by Wolf, Bree
Nessa nodded. “Goodbye.” Then she turned on her heel and fled the room, tears streaming down her face.
Every muscle in Grant’s body urged him to follow her, but he knew he should not. What she needed now was time to think everything through, to explore how she felt about what she’d learned. He needed to give her space and trust that she’d still be here when he returned.
“I’ll look after her,” the young nun told him, a gentle smile on her face. “Do not worry. She will be fine.”
Grant nodded. Nessa was alive!
Everything would be all right again.
Chapter Five
What If
Rushing back outside into the garden, Nessa sank onto the ground, not caring in the least that the fresh, new earth stained her dress. Bright spots danced before her eyes, and her breath came fast and brought frighteningly little air down into her lungs. Her chest constricted, and blackness began to dance on the edge of her vision. Her hands rose to her throat as though she could will herself to breathe.
“Hush, everything shall be fine,” a familiar voice whispered, calm as well as a touch commanding. “Look at me and breathe.” A second later, Sister Anne’s dark brown eyes appeared in front of Nessa as the young nun sank down onto the ground before her, her hands settling on Nessa’s shoulders. “Breathe,” she instructed, slowly drawing in a breath of her own before releasing it with the same calm serenity. “Breathe.”
Nessa did as she was told, willing herself not to allow panic to overtake her. She stared into Sister Anne’s eyes and concentrated on the black and golden flecks that danced in the young woman’s brown gaze.
Moments passed.
Long, painful moments, but slowly Nessa could feel her panic subside. Air traveled down into her lungs in greater amounts and her chest began to rise and fall with more ease. Relieved, she closed her eyes, sinking down onto her heels.
“Is it better now?” Sister Anne asked gently.
Nessa nodded, then looked up at her friend. “Thank you. I thought I’d pass out. I don’t know why.”
Sister Anne smiled kindly. “You’re overwhelmed. In your situation, I suppose it’s only natural to feel as though the earth is jerked out from under your feet.”
Rubbing her hands over her face, Nessa drew in a slow, deep breath. “I suppose,” she mumbled. “I don’t even know where to begin. My head is spinning.” She swallowed. “For the past three years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to know who I am. But now that I do, I…” She shook her head, staring at her friend, completely at a loss for words. How was she to explain the chaos in her head and heart?
“You don’t know who you are,” Sister Anne objected. “You were told a story and that it was your past, but you do not feel it.”
Nessa hung her head. “I do not.”
“It’ll take time. You need to be patient, Martha.”
Stopping mid-breath, Nessa looked up. “But I’m not Martha, am I?”
Sister Anne smiled. “Forgive me. Force of habit.”
“I am Nessa,” Nessa mumbled. “Agnes Barrett, Countess of…” Her gaze narrowed. “I cannot remember what he said.” Air rushed from her lungs in a large gust. “I cannot even remember what he said.” Staring at her friend, Nessa shook her head.
“Wentford,” Sister Anne supplied. “Countess of Wentford.” A small grin came to her face. “My lady.”
Nessa laughed, shocked that she would do so, and delighting in the lightness it brought to her heart. “A part of me feels as though I’ve strayed into a fairy tale.”
Sister Anne smiled, eagerness coming to her dark brown eyes. “Indeed,” she whispered in agreement. “Your knight in shining armor just came to rescue you from…exile.”
“Exile?” Nessa scoffed. “There’s no story I remember,” she rolled her eyes at the absurdity of that statement, “that the princess does not remember her true love.”
Sister Anne smiled. “Then let’s write a new story. Who says you cannot have your happily-ever-after?”
Nessa sighed, remembering the young man who claimed to be her husband. “A part of me does not believe him.”
Her friend’s forehead creased into a frown. “Why not? What reason would he have to tell you something that wasn’t true?”
Nessa shrugged. “I don’t know, but…but when I saw him, I thought he might be a younger brother. I mean, it was clear that he couldn’t possibly be my father, and so I thought perhaps I have a brother.”
