The door opened and Mason stepped inside. “Your Grace, you have a visitor, a Lady Alice Blackmoore.”
“A visitor?” Andrew mused. “I was not expecting anyone.” He rubbed his chin, trying to remember the name, but it did not come to mind. “See her in, then, please.”
Mason returned moments later with a woman wrapped in several scarves and covered in a heavy cloak. In her hands she held a large package.
“Your Grace,” the woman said with a curtsy. A lock of bright red hair peeked out from under her hat, but her smile was wide and friendly.
“I am sorry,” Andrew said, completely baffled by the appearance of this woman. “Do I know you?”
The woman shook her head. “No, you do not know me, but I have met your wife. My name is Lady Alice Blackmoore, and your wife was in my millinery in St. Mawes several months ago. She ordered a hat but did not come to retrieve it. I heard of her accident and have kept it all this time until I returned to Exeter for the winter. I was unsure if she would still want it…”
“No, this is perfectly fine. Yes, I remember now. Before our walk, she had gone into your shop.”
“Yes, and I have here the hat she ordered. I heard that she has recovered from her fall, is this true?”
“She has,” Andrew replied. “Thank you for asking after her. She is not in at the moment, but if you allow me to give you payment, I will collect the hat and give it to her.”
Lady Blackmoore handed him the box with a shake to her head. “No, after all she has been through, there is no payment necessary. I am just pleased she has recovered. Inside I have included a letter with my Exeter address. When she is able, I would love to receive a letter, or perhaps she can come for tea.”
“Thank you for taking the time to bring this by personally,” Andrew said. “I will be sure to give this to her straight away.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Lady Blackmoore replied with another low curtsy before she turned and walked out the door.
Andrew immediately called for Mason to bring him his coat and hat, and once he was ready, he headed into the gardens to find Lucy, the box under his arm.
***
Snow swirled around Lucy’s boots as she gazed out over the valley before her. Once a lush green, it was now covered in a white sheet of snow. Though she had been sad as of late, a sense of joy and hope now filled her. For moments ago, as she walked through the garden, she passed by a row of hedges and stopped where a rose bush now stood bereft of any flowers. That one single memory of the time she and Andrew had spent together continued to play in her head, and she clung to it as if clinging to a lifeline. The memory of Andrew saying to her that, one day, spring would arrive, bringing with it new life and love for them.
For the first time since her waking, Lucy felt alive and hopeful for a better tomorrow. No more would she worry and agonize over how she did not love the man to whom she was married but instead would concentrate on just enjoying being with him. For she enjoyed his smile, his laugh, his kind hand that would reach out and hold her lest she stumble. The man who had cried out as he moved forward to save her on that fateful day upon the cliff in St. Mawes, only to hear his agony as her body hit the rocks below. The man who slept in a chair for months on end simply to be by her side, even when she did not recall their love.
The sound of footsteps crunching through the frozen snow made her turn, and she smiled as she watched Andrew trudge up the hill, the snow blowing around him, a box in his hands. When he reached her side, he stopped and smiled down at her.
“This arrived for you,” he said with a nod toward the box he held.
She laughed. “You came out in the snow to deliver it to me directly?” she asked in an amused tone. This was another item she could add to the list of wonderful actions this man had done for her despite her despicable behavior.
He held the box for her as she opened it, no clue as to the sender. Had he possibly ordered something for her? Or had it been her mother or Charlotte? Whomever it was, it did not matter, for there were more important things to consider. Such as the joy she felt knowing the hill he had just climbed was a true representation of the struggles they had gone through, and continued to go through.
She paused in her task and looked up at the man before her. “Andrew,” she said in a quiet voice, “I want you to know that I care deeply for you. I remember you once saying that the bright days would come one day, and I truly believe what you said to be true.” Hot tears stung her eyes and froze on her lashes.
He shifted the box into one hand and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I know, my love, and when that day comes, I will be here waiting for you by your side.”
“You are a good man, Andrew Balfour. A very good man.” She smiled and flicked a bit of snow from his hair only to watch more flitter onto it once again, making her laugh.
“And you are a great woman, Lucy Balfour,” he said in reply, and they stood staring into one another’s eyes.
Lucy could feel a surge of heat rush through her, as if a heated stone had been placed at the foot of her bed, and she knew her cheeks had to be crimson from more than the cold.
“Well? Shall you open your package?” Andrew asked, and Lucy glanced down, having forgotten the object of his attendance.
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Do you know from where it came?”
“It is from Cornwall, an order you placed before…” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Well, you know. I can return it to the house if you would like. I am not quite sure why I brought it all the way out here.”
“No, please, I wish to open it here. I never receive packages.”
He laughed. “We will need to fix that problem,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eye.
She finally untied the string that was wrapped around the box and busied herself with removing the lid. She felt like a child at Christmas as she opened her gift, apparently one she had given herself. Once again that pang of regret at not remembering caused a twinge in her stomach, but she pushed it aside. She had better things on which to focus.
Inside she found a letter signed by an ‘Alice Blackmoore, Rhos Milliners’, which she removed and slipped into her pocket to read later, the anticipation too much to wait any longer. She moved aside a large sheet of paper and pulled out an exquisite hat. Though she did not recall the person who was the author of the letter, there was something about the hat that pecked at the recesses of her mind, much like a woodpecker picking at the bark of a tree.
Andrew laughed. “Red, yellow, and blue,” he said amusedly. “Those are your favorite colors. Whether it be hats, dresses or embroidery, you always tend toward those hues. Why is this? Why do you prefer those colors over others?”
