by Lucy Adams
The lump in her throat made it difficult for her to answer but she tried to do so regardless. “Of course, father,” she managed to say, her voice breaking a little as she forced a smile to her lips that she did not truly feel. Her father, who was now walking towards the door, did not see her expression nor hear the catch in her voice, already caught up with his own thoughts. “I hope you have a pleasant night.”
He waved a hand but did not look back over his shoulder, leaving Augusta to sink back down into a chair, alone with her thoughts and filled with a sudden, agonizing dread that what she feared the most might, one day, now come to pass.
Chapter Four
Marcus gritted his teeth and tried to steady his hand but, failing to do as he wished for what was now the fourth time, felt both rage and upset building within him as he threw the quill down, the ink splattering across the paper. He felt weak and tired even though this was now his third day in the Earl of Berwick’s home, his eyes closing and his hands balling into fists as he fought against his frustration.
He had to write to the League as soon as he could so that they knew where he was and what had occurred—but to do so required him to be able to write without too much difficulty and then, thereafter, to somehow find a way to have the note delivered without the mistress of the house being aware of him doing so. Whilst he appreciated Lady Augusta’s dedication to his improvement and was very glad indeed for all that she had done in coming to his aid, he could not allow himself to trust her simply because she had helped him.
Closing his eyes, Marcus let out his breath slowly in an attempt to calm both his heart and his mind. He was pushing himself to return to his full health as soon as possible but his body refused to do as his mind wanted. His head still ached terribly, he was covered in bruises and he was certain that his wrist was badly wrenched although not broken at least. With a groan, Marcus forced himself to pick up the quill and set it down carefully where it belonged, before crumpling up the parchment with his other, less painful hand, and then forcing himself to his feet. There were still one or two splashes of ink on the writing desk but Marcus did not care about those. Instead, he forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth so that he would not allow any sort of sound to emit from them. One hand gripped onto the arm of the chair as he steadied himself, hating the weakness that still gripped him. He had wanted to be back to his usual strength by now, had expected to be so. Instead, his recovery was taking much more time than he had expected.
A sudden crash had him starting, his hand holding a little more tightly onto the arm of the chair. Glancing towards the adjoining door that would lead to his bedchamber, he watched it carefully for a moment or two, expecting someone or something to burst into the room. There came the sound of loud voices, before they began to fade away, leaving Marcus as alone as he had been before. With a sigh, he began to make his way across the room, flinging the paper into the fire as he went.
The door flew open and in hurried Lady Augusta. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks pale and she closed the door just as quickly as she could, leaning back against it for a long moment. Marcus frowned but did not stop moving towards the large overstuffed chair a short distance away from the fireplace, knowing that his lack of strength meant he could not simply stand for long moments. Not as yet, anyway.
“Lady Augusta,” he murmured, his face twisting in pain as he turned to sit down on the edge of the chair, pushing himself back into it as a wave of relief crashed over him as he did so. “Is everything all right?”
Lady Augusta stared at him, her eyes still wide and her face just as pale as before. She said nothing but opened and then closed her mouth again, her hands still pressed flat against the door as if she wanted to keep everyone else out. For a moment, Marcus felt his heart turn over in his chest, realizing that he was entirely alone with the lady. Had this been at any other time, he would have said something to her about the lack of propriety and the questions and concerns such a thing might bring to them both but, for the moment, he realized that it was both unnecessary and inappropriate to mention such a thing.
“Sir,” Lady Augusta whispered, her pallor now a little grey. “I—I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I must bring you such news but…..” She trailed off, swallowing hard before closing her eyes, her breath rattling out between clenched teeth.
Marcus felt his stomach drop. What was it that she had to tell him? His fingers curled into the arms of the chair as he waited, feeling as though she were slowly torturing him with her on-going silence.
“Sir,” Lady Augusta said again, her eyes now tightly closed, her features a little twisted. “They have discovered the body of a man. He….” Again, she swallowed before continuing. “He has been shot.”
