by Regina Darcy
Even now, their father dotted on her, decidedly thankful for the strange turn of events that had brought her and the duke together. It had allowed good fortune to be doled out to the rest of the Winters sisters, and they were exceedingly grateful.
Caroline had followed suit with a favourable match of her own, to an Earl no less. Her wedding was set for Christmas. She had always wanted a white wedding.
Now Beatrice would follow suit by wedding Mr William Percival, a tall, and distinguished man with kind walnut eyes, the younger son of the Viscount of Raeburn. With a head of dark hair, he had an even temperament that was well suited to hers.
In short, he was the sort of man her Papa approved of. Her sisters all agreed he was a most eligible bachelor. Coming from a good family of modest wealth and standing, he had nonetheless increased his standing in the beau monde by amassing a fortune of his own.
“Theodora’s recklessness leading to good fortune for all of us? No, I would not have thought so,” Caroline replied with a smile. “And yet, here we are.”
Beatrice glanced at the pews in front of them. There were rows upon rows, glistening in the afternoon sun that poured in through the stained glass windows. She turned to stare at the altar before them, a sense of awe and reverence rendering her mute.
Why, she could scarcely believe she was getting married, much less in such a short amount of time. Theirs had been a whirlwind courtship, with her betrothed being a man of few words. His eyes spoke volumes, though, gazing at her with such intensity and warmth that she felt it all in the very marrow of her bones.
No, Mr Percival was not a vocal man, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, her fiancé was believed by many to be rather quiet, preferring action over discourse. Many found his manner rather cold, indifferent, and lacking in sentiment, but Beatrice saw a promise of something more in the depths of his walnut eyes.
From the moment she had set eyes on him across a crowded room, where a plethora of people had swayed to the music floating around, the chandelier overhead sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds, and the taste of sparkling juice still lingering on the tip of her tongue, she had known he was different. Even now, she could still recall the smell of tightly packed bodies, and a rather pungent perfume as her eyes had met his, and the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
Mr Percival may not have declared his feelings for her, at least not in a way that was common among the ton, and certainly not in a way that was considered to be favourable by the beau monde. But she had no doubt as to the real nature and depth of his affection for her.
After all, she could see it in his eyes, and the way he held her as they twirled across the dance floor, as if they were floating on clouds. The rest of the world had melted away, and Mr Percival had danced as close as he was allowed to without it being considered scandalous.
“I cannot believe my good fortune,” Beatrice exclaimed, turning and clasping Caroline’s hand in hers, then giving her sister a tight squeeze. “My banns are shortly to be read a third time, and then I can finally become Mrs Percival.”
Indeed, she had half expected some calamity to happen and derail their plans. After all, their courtship and subsequent engagement had been too easy. Beatrice had a hard time believing how lucky she had gotten.
“Mrs Percival,” Caroline sighed dreamily, excitement seeping into her tone. “Isn’t that just grand? And I’m sure Mr Percival will make a fine husband, one who will treat you well.”
“I dearly hope so,” Beatrice added.
Caroline drew her hand away and sighed.
“He has not spoken of his affections yet?”
Beatrice shook her head.
“No, but I know they are there, Caro. I just cannot make him express them. He is a man of few words, as you can tell.”
“But he loves you,” Caroline pointed out. “And that is all that matters.”
“Come.” Beatrice tugged on her sister’s hand and led her down the aisle, past the pews, and into the open air outside. A blast of cold wind slapped across her face, making her eyes sting in response. “We had best return now. Thank you for coming with me.”
“You know Ann is sorry she could not be in attendance,” Caroline told her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “I pray she is able to discharge her obligations as a companion and make it to the wedding.”
Their younger sister was as tempestuous as she was passionate, and it was a wonder how she would manage to find a man capable of calming her down and bringing out a stillness in her.
“I am certain she shall,” Beatrice assured her. Caroline’s carriage pulled up, and Beatrice helped her in, hiking up the skirts of her sister’s green gown. Caroline adjusted her pelisse and kissed her sister’s forehead.
“Do not be late. You know Papa likes to have dinner on time,” Caroline warned with a smile. Her head poked out from inside the carriage, sun kissed locks of hair framing her face. “And send him all my affections, will you?”
Beatrice smiled. “I will. But I shall go for a ride in Hyde Park first. The weather is still nice, and it seems a waste to spend it indoors.” She shot a look to Bess, her every dutiful lady’s maid, who readied her horse and prepared to accompany her for a brusque trot.
“I fear Mr Percival shall have to drag you indoors all the time,” Caroline teased. “Do be careful, Bea.”
“I will,” Beatrice replied, watching as her sister drew back into the carriage, her face pressed against the glass as the driver made a clicking noise under his breath. The carriage jolted forward, taking her sister further and further away until it rounded the corner of the street and disappeared altogether.
Beatrice mounted the horse. She inched forward in her saddle and looked out at the buildings lining either side of the street and the other horse-drawn carriages passing by. They carried an array of people dressed in a wide assortment of colours, a beautiful feast to the senses.
