Carousel of Hearts

by Mary Jo Putney

  He grimaced. “It must have been very difficult, even with two of you to share the nursing.”

  “We did it because we wanted to,” Judith said. “Antonia could have hired someone had she wished.”

  His inspection done, he came to stand in front of Judith where she sat by the harp. “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Mrs. Winslow, particularly since I am not even related to you. Many thanks.”

  He was standing in the same spot as when he had asked her to marry him, but the moment that was so vivid to Judith no longer existed for Adam. She could have wept from frustration. Instead, she said, “You used to call me Judith.”

  “We were friends?”

  His gray-green eyes were so intent that she wanted to pour out the whole story. That they had been more than friends, that he had made her feel special as no one ever had before. Most of all, that he had wanted her, not Antonia.

  But Adam had enough complication and confusion in his life. If she truly cared for him, she could not add more. She swallowed hard. “We had not known each other long, but yes, we had become friends.”

  “Then I may call you Judith?”

  “Please.”

  He smiled at her, and he was so like her Adam that she could scarcely bear it. Fortunately he turned away and resumed his restless pacing before she could lose her control. “How long have you been with Lady Antonia?”

  “Something over two years. Her father and my husband died about the same time. I needed employment, Antonia needed a companion, so a ferocious aunt of hers, Lady Forrester, brought us together.” Judith managed a smile at the memory. “Antonia and I are as unlike as chalk and cheese, so it really shouldn’t have worked, but it has.”

  Adam glanced at her. “Is there anything I should know about you, so I won’t give offense in some way?”

  She tensed. It was a perfect opportunity to speak, but once again, she could not. The truth could be destructive to both Adam and Antonia, and might do Judith herself little good.

  After an appearance of deep thought, she said, “Well, I prefer not to be referred to as small. I like to think of myself as average-sized. It is just that almost everyone else is taller.”

  He laughed aloud. “Duly noted, Judith. I guess the next question is, are there things that I should know about myself?”

  This was without a doubt the strangest conversation Judith had ever had. “I would rather not answer that,” she said soberly.

  Suddenly serious, Adam murmured, “As bad as that?”

  “Not bad. Complicated.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “In that case, for the time being I will accept your judgment that it is better not to know.” His tone lightened. “Can you direct me to the breakfast room? I can’t deal with too much drama on an empty stomach.”

  “Neither can I,” Judith admitted. “If you don’t object, I’ll go with you.”

  As she led the way to the other wing, Adam asked, “Are we likely to find Lady Antonia there?”

  “No, she is probably riding about the estate now. Often you would accompany her.” Glancing askance, Judith saw that her words seemed to please him.

  She had the sinking feeling that Adam-as-he-was-now was ripe to fall in love with his cousin all over again. But for the life of her, Judith did not know what she could in conscience do about it.

  * * * *

  That afternoon Adam decided to investigate his intimidating pile of business documents. After warning that she knew nothing useful about his enterprises, Antonia had volunteered to keep him company, even if she was no help.

  Adam had been glad to accept. He felt better when she was around.

  They sat on opposite sides of a double desk in the library, a mound of papers between them. Adam lifted a document and stared at it, his expression tightening. “I don’t think I am able to read anymore,” he said in a flat, suffocated voice. “This is so much gibberish to me.”

  Quick concern on her face, Antonia rose and moved to his side, taking the paper from her cousin’s grasp. “Don’t worry. This is gibberish to me, too.” She frowned. “I don’t even recognize the alphabet. Some Asian tongue, perhaps Hindustani, but I really don’t know.”

  She laid a light hand on his shoulder. “Try something else.”

  Adam opened a thick folder and perused the top sheet, then gave a sigh of relief. “This I can understand.” He glanced at Antonia ruefully. “I was so worried that for a moment I forgot I had already done a little reading.”

  “I don’t blame you for being upset. I can imagine few worse fates than being unable to read.” She gave him an encouraging pat, then returned to her seat and began leafing through a stack of documents.

  There was silence for some time, broken only by the shuffle of papers. Antonia found records of a startling variety of transactions, but she did not gasp out loud until she came to the bank statements.

  When Adam looked up inquiringly, she explained in a choked voice, “According to this, you have accounts of almost fifty thousand pounds in three different banks. Hoare’s, Baton and Hammond, and Mortlock and Sons, to be precise.”

  Adam gave her a startled glance. “I have almost fifty thousand pounds sterling on deposit?’’

  “No, fifty thousand in each,” Antonia said weakly. “The total is just under a hundred fifty thousand pounds.”

