“I met with General Davis at the Home Office yesterday,” Adam began.
“And?” Derek prompted.
“He informed me that I’ve been offered a position there.”
The look of relief on Derek’s face made Adam lift his chin. But his brother didn’t say a word.
“A secretarial position,” Adam continued.
“And you’re not happy about this?” Derek asked.
“Did you think I would be?” Adam replied, clenching his jaw.
“Frankly, yes.” Derek opened the newspaper again.
Adam narrowed his eyes on the duke. “You orchestrated this, didn’t you?”
Derek’s eyebrows snapped together. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? You’ve been at half pay for the last year and you’ve refused to take the money I’ve settled on you. I thought you’d be pleased to have a new position.”
“Damn it, Derek. You of all people should understand.” Adam paced away from him and exhaled his breath, staring out the back window into the gardens. “There’s no honor in taking notes in an office. I could go to the Continent, assist Collin.”
Behind him, his brother’s voice was dry. “Forgive me saying so, but I was under the impression that the army was never your preferred profession. You’ve always been good at reading and writing. I thought you’d prefer this position over one in which you might actually be in danger.”
Adam winced. Derek didn’t have to say it, but they both knew what he meant. Adam had been so desperate to prove himself that he’d run off to France to assist in a spy mission, one that he hadn’t been approved for. He’d ended up jeopardizing the mission and Collin’s life. Their brother had been forced to come to France to rescue him.
“So you’re trying to keep me safe, again?” Adam bowed his head. He turned back to face his brother.
Derek leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s be honest, Adam. You’ve never been like Collin and me. We were born for the military. It was in our blood. You, you were always more interested in scholarly pursuits. Truthfully, I thought you’d be pleased to be able to start a new life with the money I—”
Adam wrenched up a hand to stop him. “Damn it, Derek. The same blood runs through my veins as yours and Collin’s. I never had the blasted opportunity to prove myself. I didn’t receive honors like you did. I wasn’t appointed a spy in the War Office the way Collin was.”
Derek sighed. “Not everyone is meant to—”
Adam slowly shook his head. “I can still hear Father’s voice. You know as well as I that he valued service to the country more than all other things. I was a failure. If I’m made a secretary, I’ll always be a failure.”
Derek slapped the paper against the tabletop. “That’s not true. You’re too hard on yourself, Adam. You always have been. No one expected you to be a war hero.”
“So says the war hero.” Adam snorted. He paced away again. “It doesn’t matter. I came to see you this morning to let you know that I’ll be leaving soon, finding my own quarters in which to live in London. And I won’t be taking a farthing of your money.”
Derek nodded. “I understand. You must do what you think is right. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, however.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Good day.” Adam bowed, turned on his heel, and walked away.
Once in the corridor, he let out his pent-up breath. That had gone better than he’d predicted. He’d expected Derek to argue with him, tell him he was wrong, insist he take the money, insist he take the position. Adam had been prepared for a battle. But instead, his older brother had been downright … understanding. Not always Derek’s strong suit. Perhaps Collin had been right when he’d said being married had changed Derek for the better. Besides that, the duke was right. Infuriatingly right. The truth was that Adam had never preferred life in the military. He was fine with the regimen and the discipline and the difficulties, but his heart had never been in it. Not like his brothers’. Derek and Collin were seasoned army officers, just as their father had been, while he was … not. He’d spent the entire stint in the army feeling as if he didn’t belong there. He’d fought all right. Seen battle. Been tortured by the French and lived. But he’d never felt as if he was doing his job, and he’d never felt particularly proud. His brothers weren’t, either. How could they be?
Regardless, Adam had made his decision and he would see it through. The first order of business was to secure new lodging. He had an appointment today with a man who had space to lease in a somewhat fashionable area of town. Adam had saved enough of his pay during his years in the army to afford it for the time being. He would just go to his bedchamber, fetch his coat, and be off.
Determined, he took the stairs two at a time. When he came to the upstairs landing, he turned toward his rooms at the far end of the corridor but stopped when he spied the door to Lady Magnolia’s bedchamber. Had she remembered who she was overnight? Was she in there hoping someone would come and tell her why she was in a strange house? Was she still sleeping? Or was Lucy in there talking to her, trying to help her remember?
Adam told himself to turn around and continue to his room, but for some reason he remained rooted to the spot near Lady Magnolia’s door. Why? Why did he care so much? Why did he care at all? It was only his curiosity, wasn’t it? Who was she? Where did she belong? She was injured and without a home at present. That’s right. He would treat a lost dog with the same courtesy. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that her skin was like porcelain, her eyes dark and compelling, her lips like rose petals. Oh, God. What was happening to him? When had he ever compared a woman’s features to rose petals, for Christ’s sake? He was waxing downright poetic. He took a step closer to her door.
“Go on then.” Lucy’s voice startled him.
Adam turned to see his sister-in-law standing behind him, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“I wasn’t going in,” he replied, straightening to his full height and clearing his throat.
Lucy cocked her head to the side. “Weren’t you?”
“No.”
“I think you should,” she ventured.
“Why?”
“To check on our patient, of course.”