“And?” Sister Anne pressed. “Now, you know he’s your husband.” Her hand settled on Nessa’s. “What worries you?”
Nessa grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t know where to begin, but I simply think it strange that a man like him would marry an older woman, at least not unless there is a good reason.” She shrugged. “A large fortune or—”
“Love,” Sister Anne supplied, smiling. “To me, he looked like a man very much in love.”
Nessa swallowed as fear returned to her heart.
“It bothers you that he loves you,” Sister Anne whispered, confusion ringing in her voice.
Nessa nodded. “If what he says is true, then finding me here will only break his heart again.”
“You didn’t feel anything?” Sister Anne asked, her brown eyes searching Nessa’s. “Nothing? Not even when he held you?”
Nessa shrugged. “Perhaps, but how am I to know whether I truly felt something because a part of me deep down does remember after all or simply because I want to feel something so desperately that I only think I do?” Once again rubbing her hands over her face, Nessa sighed. “My head is beginning to spin again.”
Sister Anne drew in a slow breath, and Nessa could almost hear the young woman think. Then she said, “You’re overthinking this, my lady.” Another teasing grin played over the young woman’s features. “Perhaps it would be wise not to dwell on too many questions. Perhaps what you need is to return to your family and allow them to welcome you. Perhaps you need to shut off your mind and only feel, free and without restraint, without pressure, without thought. Perhaps then, you’ll remember.”
Tears came to Nessa’s eyes. “Do you truly believe so?”
“I believe it would be your best chance. Nothing good ever comes from obligation. The heart must be free to choose.”
“But what if I look upon my…my daughter,” Nessa gritted her teeth when her breath hitched on the last word, “and feel nothing? What if she flings herself into my arms, and my heart remains silent?”
Sister Anne’s eyes searched hers. “What if she does not remember you?”
Fresh tears trickled down Nessa’s cheeks. “What if my daughter does not remember me?” she sniffled. “What if we’ll be strangers for the rest of our lives?”
Sister Anne snorted. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? Children are a resilient sort. They manage to survive what would bring us to our knees.” Squeezing Nessa’s hand, the young nun smiled. “Even if she does not remember you, you’ll still have time to make new memories together.” Her brows rose in challenge. “But only if you go and meet her and stop hiding out in a place where you know that no familiar faces linger. I know you’ve been afraid. I know that as much as you’ve wished for something of your past to return, you’ve also been afraid of what it might be.”
“What if I cannot return to my old life?” Nessa confided as her heart clenched in her chest. Although she had not felt old feelings resurface upon seeing her husband, she had…liked him. He was a kind and decent man who had—if she dared to believe it—loved his wife—her!—with all his heart.
Nessa did not wish to see him broken because she could not find it within her to love him back. What would it do to her family if she returned to them in body only? What if she would never be able to remember who she had been? Who they were? The life they had shared? “What if I’ll never be Nessa again? What if I can’t?”
“You cannot know what the future will bring, and it serves no one to worry about it too much. Be prepared, but do not fear
it,” Sister Anne said, her young eyes wise beyond her years. “Fear is something that holds everything else at bay. You’ll never be happy if you’re always fearful.” Then she gently squeezed Nessa’s hand and rose to her feet. “You have a little time to think about everything,” she said, looking down at Nessa. “But do it with an open and hopeful mind. Will you promise me to try?”
Swallowing, Nessa nodded. “I promise I’ll try. Thank you.”
Watching Sister Anne walk away, Nessa remained where she was, her limbs feeling heavy and unwilling to move. Her hands moved to touch the earth, and she ran her fingers through the soft dirt, watching as small grains collected under her fingernails, staining them black. The sight was familiar and oddly soothing.
“Amelia,” Nessa whispered as her thoughts drifted to the little girl she could not remember. What did she look like? Did she have brown hair? Or blond?
