readying for another night out with the ton at Almack’s when Chloé waltzed in decked out in a magnificent gown, a string of emeralds woven throughout her crimson curls. She looked so perfect, Edward could not speak.
“Well, sir, do you not know how to compliment a lady?” she flirted.
“Oh, good gracious,” Edward caught himself, “I do apologize, my lady. Words cannot possibly do your goddess-like beauty justice.” He quickly strode toward her, grabbing her hand and placing the most delicate kiss upon her moist palm.
Hot energy shot through her palm deep into her stomach. His touch excited her. She attempted to compose herself enough to be witty. “So, I presume you were on your way upstairs to fetch me for our night out?”
He laughed. Her fiery red curls belied her scorching wit. He adored that part of her. She could be so innocent, then pull something utterly charming out of her box of tricks. He was constantly diverted by her. “Of course, I was.” He was just about to offer his hand when he realized he still had hers firmly in his own. “Let us be off.”
She was thrilled to be going out. She had been cooped up for weeks and needed to be out amongst people. Not that she didn’t thoroughly enjoy the company of Edward and Fry—both men had become like family—but she could not wait to dance with Edward in front of everyone. She felt great pride that he had chosen to spend so much of his life with her.
On the way, Edward briefed Chloé on all the principals at Almack’s. There was Albany the loudmouth marquess, of course; Tembly, the quiet gentleman; Sir Nathan Horton, one of Edward’s old schoolmates from Eton; and the Prince Regent, who frequently put in an appearance. Chloé was thrilled to meet such a colorful band of characters.
When the beautiful couple stepped across the marble threshold, chins dropped, and a distinct “Who is she?” murmur lit up the crowd. Chloé squeezed Edward’s arm tighter when she realized they were the talk of the room.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Most of them don’t bite.”
She chuckled. “Good to know.”
Each gentleman in Edward’s circle rushed to meet his guest. She impressed them all by identifying them before they could introduce themselves. “Edward told me all about you,” she boasted.
“Well, I wish I could say the same, milady,” Albany offered with a sideways glance at Edward.
Chloé charmed each of the gentlemen to their knees. They were falling all over her, offering to fetch her a drink or aperitif. She adored such enchanting attention.
“I can’t wait to see how your favorite debutante reacts to this little surprise, chap?” Albany slapped Edward hard across the back, cackling jovially.
“Is she here?” Edward asked quietly.
“You betcha!” Albany hooted, leaving a tense Edward alone.
It did not take Charlotte long to find her way to a solitary Edward. Chloé had been kidnapped by his friends. He had no idea where they had taken her. “Abandoned already?” Charlotte whispered, sneaking up behind him.
He swirled to face her. “Charlotte, how are you?” His standard address.
“So, who is this lovely?” she prodded, her hand running up Edward’s arm.
“My name is Chloé.” Chloé appeared from nowhere, confronting the tempest Charlotte head on.
Charlotte turned to see the young beauty standing behind her. “Hello, Chloé,” she returned, measuring the girl’s importance with her stare. “My name is…”
“Charlotte,” Chloé interjected with a silent nod to Edward’s circle of snickering friends. “I am afraid I have to steal Edward for a moment. You do not mind, do you?” Before waiting for an answer, Chloé took Edward familiarly by the hand and escorted him to their table.
He was utterly stunned. He sat down next to her in silence, his friends all taking to their chairs once Chloé was seated. The group was so close to boisterous hysteria they could barely hold it in. �
�You are amazing,” he whispered, leaning in close to her.
“That was brilliant, dove,” Albany congratulated.
The table was in agreement. Chloé felt like such a star. She loved every minute of it.
Charlotte watched their table like a hawk. Her blood was boiling. She staked her claim on Edward, and she intended to see it through. The rest of the ladies of the ton adhered to the code. She would not let some unknown upstart take her place.
The group of friends laughed and gambled until the wee hours of the morn. Chloé had never had a better time—that she could remember anyway.
***
Edward worked late in his study. Fry came in with his usual warm brandy. “Here you are, sir,” he said, setting the wooden tray down on Edward’s desk.
“Thank you, Fry.” Edward took a long sip of the hot amber liquid. Fry bowed his head and started for the door. “Fry, wait,” Edward called. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course, sir,” he answered, turning back around.
“You have become close with Chloé, have you not?”
“Aye,” he replied. “She is a fine young lady. Heart of gold, she has.”
“I am thinking of asking her to marry me,” Edward stunned the older man.
“Sir, I believe you are already married to her. Are you not?”
“Well, officially, yes,” he said, suddenly thinking how daft he must sound. “But I would like her to want to marry me.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “She didn’t… I didn’t… the first time.”
“It may not be my place, sir,” Fry began.
“No, Fry, I want you to tell me. What do you think?” He had learned to lean on Fry like a surrogate father. He never had a good relationship with his own father. And now, his father was bedridden and still wanted little to do with his son. He hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since his mother’s death.
“Well, sir,” Fry started, worried he was overstepping. “I think you should consider telling her the truth.”
“No,” Edward snapped. “I cannot.” He wished he could, but she would never forgive him. He could never tell her the truth.