“I thought you were going to check on her.”
Lucy shrugged. “I was, but she was sleeping. However, I just heard some rustling about so I do believe she’s awake now.”
“Do you think she’s … remembered?” Why did that thought make his gut churn?
Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Adam’s knock on the mystery woman’s door resulted in a soft, “Come in.”
He took a deep breath and slowly walked inside. How had Lucy managed to make this sound like a good idea? And why in the bloody hell had he gone out to the gardens and picked a few roses before he’d knocked on the door? That was unlike him.
Lady Magnolia was sitting at the writing desk, a quill in her hand. She wore a soft pink gown that she’d apparently borrowed from Lucy, and her hair was up in a knot on the top of her head. The bandage remained on her forehead. She turned to Adam and gave him a dazzling smile.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
There was his answer. Apparently, she had not remembered.
“Good morning,” he replied, his throat dry. He hated like hell pretending he was someone he was not.
She glanced over at him and her eyes went wide when she spotted the flowers. “Are those for me?”
“They are,” he replied, crossing over to the desk and handing them to her.
She put them to her nose and breathed them in deeply. Then she laid them next to the paper. “Thank you very much,” she said shyly. “I must look a fright without Esmeralda to fix my hair.” She self-consciously touched a hand to her head.
“You look breathtaking.” He reached out and pushed a curl behind her ear.
Their gazes locked and Adam
took a step back.
Apparently ready to change the subject, she tapped the quill against her cheek. “I cannot imagine why Mother hasn’t come for me yet.”
Adam cleared his throat and repeated the story Lucy had invented. “She, er, wanted to ensure you’re feeling better. Dr. Archibald said you shouldn’t go home until you’re entirely healed.” Of course that made little sense, but he hoped she didn’t examine it too closely.
“I do hate to lie abed all day,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m up writing letters to the chef and the caretaker, and Esmeralda and—” She fluttered a hand in the air. “Do you know I thought Lucy was your sister but she told me last night that she’s your sister-in-law?”
“Yes, that’s true,” he began. “Wait. Letters? What letters?”
“For the wedding plans, of course.” She turned her attention back to the paper in front of her.
“Perhaps you should wait and—”
“Wait? There’s no time to wait, Peter. You cannot imagine how difficult it is to plan a wedding of the size and scale that ours is meant to be.” She shook her head.
There was clearly no arguing with her. Adam decided a subject change was in order instead. “I was hoping you’d come to the Findleys’ ball with me tonight. Lucy and Derek will be our chaperones. That is, if you’re feeling up to it.” He hoped she didn’t question why she was so ill that her mother wouldn’t come for her, yet apparently fit enough to attend a ball. If she did question it, Lucy had come up with an alternative story.
Lady Magnolia’s hand paused in midair. “The Findleys’ ball? I’m not familiar with that family name.”
Of course she wasn’t.
“They’re longtime friends of Lucy’s.”
Lady Magnolia frowned but soon nodded. “I see. Well, it sounds absolutely lovely. Yes, I’d be honored to go.” She turned back to her letter.
“Good. Lucy will help you with your … er, clothing?” He had no idea what to call it. He certainly had never been in the business of ensuring a lady was properly dressed for a ball before. He felt like a complete fool. He was used to wearing uniforms, the kind that went unwashed for long periods of time.
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t see why Mother doesn’t bring me one of my gowns.”
Adam silently groaned. Time for the alternative story. “We didn’t want to tell you this and worry you, but your, er, mother was exposed to a cough and isn’t feeling well. She wrote to Lucy and asked her to see to you over the next few days. She did, however, send you some gowns.”
Adam and Lucy had both prayed that Magnolia wouldn’t recognize that the gowns were not hers.
“I’m sorry to hear that Mother is ill,” she said, a sad look on her face. “Did she send Esmeralda?”
Adam was prepared for this question, too. “She offered to, but Lucy declined. Lucy informed your mother that the maids here can handle everything for the short time you’re staying with us.” Adam grimaced. This was ludicrous. He could only hope that the girl regained her memory sooner than later and put an end to this insanity.
“I see,” she said simply. “After I finish these letters, I’ll write to Mother and tell her I hope she begins to feel better, soon.”
Adam decided to retreat before he was forced to tell any more ridiculous lies. “Yes, well, then, I’ll, er, see you tonight then…” Crossing over the fine Aubusson rug, he made his way to the door. His fingers rested on the handle when her voice stopped him.
“Your Grace?”
He winced but turned his head slightly. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Adam swallowed and turned back to face her. “What for?”
Her voice was light, bright. “For being so kind to me while I’ve been injured. I know you’re not usually one to administer to sick people or—”
Adam stopped. Whoever Peter Peregrine was, he sounded like he was overbearing and arrogant. Adam turned and made his way back to the side of the desk. Something in the tone of her voice made him think she was on the verge of tears. “Are you all right, Lady Magnolia?”
She nodded, but he could see unshed tears pooling in her eyes.
“Are you quite sure?” he prodded. Why did this young woman bring out his most protective instincts?
“It’s just that…” She glanced away, out the window. “It’s just that it’s difficult to explain, really.”