Marcus sucked in a breath but did not outwardly react. Lady Augusta opened her eyes slowly and looked at him, and he saw them huge and filled with fright. Marcus knew that he could not let any emotions show on his face, afraid that, if he did so, she would know that he remembered something about all that had gone on before.
“Do you remember anything of what happened to you?” Lady Augusta asked, finally stepping away from the door and coming towards him, her steps a little heavy as though she were struggling to find strength within herself. “Do you recall anything at all?”
Marcus forced himself to shake his head, watching Lady Augusta slowly as she sank down into a chair. She still believed that he had lost his memory, that he had forgotten everything as regarded his own self and all that had occurred. It was better that way, for it helped him protect himself in what was otherwise a very difficult situation.
“I thought that, in hearing about this, it might help you recall either what had happened or if you knew the man in some way,” Lady Augusta whispered, setting her head back against the chair and putting one hand over her eyes. “One of the gardeners discovered him today when he was out in the woods.” Her hand fluttered into her lap. “There is a great old oak that fell in the storm we had some months ago,” she explained, as though he needed to know everything. “The gardeners have been waiting until it dried out completely before cutting it up for firewood. They say it will keep us warm all the way through winter.”
“I see,” Marcus murmured, still watching the lady closely as his mind went over and over all that had happened during the attack. He feared that Lady Augusta was speaking of his servant who had been accompanying him.
“It is all quite dreadful,” Lady Augusta continued, closing her eyes tightly again, her head still resting back against the chair. “They say that he was buried in a shallow grave which had been easily discovered by….by….”
“Please,” Marcus interrupted, knowing full well what she was attempting to say—there were a good many fox and the like in the woods—and therefore having no need for her to say it aloud. “Do not distress yourself, Lady Augusta.”
Her eyes flickered open for a moment and she gave him a wan smile. “You are most considerate, sir.”
Marcus managed a smile in return, looking into her face and seeing the way her brown eyes, smudged with shadows, looked into his. Something within him shifted, his heart quickening for no explicable reason, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat a little gruffly. “You say that he was discovered, Lady Augusta,” he said, wanting to continue on with the conversation without permitting himself to become distracted. “Might I ask if there is a description of the fellow?” When he caught her gaze, seeing the way she looked at him, he tried to explain himself a little more. “It is only because I wonder if it would help me recover any fragments of my memory, you understand.”
Her expression cleared and she nodded. “Of course,” she murmured, “of course.” With a slight shake of her head, she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, betraying a growing headache. “From what I have heard, he was a smaller man, short and rather thin.” With a long sigh, she dropped her hand. “Brown hair, mayhap, although I do not recall much of what else was said after I heard he had been shot.” Sh
e shuddered and Marcus resisted the strange urge to lean forward and put his hand over hers as it rested in her lap, wondering at himself and his own weakness. “He wore a white shirt and dark breeches. That is all I can recall.”
Marcus closed his eyes and let his breath out as quietly and as slowly as he could, feeling relief coil all around him as he did so. The man Lady Augusta was describing was Mr. Breton, he was sure of it. His tiger had not been wearing a white shirt. Rather, he had been dressed all in black, to help him merge into the shadowy places of the woods when they had been in pursuit of Mr. Breton.
His servant, then, was not the man they had found in the woods. Although, Marcus considered, there now came the question as to who had buried Mr. Breton and why they had done so.
“You do not remember anything, then?”
Marcus lifted his gaze to Lady Augusta, who was now looking at him with something akin to disappointment in her eyes. A twinge of guilt struck his heart but he dismissed it immediately, reassuring himself that he knew precisely what he was doing and that it was all for the right reasons. Lady Augusta did not need to know that he recalled not only his name but also everything that had happened to him. It was best this way, for then not only was he protected but Lady Augusta was also—provided she truly knew nothing and was not involved in any of his investigations.