  He stared blankly ahead. “That’s rather a lot of money, isn’t it?”

  “To say the least,” she said, still stunned. “I suppose you used three banks as a precaution against possible failures.” She started to mention that Simon had said that her cousin was something of a legend in India, then stopped. She would rather not have to explain who Simon was. “I supposed that you had done well, but I had no idea that you had done this well.”

  He smiled wryly. “It gets worse. Apparently I own a trading company and a merchant fleet of a dozen ships.” He held up another paper. “And if I am interpreting correctly, partial ownerships in plantations in Ceylon, Indonesia, and India.”

  Antonia shook her head. “You said you were ‘something of a nabob,’ but I thought you were funning.” She waved her hand at the mass of documents. “I never expected anything like this.”

  His gaze intent on her face, Adam asked, “Does this alter your opinion of me?”

  “No. Yes.” She stopped. “Yes and no. I would always expect you to be successful at whatever you did, but this goes beyond mere success. You have built a royal fortune in only eight years. I can’t imagine how you did it.”

  “Legitimately, one might hope,” Adam said, his voice flat.

  “That goes without saying,” Antonia retorted. “You were always quite maddeningly honest. I could never get you to tell even the smallest fib to keep us out of trouble.”

  She propped her chin on her palm and stared at her cousin. “I am beginning to think, Adam, that I knew you much less well than I thought.”

  His bleak gaze caught and held hers. “Then neither of us knows who I am.”

  He pushed his chair from the desk with suppressed violence and stalked across the room, his muscular figure taut with a sense of energy barely contained. “Am I really like I was before, Antonia, or have I changed out of all recognition?” His deep voice was despairing. “Perhaps that blow on the head is making me mad.”

  “Nonsense, Adam, there is nothing mad about you.” She made her voice cool to counteract her cousin’s explosive tension.

  It was the first time a crack had appeared in his controlled facade, and she sensed and understood his fear. To be a stranger to oneself was difficult enough. To wonder if one’s mind and emotions were dangerously warped would be infinitely worse.

  “Remember that I had not seen you in eight years. It is too easy to see people we know in terms of what we already know about them, rather than as they are now,” she said with a sudden insight that was as valid for her as for her cousin. “The fact that you have grown and changed more than I realized means that I lack perception, not that there is anything
wrong with you.”

  Adam had halted by the fireplace and was staring at himself in the mirror that hung above the mantel. The afternoon sunlight touched his hair, making it glow like polished oak. Antonia was struck with the feeling that he was both stranger and intimate friend at one and the same time.

  He himself saw only a stranger reflected in the mirror. “Wouldn’t one think that one’s own face would be familiar?” he asked. “Perhaps I am not really your cousin at all, but a changeling dropped into his body.”

  “Dr. Kinlock said that you might seem different,” Antonia chose her words carefully. “We show different sides of ourselves to different people. With amnesia, a person cannot remember what faces he has shown the world. For me, this is a golden opportunity to see more of you, to learn to know you better, because you have obviously been far too modest about your achievements.”

  Adam’s tension diminished, and when he turned from the mirror, his wry smile was back in place. “That does sound better than being mad.”

  In a return to pragmatism, he continued, “I appear to have a man of business in London who oversees the day-to-day details of my investments. Fortunately he seems very capable, because at the moment I certainly am not.”

  “Once your agent in London is informed of what happened, he should be able to handle routine business for a few days or weeks without your personal supervision. I’m sure you wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t honest as well as competent.”

  “I suppose.” Adam ran his hand through his sun-streaked hair, leaving it boyishly tousled. “But I still can’t imagine why I ever wanted to work hard enough to earn all this.”

  In spite of her comforting words, Antonia herself was perplexed. The Adam she had grown up with had not been particularly interested in money. He’d planned on a military career that might have won him glory, but would have yielded precious little gold.

  Yet it was obvious to even the meanest intelligence that he must have worked with incredible intensity the whole time he was away to amass a fortune like this. When had her cousin decided that he wanted to be rich? And why?

  * * * *

  Over the next few days Judith saw little of Adam except at meals. Most of the time he spent with Antonia, and they were obviously on very easy terms with each other. While Judith observed no public expressions of affection, when Antonia was present the majority of Adam’s attention was always on her, though he was never less than polite to Judith.

  Interestingly, Antonia was equally attentive to Adam. Judith tortured herself trying to decide if her mistress was showing the protectiveness of a woman with an ailing favorite relation, or the romantic affection of a woman with her intended husband. In either case, hour by hour Judith felt Adam slipping away from her, and her desperation grew proportionately.