“Try. I promise I’m a good listener.”
She expelled her breath and gave him a tentative smile. “That’s another thing I didn’t know about you.”
He nodded to prompt her to continue with whatever she was going to say.
She tapped the quill against the paper. “It’s just that I have the oddest feeling, that I’ve never belonged anywhere. Like I don’t belong here, even.”
He furrowed his brow. “In this house?”
“In this life,” she said quietly. “Like I have no business marrying a duke or staying in such a fine room or any of this.” She splayed her hands wide toward the contents of the bedchamber.
He nodded, his eyes focused on his boots. “I know exactly what you mean.” She actually had no idea how much he understood exactly what she meant.
She laughed softly. “Oh, you couldn’t possibly, Your Grace. Why, this life must be as familiar to you as pulling on your boots in the morning.”
At his bark of laughter, she blushed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be impertinent. I’m not doing a good job of thanking you. I only wanted to say that I feel out of place, but you’ve never made me feel awkward. You’ve only ever made me feel welcome and well, happy. Thank you for that.”
He bowed to her. “It’s my pleasure, my lady. I only hope you’re feeling better soon.”
Her blush returned with a vengeance. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. You must want me back on my way as soon as possible.”
“No. No. You misunderstand me.” He smiled at her. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.”
“And I hope you don’t mind, but I sneaked downstairs to the library last night and borrowed a book.” She nodded toward the bedside table where the works of Shakespeare sat.
“You’re welcome to borrow whatever book you like. As long as you promise to stay away from carriages in the street,” he said.
She laughed at that. “We know what we are, but know not what we may be,” she quoted.
Adam smiled at her. Odd that she would choose that particular phrase when she didn’t remember her identity. But Lucy was right. This young lady was intelligent, soft-spoken, and well read. She could quote Shakespeare, for God’s sake. She must be a member of the ton. Another reason he needed to keep his distance from her. He was merely a mister. A poor relation to a duke. He smiled at her softly. “I think you should rest today, Lady Magnolia.”
He turned toward the door.
“Peter?” she asked tentatively.
He turned back to her, his fingers on the handle again. “Yes?”
“Do you think you might consider calling me Maggie? When it’s just us, I mean.”
He nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes, Maggie. I would.” He liked that. It was so much less formal than Lady Magnolia.
Adam pulled open the door and made his way out. He shut the door and leaned back against it, expelling his breath. Lady Magnolia—Maggie—was actually quite nice. She seemed kind, thoughtful, and intelligent. She was also exceedingly beautiful. He grimaced. It was just like him. The one time he met a lady he actually had an affinity for and she was ailing and had no clue as to her own identity. That was the only reason she suffered his company, too. She believed him to be a duke. And not just a duke. Her betrothed. He shook his head. If her memory suddenly returned, she’d no doubt run screaming from him.
He rolled his eyes. Yes. Taking her to a Society ball this evening was a brilliant idea.
But something she’d said had sparked his memory if not her own. She’d mentioned a book. The papers he’d gathered in the
street had seemed to be part of a story. He’d left them in a stack somewhere downstairs. Perhaps he hadn’t studied them closely enough. Perhaps the story held a clue to her identity after all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Adam had spent the better part of an hour that afternoon looking for those blasted papers to no avail. They were not sitting on the table in the drawing rooms where he was certain he’d left them, and even after he’d inquired with both the housekeeper and the butler, the pages were still nowhere to be found. Apparently, none of the servants recalled moving them.
In the end, he’d been forced to give up the search and leave for his appointment with the gentleman who had the rooms to lease. The appointment had taken far longer than he’d planned. He’d returned home with little time to spare to prepare for the ball this evening. He hadn’t had a chance to further search for Maggie’s manuscript. In the end, he’d hoped she’d be recognized at the ball tonight. The papers would have to wait until tomorrow.
* * *
The duke’s carriage pulled to a stop in front of a grand town house that evening. Maggie sat inside the coach with Peter, his brother, Derek, and Lucy. Maggie was outfitted in a glorious gown of pale peach that Lucy had presented her with this afternoon. It worried Maggie that she didn’t remember the gown; then again, as Lucy reminded her, she’d sustained quite a serious blow to the head. “Your mother informs me this is one of your favorites,” Lucy had said with such a confident, happy look on her face that Maggie didn’t dare question it.
“I’m concerned about Mother,” Maggie had said to Lucy. “She’s never ill.”
“Yes, well, she was adamant that you stay far away from the house. She doesn’t want you catching whatever she’s got on top of your injury.”
“I completely understand,” Maggie replied. “And I certainly don’t want to worry her further. I can only imagine how worried she must have been when she learned of my accident.”
Blushing, Maggie didn’t add that she was actually happy to remain in Peter’s company. She dared a glance at him. Why couldn’t she remember their first kiss? He’d stolen one of course, when he’d proposed, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall the details. That was a shame. Her head was still fuzzy. But no doubt her memory would return at any moment. She glanced up at the facade of the fine house in front of them. She didn’t recall this location, either, but perhaps she’d never been to a ball here before.
The Unforgettable Hero Page 4