Squinting, Nessa tried to remember her husband’s eye color, but couldn’t. Even though he had stood so close, barely a hair’s breadth away from her, she had been too overwhelmed at the time to notice. Did their daughter resemble her or him? He’d said she had Nessa’s eyes, hadn’t he?
“Amelia.” Again and again, Nessa whispered her daughter’s name, trying almost desperately to picture her, but her mind came up empty. Only blackness rose before her eyes and not the image of a little girl she had once loved.
Sadness engulfed Nessa’s heart once again, bringing fresh tears with it, and her hand dug into the ground, her fingers curling around a clump of dirt. “Amelia,” she whispered again before her mind touched on a more recent memory of her husband as he had spoken to her of their daughter in the abbess’ study.
Had that only been an hour ago? Nessa wondered, feeling as though she had been sitting out here in the gardens for the better part of her life, mourning a past and people she could not remember. And yet, she had, had she not? Every day for the past three years.
It seemed like a lifetime.
A lifetime full of sadness and regret.
Nessa swallowed, knowing that Sister Anne was right. She needed to turn away from the fear that had always held her back and allow herself to hope.
To hope that all would be well.
That there was a chance.
To be happy again.
And so Nessa turned to the memory her mind had provided and echoed her husband’s words. He had not called their daughter Amelia, had he? Certainly, he had given her full name, but when he had referred to her, he had not called her Amelia.
No, not Amelia, but Milly.
“Milly,” Nessa whispered into the breeze as it traveled through the abbey’s little garden on its way to see the world. “Milly.”
Oddly enough, Milly sounded…better. It felt as though it fit. It felt right. Why, Nessa could not say, but all of a sudden her gaze was drawn down to look upon her right index finger where she felt a small pressure against her skin…as though a small child clutched her finger tightly in hers.
A smile came to Nessa’s face. Was this real? Was she remembering something? Of course, it was something small, something one barely noticed, something that might seem insignificant.
And yet, it meant the world to Nessa, and more than anything she wanted to believe that it was true. Perhaps Sister Anne was right. Truly right. Perhaps with time, she would remember. Perhaps once she set foot in her old home and saw her family again, a little something would return to her every day. Perhaps a lost memory could not return all at once. Perhaps it could only do so step by step so as not to overwhelm her. Perhaps her body knew better how to respond than she herself could fathom. Perhaps she ought to simply trust it.
“I’m going home,” Nessa whispered, feeling a smile tug on the corners of her mouth. “Home.”
Chapter Six
An All But Forgotten Dilemma
On his way home, Grant did little else but stare out the window.
In his mind’s eye, he still saw Nessa, saw her warm hazel eyes, her enchanting smile and that soft crinkle that came to her nose whenever she was displeased with something. A chuckle rumbled in Grant’s throat, and he breathed in deeply, wondering how long it had been since he’d last felt so utterly content.
Not since Nessa.
Not that he hadn’t known it before, but in that moment when she was returned to him after three years full of loss and pain, Grant knew that his happiness stood and fell with her.
All he needed was her, and he would never allow her to be ripped from his life ever again.
And yet, there was a part of him that still didn’t dare believe. “Nessa,” he whispered into the stillness, the only other sound the churning of the carriage’s wheels on the hardened road. “Nessa.”
At the mere thought of her, happiness flooded him, and his head fell back, resting against the wall as he closed his eyes. Again, he pictured the moment she had stepped into the abbess’ study, the moment his eyes had fallen on her, the moment his heart had rejoiced before his mind had been able to make sense of what he had seen. Had she truly been there? Or had he allowed his eyes to deceive him?
Nevertheless, the warmth of her still lingered. His hands tingled with the memory of her soft skin against his, the way she had felt in his arms, the way her breath had brushed over his lips. The feel of her had nearly overwhelmed him.
And it had frightened her.
