A Duke Never Forgets (The Duke Hunters Club, #3)

by Blythe, Bianca

  Genevieve’s heart tumbled.

  This was the end.

  This was when he would denounce her. Vicious laughter was the best she could hope for. The worst probably involved a trip to the magistrate and permanent dismissal from society.

  Genevieve wanted to fling herself onto the floor and disappear into the cracks in the floorboards. Escaping through the window seemed like a tolerable solution, and she calculated the risk of leg breaking.

  If she’d changed her name once, she could change it again...right? This time it would be her idea.

  But Genevieve didn’t sprint toward the window, and she didn’t collapse onto the floor.

  She stood steady: not because staying in her place was correct or honorable—she was quite certain her mother would appreciate the distraction if the duke began speaking about pistols and false names. Unfortunately, her legs had turned to lead.

  The duke surveyed her. His eyes seemed filled with wonder: no doubt, he was appalled she could have lied thus.

  Mr. Ackley had noticed the question in the duke’s voice, and he frowned. His eyes narrowed, retaining a focus solely on the duke.

  “I find it most odd that you are unsure,” Mr. Ackley said.

  Genevieve’s breath halted. Her body forgot inhalation and exhalation. No doubt, at any moment, her body would even forget how to stand, as if determined to find all the ways in which she could be humiliated.

  “Perhaps I should explain,” Genevieve blurted.

  All eyes fixed on her. Mrs. Ackley’s gaze was slightly bored, as if the conversation had drifted away from niceties of conversation, ones that might lead to proposals of tea and sweets in the drawing room. Similarly, Billy was also unruffled, immune to the ominous notes of the duke’s question.

  Her mother’s and Mr. Ackley’s expressions were less sanguine. Fear darted in her mother’s face. If her mother knew a way to get out of this, she would have already attempted to rectify the situation. Mr. Ackley seemed distrustful, a lack of faith that she trusted was no impediment to the successful fulfillment of his position in the vicarage.

  But the duke’s reaction concerned her the most.

  The duke furrowed his handsome brow, and he scrunched his equally delectable lips to the side, as if he were a schoolboy searching in the furthest recesses of his mind for an obscure mathematical formula.

  Tension moved through Genevieve. The duke had seemed surprisingly calm now, and she didn’t want him to recall all the things he disliked about her. She didn’t want revulsion to show on his face, and she wished things had been different, and that she’d never harmed him.

  This was going to go terribly.

  He would laugh and ridicule her. He would tell all the ton. She would be disgraced.

  The duke tilted his head determinedly, as if willing some information to fall to the forefront of his mind.

  Genevieve stared at him.

  The man she knew would be venturing into a tirade now. He would be listing her defects with the glee of someone eager to obtain a refund.

  “Yes, you’re married,” Mama told him.

  Genevieve jerked her head toward her mother, and her mouth fell open.

  Her mother frowned slightly, and Genevieve hastened to close her mouth.

  “Don’t you remember?” her mother asked.

  The duke shook his head.

  Genevieve waited for him to protest, but instead, the man smiled at her.

  The wide smile toppled her, and for a moment, she imagined they were truly married, and that he was truly happy with her.

  Then his face sobered, and he turned to her mother. “I should remember. I don’t know why I can’t remember.”

  “You had a knock on your head,” her mother said smoothly. “I’d imagine you’ll remember soon.”

  “You mean, he doesn’t remember being married?” Mr. Ackley scrutinized the duke. His thin eyebrows moved together, as if joining forces might yield a better view.

  “She does have a plain face,” Mrs. Ackley said.

  “Nonsense,” the duke said. “She is beautiful.”

  Heavens.

  Was the duke not feigning innocence?

  Only worry seemed to be on his face.

  “What precisely can you remember?” Genevieve’s voice shook, and when he stared at her, his eyes were wide with puzzlement.

  In that moment, Genevieve would have favored it if he’d ventured into a diatribe in which she starred as the antagonist.

