by Nichole Van
“Welcome,” James said. “I am Mr. James Knight and this is my sister, Miss Georgiana Knight. You are in our care at Haldon Manor. You seem to have had an eventful night. May I ask your name?”
Their guest looked puzzled and lowered her eyes slightly, darting them back and forth as if deeply pondering his question. Her lips moved in agitation, and then she lifted her gaze.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, eyes wild and terrified. “I don’t know who I am.”
Chapter 9
Emme couldn’t breathe. Blood pounded in her ears and her lungs fought to fill with air. Anxiety overwhelmed her.
You’re having a panic attack. A quiet part of her mind helpfully labeled the sensation for her. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm her racing heart.
This was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Emme closed her eyes and mentally hunted again. This was absurd. Of course she knew who she was. But the harder she tried to capture the information, the more it skittered just out of reach.
Nothing. She remembered nothing.
She didn’t know her name, her family, her history. She had no memory of anything before this moment. No sense of how she had ended up in this bed with strangers bending over her. As if a heavy fog had rolled in over her mind, smothering every effort to reach through it. Emme breathed in slowly and deeply, trying to contain the fluttering hysteria pressing in.
Opening her eyes, Emme grimaced at the pulsing pain against her skull. Dizziness assaulted her as the room tilted on a crazy axis. Wincing, she focused on the couple leaning over her in the dim light and, with effort, brought them into coherent shapes. Slowly their forms stopped moving for a moment, allowing Emme to see them clearly.
The woman was thin and frail-looking, though pretty with her heart-shaped face and wide-set large eyes. She had a fey, otherworldly quality.
But it was the man who demanded her attention. His blond hair and sculpted face seemed . . . familiar. Familiar and yet not at the same time.
For some reason, seeing him felt momentous. Important. Significant.
Her mind associated his cultured accent with rose perfume, blue hair and the clink of fine-boned china.
Emme drew in a shallow, stuttering breath, trying desperately to control her panic. “Do I know you?” she asked the man, low and wispy, instinctively matching the cadence of her voice to his.
She groaned as the throbbing pounding inside her head increased. Emme fought against the blackness skittering in, determined to claim her.
“I’m sorry, madam,” the man said quietly, his voice farther away and tinny. “We have never met before tonight.”
She closed her eyes and licked her lips, letting a gasp escape. Her back arched slightly. The pain and crushing anxiety dragging her under.
“Heavens, James!” The woman’s voice sounded from far away. “What a mystery. But she is in such pain. I have some of my laudanum. That should help.”
Dimly through the growing fog, gentle hands lifted Emme up. She swallowed the bitter liquid pressed against her lips.
And then allowed oblivion to claim her.
The breakfast room
Haldon Manor
Three days later
May 3, 1812
The weather had finally lifted. In the days since returning home, rain and wind had lashed Haldon Manor relentlessly. But this morning, a bleary sun gingerly peeked out from loose clouds.
James glanced appraisingly at the still dripping world as he descended to the breakfast room. His muscles twitched to be outside and doing something. Anything. He had been grateful that Ethan Fletcher had braved the storm, showing up in his study dripping water and a wicked grin, anxious for trouble. They had fenced until their muscles collapsed into a rubbery mass. But that restless energy was back again today. It never left him for too long.
James had just checked on their mystery guest. She lay asleep and motionless in the bed, her breaths deep and slow. She had drifted in and out of consciousness over the last two days, but each time she woke, her memory had not returned.
He had forced himself not to linger beside her quiet sleeping form. Forced himself not to think about the pull he felt toward her. Decidedly did not trace the graceful curve of her jaw with his eyes.
He most certainly was not going to ponder upon what drew him to her. They knew nothing about her. And there was the man in the locket who most likely had an emotional, if not legal, bond to her.
The doctor had come and gone earlier, finding a large bump on the back of the young lady’s skull, and pronouncing that she most likely suffered a concussed head. This also explained her memory loss. The doctor could give them no assurances as to when or if her memory would return. Only time would tell. Other than the blow to her head, however, he had found nothing else wrong with her. She seemed strong and healthy with no sign of fever or other injury. But he recommended that she remain in bed for several more days.
What they were to do with her after that remained to be seen. The good doctor had volunteered to help them find her identity, her people, asking during the course of his visits if anyone knew of her. James was confident that, with the storm now passed, the word would spread quickly. Someone surely would come soon to claim her.
And until then, who knew? Perhaps this latest bit of gossip would finally eclipse the incident involving Miss Croft and the vicar’s wandering heifer. James still recalled hearing the gunshot and running to see Miss Croft, righting her mobcap on her graying hair, as she glared angrily at the vicar, smoking gun in her hand. The poor vicar had stared at his dead cow, lying in the remains of Miss Croft’s prized vegetable garden, which it had disturbed for the last time.
The incident still held first place with the local gossip mill, even four years later. Ample proof, yet again, that nothing exciting ever happened in Marfield.