Slowly, Grant opened his eyes and looked out at the passing landscape beyond his window. Once again, he saw her fearful eyes, saw the way she had shrank back from him, and the memory dampened his joy. How could it not?
As much as he wished to celebrate, Grant knew it would be foolish to forget that his wife had not recognized him. To her, he was a stranger, and he would need to be patient—very patient—or risk losing her. After all, he wanted the Nessa he remembered back in his life. And while it was all well and good to see her lovely face again, it was not enough.
What Grant longed for was her sharp tongue, the way she spoke her mind without restraint. He wanted to see her roll her eyes at him when he did or said something foolish. He wanted her to tease and nag him. He wanted her to sigh when she fell into his arms, her warm, hazel eyes shining with love and longing.
Grant wanted all that.
He wanted his old life back.
He wanted his Nessa.
His wife.
And then he remembered Eugenie.
A tortured groan rose from his throat and he buried his face in his hands. How could he have forgotten?
Still, all his life—ever since they’d first met—Grant had been oblivious to all else once Nessa stepped into a room. From the first, she had been the center of his world and her absence had thrown him into darkness. And now that he had found her again, he had seen only her.
Only Nessa.
And he had all but forgotten Eugenie. His wife. What was he to do now?
Cringing at the thought, Grant knew that he needed to speak to Eugenie, explain what had happened and hope that she was strong enough to…what? What would happen to her? Although he would send for his solicitor the moment he returned to Wentford Park, Grant was reasonably certain that his marriage to Eugenie was void; now that Nessa had returned.
Relief filled Grant’s heart that the law would, in all likelihood, support his marriage to Nessa. Still, guilt followed swiftly when he thought of Eugenie’s kind eyes. She was not like Nessa, a force of nature, a woman who would make her way no matter what. Eugenie did not rest in herself, at peace with the person she was, strong in heart and mind. No, she was delicate, fragile, and the moment Grant had learned of her situation—that she had only a heartless guardian to see to her well-being—he had felt protective toward her. She was the kind of woman men felt the need to protect.
Never had Grant felt like that about Nessa. Certainly, he would protect her. However, she had always been so strong with that daring gleam in her eyes that he had always felt certain there was nothing she could not do. Even now, today, when the truth about her past had ove
rwhelmed her, she had stood tall, protecting herself—even from him. Although the thought that she did not trust him pained him, Grant could not deny that he was proud of her.
Of her strength.
Of her endurance.
And he wondered how he would have weathered the same situation. After all, he, too, had been reeling the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He, too, had felt shaken to his very core.
But Eugenie was different. What would this do to her?
For the rest of the carriage ride, Grant mulled over what he would say, what he could do, but everything fell short of what this news would mean for Eugenie. Their marriage would be void. She would be ruined in society’s eyes. She would have no one left to protect her.
Gritting his teeth against the shame and self-loathing these thoughts elicited, Grant vowed that he would find a way to see her safe. Certainly, there were consequences that were outside of his control—not that he would want his marriage to Eugenie upheld and his marriage to Nessa declared void—but he would find a way to see her settled.
How, Grant could not say. He would have to think on that later. Now, he needed to arrive home and speak to Maynard. The man deserved to know that his beloved daughter was still alive…and would be coming home.
The moment the carriage pulled to a halt by the front steps leading up to the large double-winged doors of Wentford Park, Grant jumped to the ground before his coachman had even climbed down from the box. Darby’s face crinkled into a confused frown as he watched Grant climb the steps two at a time before he rushed through the door. Surprised, Brighton stumbled backwards, mumbling a hasty apology for not opening the door.
“Don’t concern yourself with that,” Grant hastened to ease the old man’s mind as he strode toward his study, Brighton following on his heel. “Send for my solicitor immediately. It’s a matter of the utmost importance.” He stopped outside the door to his study. “And fetch Mr. Bottombrook. I need to speak to him. It’s urgent.”