“I do not know,” she whispered.
The world around her, already quiet in the falling snow, now went silent. Lucy removed her glove and traced a finger along the fabric, resuming the pecking at her memory. Red, yellow, and blue. Why had she chosen these particular colors? They had not been among her choices before.
“Well,” Andrew said, giving a shudder, “I will leave you to your musings. I, myself, am quite cold. Would you like me to bring the hat with me?”
She shook her head, her mind still focused on the issue of color choices. Andrew leaned down to pick up the now empty box and its wrappings, but Lucy barely noticed.
When he turned to leave, however, the tears increased. “Blue…the color of the ocean…and his eyes,” she whispered.
Then, as if a dam had broken, images were being thrown at her in great quantities. Andrew laughing and Lucy walking into a shop where a woman with bright red hair and emerald green eyes greeted her. They had spoken for a length of time and Lucy had ordered her hat with a promise she would return by the end of that week to retrieve the completed project. Now, nearly six months later, Lucy knew what those colors meant.
“Andrew!” she called out after the man she loved with all her heart and soul. He stopped partway down the hill and
turned to gaze up at her before rushing back to her side. “Oh, Andrew!” She was sobbing now, the tears making him appear blurred.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice filled with concern and anguish.
“The blue…it is for your eyes; that is why I chose it,” she said, her words now tumbling from her lips. Then she touched the yellow ribbon. “The yellow represents the sun, the brightness you brought into my life. And the red represents the dawn, the promise of a new day and a new life.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and gazed up at him, unable to believe she could have ever forgotten him. The clouds parted above them and the winter sun broke through, casting its light not only on the valley below them, but on the two of them, as well.
He took the hat from her, placed it in the box and set the box on the ground. Then he pulled her into his arms and allowed her to sob into his coat.
Memories bombarded her mind, memories of their courting, their laughs, their struggles. Their engagement party and all the people who had attended, the same people who had attended the party at Chudleigh hill. Their wedding and the sharing of vows she knew were deep inside her soul, even when she could not remember them. And finally, their honeymoon in St. Mawes, the lovely walk on the beach and the visit to the millinery. But most importantly, the love she had for the man who held her.
The embrace ended, and Lucy gazed up at her husband, his blue eyes misted as they lay transfixed on her. “You remember?” he asked hesitantly. “You remember everything?” The look of hope he wore was so endearing, Lucy found it difficult to speak. After all this time, he held onto hope still.
Lucy nodded and a new feeling washed over her as the sun warmed her. It was the feeling one had for her husband, a man who would never give up. One who slept alone in a chair at night while his wife slept in the bed. A man who would stop at nothing to see her happy. Yes, all of it she now knew and understood.
And though she already recognized the final, and most important, emotion, she realized it had always been there, only she could not recognize it for what it was. “I remember that I loved you,” she said, her eyes still fixed onto his, “and I still do.”
Andrew leaned in and pressed his lips to hers and Lucy’s heart soared. This kiss was unlike any other, for this one was met with love. For how long the two stood in that spot with snow swirling around them, she did not know. However, the heat radiated between them both, brought about by the love they shared, which had finally broken through the darkest of days. It was a love that kept two people warm as if they were embracing before a fire, and Lucy would, of course, always remember and hold it close to her heart.
Epilogue
Epilogue
Winter became spring, which quickly turned to summer, and Lucy smiled as Andrew guided her along the garden path. True to his promise, a brighter day had come, returning life to the once dreary day. A blanket of green now covered the once bare branches of the trees and hedges and the garden plots, previously barren dirt patches, now held a multitude of colors and varieties of flowers. They stopped before the rose bush that had guarded a sweet memory, and she gazed up at him, their love still strong since that day on the hill. Or rather, since before that day, for now her memories had all returned, and she felt whole once again. It was the most wonderful of feelings being in love, and she anticipated the life which lay before them, much like the path beneath their feet.
“You know,” she said teasingly, “you are quite handsome for a Duke.”
“I have never heard such insult,” he said in mock rage. “Especially from a woman who sneaks to sip at brandy at every turn.” His smile belied the words as his arm encircled her.
She giggled. “I once drank brandy, but now I cannot,” she said as she ran her hand over her swollen belly. Soon she would bring forth a new life, and they would love the child dearly, of that she was certain.
Andrew smiled, reached over and plucked a single rose from the bush and handed it to her. She brought the flower to her nose and inhaled its fragrance. Lowering it, she smiled as he lowered his head, their lips meeting. The kiss held passion and hunger, as it always had, and now it possessed an even greater emotion: Love.
When the kiss broke, and with her arm in his, they continued their stroll down the path in the garden toward the iron gate, and most importantly, toward the light and their love.
About the Author
Much like most Regency authors, Jennifer Monroe fell in love with historical novels of dashing dukes and women wishing to be swept off their feet. She believes that no matter how well a romance story is written, love must be the driving force behind the characters.
Born in France to parents who worked for the United Nations, she found herself traveling the world, until she settled down in New York whilst attending University. As she completed her degree in literature studies, she met and married her loving husband and they soon had two wonderful daughters. She chose to stay home and raise her children, and it was not long before she began to wonder about the novels she loved as a young adult and began to reread some of her favorites. This led her to reading newer authors and eventually to try her hand at writing the stories that bounced around in her head for many years.
If you love Regency that has heart, as well as characters who are fun and distinct, then she invites you to escape with her into her world. If you would like to drop her a line or join her exclusive newsletter, just enter the link below into your browser.
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The Duchess Remembers Page 18