“I am afraid I do not, my lady,” he said, aware of how her gaze dropped at his words. “I am sorry. Would that I could remember more so that I am not a burden to you.”
Her eyes shot to his almost at once. “No, indeed, you are not to consider yourself a burden,” she responded, looking a little better now. “I am glad to see you recovering, sir, albeit slowly.” A tiny, rueful smile caught her lips and she looked away. “The clothes that have been found for you seem to fit you well.” Her expression grew a little distant. “My cousin has also taken a little unwell but his recovery is slower than your own, I think.” Her eyes glinted and Marcus watched her with interest. There was something about this cousin of hers that he could tell she did not like.
“Your cousin resides in his room also?” he asked, wondering what had happened to the man to force him to rest in such a fashion.
“He does,” Lady Augusta replied, smiling a little more. “He has a manservant, Knowles, who is almost always by his side or near to him, as well as one or two others. As much as I do not want to admit it aloud, sir, Mr. Stayton’s absence has been something of a relief.”
Marcus gave her a small smile, tilting his head a little and choosing to pry into Mr. Stayton at present, feeling the need to find out more about this cousin of Lady Augusta’s that had been living at the estate for some time.
“Might I ask what has happened to your cousin to make him so unwell?”
A sudden flare of color in Lady Augusta’s eyes had his whole being tight with tension. She did not look embarrassed but rather, ashamed, as though something had occurred that she could not bring herself to speak of.
“Lady Augusta?” he queried, feeling even more urgently that he needed to find out more about this cousin of hers. “Was it very bad?”
Lady Augusta threw him a sharp look but her lips trembled as she began to speak. “My dog defended me against him,” she answered, not quite able to look at him any longer. “That is all.”
Anger began to burn in Marcus’ heart. “Defended you?” he repeated, wondering what kind of vile, despicable creature this gentleman was. “Whilst you were out in the woods?”
Pressing her lips together hard, Lady Augusta drew in a long breath, gave herself a slight shake and then shrugged. “It is of little importance now,” she said, with a less than convincing tone. “He is taking some time to recover and I shall not feel sorry for him.” Her eyes glanced down at him. “You must think terribly of me, sir.”
“No, indeed not,” Marcus grated, fighting the urge to demand to know all that had occurred. There was an ever-stronger need now to know more about the gentleman and Marcus had every intention of discovering everything he could about the fellow whilst he resided here. Seeing that Lady Augusta was still rather red in the face and looking all the more ashamed, Marcus reluctantly decided not to press her any further. Instead, he chose another topic of conversation entirety. “You ought to call me something, Lady Augusta,” he said, moving the conversation away from the man that had been discovered. “Referring to me as ‘sir’ must become particularly wearying given that I have no recollection of my title.”
Lady Augusta’s eyes lit for a moment, the corner of her mouth catching in a small smile. “What would you suggest?”
Marcus hesitated, then smiled. He could not give her his proper title, of course, nor could he give her his name, but yet he wanted to ensure that she called him something that would catch his attention.
“Why do you not call me ‘Mr. Farrell’?” he suggested, using the family surname that both of his sisters had used before they had married. “Would that satisfy you?”
Lady Augusta looked at him steadily, her pallor beginning to disappear as her cheeks gained a little more color. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
He shook his head, the lie coming easily to his lips. “It is just one that I have thought of,” he told her, seeing her brows furrow. “That is all. I am sorry.”
“Please,” she answered, with a wave of his hand and a smile that did not catch her eyes. “Do not apologize. Although, I do not think I shall call you merely ‘Mr. Farrell’.”
“Oh?”
“I shall call you ‘Lord Farrell’,” she corrected, her smile spreading a little wider. “For I am sure that you are a titled gentleman, given your manner and your speech.”
A little surprised by her insight, Marcus inclined his head. “I thank you, Lady Augusta,” he said, hiding his astonishment by putting a small smile on his face. “You are very kind.”