  “Do you know the date?” her mother asked.

  “1815,” the duke said hopefully.

  Mr. Ackley emitted a sigh. “No, dear child. That’s wrong.”

  “My son would know,” Mrs. Ackley said proudly.

  “I am afraid,” Mr. Ackley said, “that you may have temporarily lost your memory. This is 1821.”

  1821.

  “You must be jesting,” Sebastian said.

  The people’s expressions remained sober, and the air grew hot and sticky.

  The sour-faced vicar did not seem prone to jesting, but this was the first time Sebastian had met him. Perhaps this Mr. Ackley told everyone he encountered who’d just woken up from slumber that he was living in a new year.

  Sebastian looked at the two women, but they appeared horror-stricken.

  “It can’t be 1821,” Sebastian said. “It’s 1815. 1821 is six years away.” He shook his head firmly. “No, it can’t be 1821. That would be absurd. You must be mistaken.”

  “I am never mistaken,” Mrs. Ackley said firmly. “Neither is my husband.”

  Mr. Ackley gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

  “I know this must be a shock,” the older blonde woman said.

  Her voice was kind, but he couldn’t trust her. Not when she was saying such impossible things.

  “It’s not 1821,” Sebastian said. “I would remember something from the past six years.”

  “Why don’t you have some more coffee?” the older blonde woman—his mother-in-law—asked.

  Sebastian took a long sip. How could it be 1821? How had he lost six years? Damnation, how had he managed to forget he was married?

  “We’re really married?” he asked the woman everyone said was his wife.

  “Yes,” her mother said quickly. “You are. You—er—hit your head. No doubt, you’ll remember everything soon.”

  Sebastian nodded slowly. His head did ache. He moved his hand to his head, but touched a coarse cloth instead of his hair. He frowned.

  “Better not disturb your bandage,” the woman said.

  A dull ache moved through Sebastian.

  Perhaps everyone in this room was correct. Perhaps he had forgotten six whole years.

  “I know this is a shock,” his wife said, his voice tentative. She moved her long lashes down, and he had an odd urge to put his arm about her waist and comfort her. “You must be appalled.”

  His eyes widened. “Not in the least.”

  She looked at him skeptically.

  “I’m just perplexed I could possibly forget that I was married to an angel such as you,” he admitted.

  She tilted her head and stared at him.

  Had he been failing to tell her how beautiful she was? Angels themselves could hardly compete, and they had long feathered wings.

  “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice solemn.

  “You don’t mean that,” her voice trembled.

  “I do.”

  “He’s forgotten all other people,” Mrs. Ackley said drily.

  Sebastian frowned and turned toward her, despite the ache that sudden movements seemed to cause him. He winced.

  “Please do not insult my wife,” he told her.

  Mrs. Ackley widened her eyes.

  “She is an angel.”

  “Angels aren’t found in cottages in Cornwall,” Mrs. Ackley said.

  “And yet, here she is,” Sebastian said.

  Mrs. Ackley glowered. “But—”

  “My son-in-
law needs some rest,” the older blonde woman said quickly. “This has been much news for him.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Potter,” the vicar said.

  Sebastian’s wife’s manner seemed nervous, like a bird that had flown into a house by accident and was fluttering its wings, anxious for a way out.

  “I must have frightened you,” he said. “But you needn’t worry any longer.”

  “Oh.”

  He nodded firmly. “I’m awake now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But he needs his sleep,” Mrs. Potter said, taking his wife’s arm and leading her out.

  Sebastian frowned.

  Personally, it seemed he’d been doing quite a bit of sleeping already. It seemed the last thing he required was more.

  But his head still felt heavy, and he frowned.

  How could he have forgotten everything? He’d heard of it happening to other people, but he’d never quite believed the stories.

  Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would remember everything.