With a quiet click of her tongue, and a firm tug on the reigns, Chestnut, her beautiful mare, began to trot, hooves clattering against the ground.
Finally, they entered the park, and Beatrice relaxed against her seat, setting a course for Rotten Row. Astride her horse, she noticed several other fashionable members of the ton, many of whom were ladies, wave at her. She frowned as Chestnut jerked and lurched, hooves pounding against the floor, followed by the sound of whinnying.
She cleared her throat and tightened her grip on the reigns, but Chestnut was not to be comforted. All at once, the mare tilted to the side then adjusted herself, knocking the breath out of Beatrice. Then, she bolted, and Beatrice’s heart hammered against her chest, sweat forming on the back of her neck. She struggled to regain control as she came precariously close to falling out of her saddle.
“My lady,” Bess screamed, her voice filled with distress as she struggled to catch up. “Help. Somebody help!”
Like someone transported straight out of a penny novel, a man started galloping straight towards her. Soon he had Chestnut under control, as he murmured soothingly into the horse’s ear.
“Thank you sir!” Beatrice took big gulfs of air, her heart beating erratically. The wind continued to whip around with force. Beatrice clutched the bonnet atop her head and attempted to right herself, but failed miserably. Instead, she lost her footing, her arms flailing as her body flew off, fear rushing through her every limb. She was falling, and darkness rose up to greet her.
“Oh, Bea. I will see to it Chestnut is better trained. I knew she wouldn’t make a fine riding horse. She is too easily spooked.”
Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open, the world around her shifting and tilting until she spotted Caroline. Her sister hurried over, eyebrows scrunched together and relief flooding her features.
“Thank the lord you’re alright,” Caroline exclaimed. “We were so worried.”
Beatrice winced and pressed her finger to her forehead, a headache forming in the back of her skull.
“What happened?”
&n
bsp; “Chestnut went wild,” Caroline explained. “You lost control, but the Marquees of Penderstone came to your aid. But not before you hit your head I’m afraid.”
Beatrice rubbed her eyes and glanced around at her unfamiliar surroundings, at the large bed she slept on, and the wardrobe in the corner.
Confused, she rubbed her eyes a second time, and blinked.
Something was amiss.
“Where am I? Why am I not in our chambers?” Until Theodora’s advantageous marriage, the Winters sisters had been forced to share two rooms for the four of them. The opulent room Beatrice found herself in was nothing like the rooms they shared.
Beatrice looked around. “And where are my belongings?”
A growing sense of panic rose within her as she sat up and flinched. The blanket tucked around her body and pillow pressed against her back gave her little in the way of comfort, and only furthered her sense of panic.
How long had she been asleep?
“Your belongings?” her father repeated. The current Viscount of Lockley, a tall and good-natured man with dark eyes, loomed over her, bushy eyebrows knitted together. “Why, most of your belongings have been moved, my dear.”
“Moved where?” Beatrice asked, confusion lingering in her voice
Had her family sold her belongings? Given them to the poor?
Her father shared a quick look with Caroline, who drew back and blinked.
“Perhaps you should send for the doctor, dear child.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” Beatrice insisted, frustration colouring her tone. “Truly, I feel perfectly fine. I simply wish to know where my belongings are. Surely, such a simple request is not unreasonable.”
In spite of her protests, Dr Thomas was sent for, and he arrived with his bag in one hand, and his spectacles perched atop his nose. He examined her carefully all while asking a series of questions.
“It appears your daughter does not remember any of the events of the past year,” Dr Thomas deduced, his brow furrowing. He drew back and sighed, trouble lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. “I cannot say why, nor can I tell you for sure if her memory will return in time.”
Looks of horror followed his announcement.
“Pray tell, how is it possible for her to remember her family, but not the last year?” Lord Lockley exclaimed.
“It would give you no comfort to know the how. Suffice to say the part of her brain that had the memories of the last year has been damaged.”
Three pairs of eyes looked at him in further distress.
“Eh. No need to worry. Give her time,” Dr Thomas advised, snapping his bag shut and shooting Beatrice a look over his shoulder. “I pray you will be well soon.”
Beatrice ran her hands over her inky black locks and leaned back against the pillows. “Thank you, doctor.”
Her father excused himself, his head bent in conversation with the doctor as he was escorted out. Minutes later, he returned, weariness etched on his face.
“Surely a year has not passed, Papa. Why, only yesterday we were celebrating Ann’s 17th birthday,” Beatrice whispered.
“I’m afraid you are wrong my darling. That was a year ago,” Lord Lockley replied, gravely. “But fear not. I feel certain that your memory will return with time.”
A year?
The words echoed in her head, over and over, increasing her sense of confusion. She fought against it, pushed it back with all her might, but she could feel that she was losing. How had a year passed without her knowledge?
“Ann?” Beatrice asked, looking around. “Theodora?”