James entered the breakfast room to find his brother and sister already there. Georgiana sat while Arthur filled a plate for her from the dishes along the sideboard. Her color was improved, though her soft blue morning dress hung loosely on her bony shoulders. He felt again the stab of pure anguish, that desolate confirmation that he would lose her. The disease would slowly eat her until only a shell was left. James exhaled slowly. He would find a way, something that would save her.
James nodded a greeting as Arthur turned toward the table, handing Georgiana her plate. Arthur sat and James strode over to the waiting chafing dishes.
“I thought Ethan would be over again this morning for another fencing bout,” Arthur commented as James piled his plate with coddled eggs and crisp sausage. “Your boundless energy is ever a source of annoyance.”
“True, brother,” James agreed, glancing at the filtered light streaming through the north facing window, “though you must know by now I only live to be an irritation to you. Of course, all would be solved if you would agree to join me in a match or two. We could even use quarterstaffs.” James finished filling his plate and sat himself at the head of the small table.
“Ha! As if I would engage in something so decidedly common. Sticks have never been a nobleman’s weapon.” Arthur waived his hand dismissively, turning his brown head back to his food. “Swords are all a gentleman needs. ”
James snorted and cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “Really? Is that truly the reason? Or are you just not in the mood for another of my humblings?”
As a general rule, Arthur did not engage in activities he could not win.
“I promise to let you win,” James continued disingenuously. “Well, at least once . . . maybe.” He threw a wink at Georgiana.
“Oh, James, don’t bait poor Arthur.” Georgiana smiled a tight little grin that said she loved him but did not quite approve.
Arthur grunted in agreement, not looking up.
James grinned, his wide mouth crinkling his cheeks. “Please, brother-baiting is a time honored tradition.”
Georgiana shook her head, turning back to move her eggs around her plate.
Arthur cle
ared his throat and changed the topic, raising his gray eyes to James. “And how fares our guest this morning? I overheard the doctor as he left.”
“She is well. Still unconscious, so we will just wait until she wakes. Fanny is with her and will alert us.” James waited patiently, watching the cogs turn in Arthur’s head. Understanding his brother as he did, James knew exactly where this conversation was heading. Arthur was nothing if not predictable.
Arthur paused, grimacing. Down went his knife and fork.
Ah, here it came.
“Truly James, this whole situation is most unusual. She really should not be allowed to remain here.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, Arthur? I am not in the habit of tossing unconscious young women out of my house.”
“You know that is not what I meant.”
“Really? Then what do you mean?”
Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “This whole situation is dashed improper, particularly with Georgie in the house. I am sure the vicar and his wife would take her in until she is recovered enough to return from whence she came. Or until someone comes to fetch her. What will others say about this situation?”
James shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed at Arthur’s extreme sense of propriety or amused by his predictability.
Arthur neatly placed people into boxes clearly labeled with tags like Esteemed Nobleman or Virtuous Lady or Lowly Relation. And as their mystery lady did not yet fit into any known box, Arthur had preemptively put her into the box stamped Dangerous Connection.
“James, how can you have such little sense?” Arthur continued, pursing his mouth in annoyance. “What will happen when Linwood hears of this? I’m sure he will forbid Marianne from visiting. And . . . and what will Sir Henry think?”
James barely resisted the urge roll his eyes. “Please, Arthur. As you are well aware, I am not overly concerned about the opinions of our erstwhile neighbors. Linwood does not need the excuse of a stranger under my roof to forbid Miss Marianne from seeing you. He will deprive you of her company merely because the sky threatens rain. Or because he doesn’t like the look of your cravat. Or because it’s Thursday. He needs no real excuse.”
Georgiana made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked snort.
“And as for Sir Henry,” James continued, “I guarantee that he will be ecstatic to make our guest’s acquaintance. She is a mystery and therefore somewhat exotic. And you know, there is nothing Sir Henry loves more than the exotic. In fact, I completely expect him to show his face here as soon as the gossip reaches Sutton Hall. Which most likely will be sometime this afternoon, I warrant. The good doctor’s housekeeper is usually most diligent in spreading scandal which is not her own.”
“Yes, well, it has been three days and no one has come for her yet.” Ah, Arthur and his persistence.
“Please, Arthur. The storm broke only last night. How could anyone have been out searching for her in such weather? I am sure that the village gossips will ferret out her story in no time. Most likely, someone will be on our doorstep this afternoon to collect our guest.”
Arthur merely huffed and shook his head at his older brother. “In the meantime, James, at least think of poor Georgiana’s reputation. To have a woman like this in our household will be scandalous.”
“Oh, heavens, Arthur,” Georgiana interjected, her fork clattering to her plate. “Please. As if propriety concerns me at this point. It would be a glorious thing if all I had to worry about were my reputation.” She punctuated this with a small coughing fit, drawing a shaking breath. “Besides, what about this woman has you so convinced that she would be a threat to my reputation?”
Arthur shrugged, trying to buy himself time to come up with an appropriate response.