  He smiled, then settled back underneath his blanket. Even though he doubted he’d been up for even a single hour, his eyelids grew heavy. His muscles ached, and he tried not to imagine his head hitting a rock and being flung back and forth through the ocean, his location determined by the whims of nature, rather than himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?” Genevieve asked, as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Ackley left.

  “You didn’t like the visit?” Mama asked, an innocent sound to her voice.

  “He’s going to remember.”

  Her mother was silent.

  “Won’t he?” Genevieve’s voice trembled, and she realized it wasn’t for concern about herself.

  “I don’t know,” her mother admitted.

  Genevieve widened her eyes.

  “P-Probably,” her mother stammered. “Almost certainly.” She frowned. “Though one can’t be certain.”

  “People don’t simply lose their memories,” Genevieve said crossly. “The whole thing is unlikely.”

  “Hitting one’s head when swimming is also unlikely. Some Corsican upstart wanting to be emperor was unlikely. Losing all one’s money is unlikely.”

  Genevieve turned sharply to her mother, but her mother averted her gaze. Instead, she rose.

  “The important thing is that the duke cannot remember he is not married to you. He cannot even remember he is a duke. He’s simply Mr. Sebastian Seagull.”

  “That is a tragedy,” Genevieve stated.

  “Perhaps.” Mama gave a nonchalant shrug. “But we were also in the midst of a tragedy. The duke desired to evict us. And we didn’t have anything to fall back on.”

  Genevieve was silent.

  “Besides, he doesn’t seem to mind thinking he is married to you.” Mama smiled.

  Heavens.

  When was the last time her mother had grinned in quite that matter?

  Genevieve drew back and assessed her. “You do know I am not truly married to him?”

  “Naturally.” Mama sounded affronted.

  “So, I haven’t become a duchess or anything.”

  This time, Mama seemed to stare at her a second too long for Genevieve’s comfort. “Would you like to be a duchess?”

  Genevieve raised her torso. “Naturally not.”

  “I thought every woman wanted to become a duchess.”

  “Every schoolgirl perhaps. Not woman.”

  “Didn’t you form a Duke Hunters Club at your finishing school?”

  Genevieve’s cheeks pinkened, but she shook her head adamantly. “Juliet formed it. I’m her best friend. Obviously, I was in it.”

  “You didn’t decide to ride horses after Juliet declared a passionate affection for them when she was ten.”

  “That’s because horses are large and frightening. I’m more sensible than she is.”

  Mama still scrutinized her, as if Genevieve had almost given satisfactory answers. “I thought the duke was quite handsome.”

  “He despises me.”

  “So you keep saying. Did you meet before?”

  Genevieve fiddled with a strand of thread that had come loose on her dress. “It’s not important.”

  “Hmph.” Her mother seemed dubious, but thankfully did not press.

  “He’s bound to be upset when he remembers.”

  “Then he’ll be upset. He was upset before, after all.”

  Genevieve had to admit her mother did have a point.

  “Besides,” Mama continued, “he was planning to stay here. None of his staff will think it odd when he doesn’t return to his estate promptly. And Cornwall is sufficiently far from Hampshire that no one will come pay a call.”

  “It’s not right to hide him away.”

  Mama shrugged. “He’s recovering from a near-fatal injury in a quiet, peaceful cottage by the seaside. We’re saving him from the hassle of added anxiety and a long carriage journey.”

  “We told the Ackley’s he went by the surname Seagull. He remembers up until 1815. He’s going to find that curious.”

  Mama shrugged. “People change their names.”

  “Rarely.”

  “We changed our names. We’ll find a reason.”

  Genevieve frowned, then strode toward the door. “He was doing some surveillance work in the Lake District. Perhaps I could tell him he had to change his name for—er—safety purposes.”

  Her mother stared at her. “You did know him.”

  “Remotely. But I don’t think this will work.”

  Her mother touched Genevieve’s shoulder. “I believe we are devoid of choices. This choice will allow him to recover by the sea.”