“Ann was watching over you for the last five days. She is having a much needed afternoon nap upstairs. I have written to Theodora and her husband to let them know that you are well,” Caroline assured her, drawing forward, and clasping Beatrice’s hands in hers. “The Sotheby’s are indisposed at present, but they send you their love. Do not worry, sister. You are strong, and you are healthy, and by the grace of the good Lord, you will get through this.”
Beatrice took a deep breath. At least I remember most of my life, and most importantly, I remember my family.
“I must write to Mr Percival and inform him,” Lord Lockley declared. “He will want to know of this situation.”
Beatrice turned her hazel eyes to her father.
“Whom?”
Caroline gasped.
“Surely you have not forgotten Mr William Percival?”
Beatrice searched through her memory, then shrugged.
“Who is Mr Percival?”
“He is your betrothed,” Caroline replied. “You are to be wed, sister.”
Beatrice’s world came crashing down.
TWO
Six weeks later
William Percival, was in hell.
There was no other way of describing it.
“She has no memory at all of the past year?” Percival repeated before he leaned back against his chair and clasped his fingers. “And the doctor has no remedy for this?”
“I’m afraid not, my boy,” Lord Lockley replied, rising to his feet and pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, some of the amber liquid sloshing over the side. He turned to Percival, gestured to the glass, and received a small shake in response.
Normally, Percival would not hesitate to indulge in a drink or two, but today was different. He could not hold the glass between his hands, sit across from the man who was to be his father in law and pretend all was well with the world.
Because it was not.
First, he had received news that Beatrice, his betrothed, had been in a terrible accident. Then he had been sent a note asking him to stay away until she recovered her sense, only to later find out her family had taken her away from London and back to Shepperton in Somerset. Six torturous weeks had passed, and still he had waited. And now that he was finally here, having ridden out the moment Lord Lockley had sent for him, he had come to discover that things were far worse than he could’ve imagined.
Beatrice did not remember him.
The thought left him with an ache in his heart, and a bad taste in the back of his mouth that no amount of whiskey could get rid of. Percival shifted in his seat, tugged on his cravat, and unclasped his fingers, unable to sit still in the wake of the news.
“And you are sure she does not remember me?” he pressed, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He was unable to imagine that the dark haired beauty who had his heart could have no recollection of him, or the time they had spent together.
Lord Lockley took a long sip of his whiskey, smacked his lips together and frowned. “I’m sorry, my boy. Truly, I wish I had better news for you.”
Percival rose to his feet, walked past the other chair, the fire in the corner, and past the mahogany desk in the centre of Lord Lockley’s study. He stopped in front of the window and gazed out at the green grass beyond.
“Does she seem adverse to the idea of me?” Percival asked, after a long and uncomfortable silence.
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Lockley replied, confused.
Percival turned to face him, arms crossed over his chest.
“Is she willing to consider me once more?”
Lord Lockley set down his glass and scratched his chin.
“She seemed rather surprised to learn she was engaged, but I cannot imagine she would have any objections to you trying.”
Percival raised an eyebrow. “Trying?”
“To win her over once more, of course,” Lord Lockley told him, his lips curving into a smile. “Why, yes, of course. That is what needs to be done, my dear boy. You must win her heart just as you did the first time.”
Percival turned away, and placed one hand over the window.
“I do not know how to accomplish that.”
In fact, he was loath to admit it to anyone but himself, but he had no idea how he had managed to win the young Miss Winters over to begin with considering his reserved nature, and his inability to converse freely.
She simply
took his breath away.
Yet, somehow, despite his awkward comportment and lack of conversations skills, Beatrice had spoken to him, smiled up at him, and even laughed at his awkward jokes.
Even now the sound of her laughter followed him, brightening his day.
However, he very much doubted he could win her favour again. Not after everything he had gone through to draw her attention the first time. His constant cool demeanour belied the fact that he often found himself tongue-tied and sweating, watching her from across the room.
He doubted he could go through with it again.
Frustrated, he raked in hand through his hair. Beatrice was the woman he loved, and the only one he wished to marry. And if her memory did not return, he had little choice in the matter. The thought of losing her forever, and because of circumstances out of his control no less, filled him with a deep frustrating rage.
An emotion he was unfamiliar with.
Oh, Beatrice, my love.
He angrily turned away from the window, walked over to the tray and poured himself a generous amount of whiskey. He tilted the glass in Lord Lockley’s direction before he downed it all in one gulp, the strong liquid blazing a path down his throat before it settled in his belly.
No, he refused to give up on her without a fight. Not after everything he had gone through to win her over. Somewhere deep down inside, her feelings for him lurked, dormant, but there nonetheless. All he had to do was figure out a way to bring them forth, to have her acknowledge them once more.
Percival clenched the tumbler in his hand, determination flowing through him. Beatrice’s accident, while unfortunate, provided him with a rare opportunity.
He had the chance to court her all over again, and win her affection. Because despite their engagement, he had never felt satisfied that her affections matched his. This was the opportunity to kindle that flame.
“Are you alright, my boy?” Lord Lockley asked, eyeing him over the rim of his glass.