James knew Arthur had no real argument. Just the sense that this woman did not immediately fit into his brother’s neatly labeled world and therefore must be cast out of it. An opinion James did not share.
Arthur tried changing topics. “And what of her supposed memory loss,” he asked. “Are you so sure that it is genuine?”
“Arthur! How could you think that? Really, you are just trying to be vexing!” Georgiana exclaimed, turning to James. “Is he just trying to be vexing?”
James smiled ruefully. “As you well know, dear sister, Arthur can generally be annoying without having to try.” Georgiana laughed appreciatively.
Arthur heaved his most resigned you-are-both-a-trial-to-me sigh.
Still smiling, James held his hand in a placating gesture. “But it is actually a valid question. To answer you, Arthur, both Georgie and I were there when she woke for the first time. Her distress at not being able to remember her own name was, well, almost overwhelming to her. She would have to be better than any Drury Lane actress I have ever seen to pull off such a convincing performance. I do believe her memory loss to be genuine.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Arthur, instantly thinking the worst of her.” Georgiana gave Arthur a stern look. “Personally, I think it’s utterly thrilling.”
“Thrilling?” Arthur’s voice was incredulous. “What is possibly thrilling about this ridiculous situation?”
Georgiana shook her head, clearly disappointed with his inability to see the obvious. “It’s such a thrilling mystery. Who is she? How did she come here? I have been doing some detective work, you know,” Georgiana said, her voice animated.
James loved seeing her blue eyes dance, looking so much like the woman she had been.
“Ugh, Georgiana, you have read one too many novels by that dreadful Radcliffe woman.” Arthur gave a decidedly long suffering shake of his head.
“And what, dear sister, have you deduced?” James chuckled.
Georgiana wriggled in excitement. James couldn’t remember the last time she had done so. It warmed his heart, her wriggling.
“Here are my thoughts. Our mysterious guest—let’s call her E, as that is what it says on the lock—” She caught herself abruptly, looking questioningly at James and then glancing at Arthur.
“I haven’t told him,” James said, slanting his eyes toward his brother.
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “Told me what?” His expression grew slightly alarmed as Georgiana and James continued to look at each other. “What have you discovered? You know our guest’s name?”
“Not a name exactly . . . more like her initial.” Turning his head to Georgiana, James asked, “Do you have it with you?”
“Yes, I do. I have kept it on my person. No one else has seen it.”
Arthur continued to glance back and forth between his siblings. “Come now,” he said. “What are you keeping from me?”
James shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. Georgiana gently reached into a hidden pocket in her morning dress and withdrew the filigreed locket. Wordlessly, she handed it across the table to Arthur. Puzzled, he slowly opened it.
His loud gasp echoed through the empty room.
“Dash it, James! What have you been keeping from us?!” he exclaimed, still staring at the portrait in the locket. “How could you?!”
James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, opening his mouth to reply.
Georgiana cut him off. “Look at the inscription, Arthur. It’s not a portrait of James.” Arthur read the etched words with pursed lips, a frown clouding his brow.
“It seems almost too much of a coincidence to be believed,” Arthur said in a low voice, staring accusingly at his older brother.
“I agree,” James sighed. “But I can only tell the truth. I do not know our mystery guest. Trust me, I would remember a face such as hers.”
Georgiana’s eyebrows rose at this admission.
“I honestly never laid eyes on her until two nights ago. The locket is truly a random act of fate.”
Arthur snorted in disbelief.
“Why would I lie to either of you about this? What would I gain? If she were known to me, I would admit it freely. Both of
you know me well enough to realize this. I have never been one to hide my deeds in the dark. I am as I seem. You know it was Mother’s greatest despair. My inability to pretend something that I am not.”
“Yes, that is true,” Arthur nodded in agreement, handing the locket back to Georgiana. “You do generally own up to your improprieties. But even for you, this situation is highly unusual. No one else will believe it.”
“Agreed,” Georgiana said, tucking the locket back into her pocket, “which is why no one else has been—or will be—told about the locket’s existence. There is no need to fuel gossip further by implying some untrue connection between this woman and James. The locket will remain our secret. Even from Marianne.” She said the last bit looking most forbiddingly straight at Arthur.
“Not tell Marianne?”
“Yes, particularly not Marianne.” Georgiana cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You know she cannot keep a secret from Linwood. And he is the last person who should know about this odd coincidence. Things are already awkward enough with him. Really, next time you decide to carry on a not-so-secret, we-are-not-precisely-engaged engagement, please choose someone who’s brother is a little less high in the instep.”
Arthur held her eyes for a moment and then looked tensely away.
James shrugged, trying to understand when his world had become all Shakespearean. A brother bound by honor on one side and desperate aching love on the other. A sister dying of consumption. A half-dead maiden discovered clinging to a tree along his lane. He only needed the ghost of his dead father to appear to round out the play. James wanted adventure. Not drama.
“Fine. I will refrain from telling Marianne . . . for the time being.”