  Her mother’s statement wasn’t enough. It didn’t ease the mix of guilt and sorrow that swept through her, and it seemed highly likely the duke would be furious once he remembered.

  Still, she hardly wanted to tell a man who didn’t remember anything that everything they’d said had been a lie. Would he even believe he was a duke? Perhaps not confusing him further was not an ideal option.

  Genevieve’s gaze fell on the door to the duke’s room. What must he be thinking? The man must be frightened.

  “Perhaps the duke is hungry,” Genevieve mused.

  Her mother’s eyes glimmered. “Perhaps. You must prepare him a meal.”

  Genevieve prepared a tray of food for him, then knocked on the door.

  “Enter.” The duke’s tenor voice drifted through the wooden door, and despite herself, Genevieve shivered.

  “It’s you.” The duke smiled, and she wanted to tell him this was all wrong, and that he hated her.

  “I made some food for you.”

  The duke shot her a grateful look and soon began to eat.

  “Come, sit near me.”

  Genevieve moved toward him tentatively, and he frowned.

  “I suppose I must look quite frightful,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Nonsense. Your head is just bandaged.”

  The duke smiled at her.

  Genevieve pulled up a small wooden chair. “I’m sorry the toast is burned.”

  “It’s no matter.”

  “And I’m sorry the eggs are runny. They’re supposed to be harder. And—er—contain salt.”

  “It’s quite fine,” the duke said amiably.

  And Genevieve had the odd impression it was.

  “How long have we been married?” the duke asked.

  Genevieve hesitated. “Not long.”

  “Oh.”

  “Was it a nice wedding?”

  “Er—yes.”

  The duke smiled. “Forgive me, that was a foolish question.”

  “Indeed?” she squeaked.

  He nodded. “Any wedding with you would be bound to be spectacular.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks warmed again.

  The duke placed his plate on the side table, then placed his legs gingerly on the floor.

  Genevieve widened her eyes. “You should rest!”

 
“I promise I won’t overly exert myself.”

  “Splendid.” Her voice still wobbled.

  He flashed a wide smile at her. “Don’t worry. Everyone has always said I’m very healthy. I’m certain I’ll remember soon.”

  Heavens.

  “What’s your name?” her faux husband asked.

  “Genevieve.”

  “That’s a lovely name.”

  “Thank you.” Her arms trembled, and she smoothed her hair with unnecessary frequency.

  He took her hand in his matter-of-factly, and she felt a pleasant jolt of warmth despite the relative coolness of his palm.

  She stared at their entwined hands.

  “I don’t remember the first time we met, but I am certain it was memorable.”

  Her smile halted, and she averted her gaze. “We just...fell in love.”

  “We did?”

  She nodded, despising the lie and the manner in which the duke’s eyes lit up. Heat swirled through her, and she rose. “I-I should let you rest.”

  “I’m not tired,” he said. “Besides, this is your room too.”

  She stared at him.

  He couldn’t think they shared a room.

  Perhaps married couples in manor houses had separate bedrooms, but married couples who lived in tiny cottages were apt to share bedrooms.

  “I realize you may not remember we no longer share a room,” Genevieve blurted.

  The duke widened his eyes.

  That hadn’t come out correctly. Genevieve tucked a lock behind her ear.

  “Because my mother is here,” she stammered. “And the house is small.”

  He tilted his head, then grinned. “Are we very...noisy?”

  Genevieve’s throat dried, no doubt because someone had set fire to her face.

  “Let me give you a tour of the cottage.”

  SEBASTIAN ATTEMPTED to hide his disappointment at his wife’s abrupt change of topic. He supposed it might be painful for her to recount experiences she considered unforgettable, and he vowed to do his best to remember soon.

  His head still pounded, and his limbs felt stiff and raw. “I must apologize.”

  Her eyes widened further.

  He squeezed her hand. “I shouldn’t have endangered our family by swimming. I’m sorry.”

  She stared at him. “You love swimming. It was an accident. You just hit your head on a rock.”