She sighed and got to her feet. “I should depart and see if my father requires anything before the dinner gong,” she said, softly, the sound of her voice disappearing as it rang around the room, her steps already turning her towards the door. “I am sorry to have brought you such sorrowful news, Lord Farrell.”
It took a moment for Marcus to recall that she spoke to him with such a title, starting with surprise for a moment before he responded. “You need not apologize, Lady Augusta,” he told her, as she turned her head to look at him. “I thank you for talking with me. It has brought me a little happiness, despite the morose subject.”
She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob as her eyes searched his face. There was something she wanted to ask, he thought, something that was in her expression that, as yet, she had not been able to express. Marcus held her gaze, his heart quickening for a moment as his mind flew about all over the place in an attempt to guess what it was she wanted to ask him. Was she about to tell him that she knew all too well that he was pretending to have lost his memory? Was she the one who had been collaborating with Mr. Breton, given that the man had said he hadn’t been sure if it had been a man or a woman who had come to meet him? Or was there something more to Mr. Breton’s death that she wanted to share with him?
“You will think this a very unusual request, Lord Farrell, given that we are only just met and that you, I do not think, require anything of this particular nature, but I –” She stopped herself, a deep frown sending a line down in between her brows. Her eyes dropped to the floor, her other hand tightening into a gentle fist. When she looked back up at him again, her smile was tight and fixed.
“Forgive me,” she said, clearly now a little embarrassed. “I should not have –”
“Please.” Marcus found himself on his feet, taking a step towards her and ignoring the pain that jolted through his frame. “What is it you wanted to say, Lady Augusta? Please, do not hold yourself back. I would be glad to hear whatever you have to say.”
Lady Augusta’s cheeks flared with color but finally, her gaze caught his again. “It is only that I wondered if you would like to converse again at anoth
er time,” she said, clearly a little embarrassed. “You are here alone for most of the day and given that I am the only one from myself, my father and my cousin who knows of your presence, I merely thought that—”
“I would be glad of your company and your conversation at any time you can spare it,” Marcus interrupted, seeing the surprise jump into Lady Augusta’s face although her cheeks pinked all the more and her eyes warmed. He himself felt his own heart lift, as though he were very glad indeed at the prospect of having Lady Augusta’s company again in the near future. He told himself that it was simply because he wanted to discover more about Lady Augusta herself and this house in particular, for he did have a good many questions as regarded her secrecy about his presence to both her father and cousin, but part of him nudged at his conscience and told him aloud that he did not have only such a consideration within his heart.
Lady Augusta said nothing for a few moments, merely looking back at him and holding his gaze with an increasingly warm look in her eyes. Marcus did not look away, finding himself drawn towards the lady as though she were holding a rope that was tied to his waist, slowly pulling him closer to her.
“Then mayhap I will speak to you tomorrow, Lord Farrell,” she murmured, her hand turning the doorknob so that the door opened with a soft click. “I thank you. You have made me feel a good deal better.”
“But of course.” Marcus wanted to say that he had done very little indeed, had only listened and thereafter, offered to speak to her again, but it had clearly meant a good deal more to Lady Augusta than he had realized. Was she truly that lonely? Was her life here particularly difficult? He watched her closely as she gave him one more small smile before stepping out of the room, pulling the door closed tightly behind her. He let out a heavy sigh, making his way slowly to his adjoining room and sitting down carefully on the bed and then swinging his legs around onto it so that he could lie flat. His eyes began to close almost immediately, clearly quite tired from his walk across the room and then his conversation with Lady Augusta, but Marcus forced his mind to keep working hard. Lady Augusta had revealed more than perhaps she had intended and he wanted very much to discover more. Why was she so lonely when her father resided here? Had she no companion? Why had she not gone to London for the Season, given that she was clearly of age? Perhaps, he mused, there was some connection between herself and her cousin that would lead her to marriage and to her future here at the estate, for he did not know if she had any brothers or sisters to speak of. Was the title to pass to the cousin and that was why he was here at present? Was the Earl of Berwick unwell in some way?