  Then help appeared in the guise of a note from Lord Launceston. He had just arrived in Buxton, and since he was unsure of his welcome at Thornleigh, he requested that she call on him as soon as possible. As Judith reread his words, she felt a wave of gratitude so intense that it weakened her. She needed an ally most desperately, and there could be none more welcome than Simon Launceston.

  Chapter Nine

  As soon as he received word that Judith Winslow waited in the private parlor. Simon hastened downstairs to see her. She had just removed her rain-soaked cloak when he entered. He thought irrelevantly that she had the true English mist-born complexion. “Thank heaven you came so quickly. Is Adam . . . ?”

  “Alive and reasonably well,” she said quickly.

  “Thank God,” he said, the relief like a breath of fresh air. “All that the innkeeper could tell me was that Mr. Yorke had been injured and that his life was despaired of.” Simon gave his visitor a melting smile. “That was incredibly rude of me. How are you, Judith? It’s good to see you again.”

  “Well enough.” The fine-drawn tension of her delicate features belied her statement, but she refrained from saying more while a maid bustled in and set down a tea tray.

  After the maid had left, Judith said, “While Adam’s life is no longer in danger, he is still suffering the effects of his injuries. He has lost his memory of everything before the explosion.’’

  “Good Lord,” Simon said blankly as he sat opposite where Judith perched on an oak settle. “He remembers nothing?”

  “Not a thing. Not his name, not Antonia, not me. Nothing.” Judith’s voice wavered, and she glanced down, lifting the teapot and pouring as if it were the most important task in the world.

  It took time for Simon to assimilate the import of her words. At length he said softly, “Total amnesia. So he would not remember me, either.” At Judith’s nod, he asked, “I assume that a physician has been consulted about the prognosis?”

  “Yes, there happened to be an excellent man within earshot of the explosion, and he tended Adam through the critical period. Antonia also summoned the best physician in Buxton after we returned from Macclesfield.” Judith spread her hands helplessly. “They both agreed that when a head injury causes amnesia, memory usually returns within a few days or weeks, but there is no way of knowing for sure until it happens. He may never remember his previous life.”

  “Is Adam suffering any mental effects from the injury?” Simon asked sharply. The thought of his friend’s quick, questing intelligence being destroyed was almost as hurtful as the prospect of his death had been.

  “No, he can read and speak and write normally, and he seems to recall all his abstract knowledge. Some things he forgot, but he relearns them almost instantly. It’s his personal life that is a blank.”

  Now that his worst fears for Adam had been allayed, Simon was able to proceed to a topic of nearly equal urgency. “Does Antonia ever mention me?” he asked haltingly. “Do you think she would see me if I called?”

  “If you had returned to Thornleigh before the accident,” Judith said slowly, “I think Antonia would have fallen in your arms. She was desperately unhappy after you left.”

  So they had both been desperately unhappy. Why had he decided to give her several weeks to recover her temper? Why had he gone as far as London just because he wanted some new books? “I should never have left Derbyshire,” Simon burst out. “I should have been here to help Antonia. Even with you to support her, it must have been the very devil of a time.”

  “It has been, and for more reasons than you can imagine,” Judith agreed, her voice laced with pain. “Adam’s injury has changed everything.” She paused, as if groping for words, then said baldly, “After the accident, Antonia informed me that she and Adam have an understanding.”

  Simon stared at her, unable to accept the usual meaning of that simple phrase.

  “She told me that they had decided to marry,” Judith elaborated.

  The teacup in Simon’s hand jerked so badly that scalding liquid splashed on his hand. “How could Antonia turn around and fall in love with Adam so quickly?” White-faced, he set the cup on a table. “It has only been a fortnight since I left. Good God, she always thought of him as a brother. How could she?” Then, with bitterness, “How could he?”

  “Something havey-cavey is going on,” Judith said bluntly. “I heard nothing about their betrothal until after the accident. I think that Antonia invented it.”

  “She couldn’t possibly lie about something so important.” Simon’s usually precise mind seemed numb as he tried to make sense of Judith’s words. “I understand that Adam offered for her in the past. Perhaps he renewed his offer and in a moment of loneliness she accepted him.”

  “No. I would wager anything I own that he did not renew his offer to her.” Simon looked up, wondering at her vehemence, and saw that Judith’s gray eyes were drowned with tears. Her voice breaking, she cried out, “I know because, before the accident, Adam was betrothed to me.”

  In her face was an agonized reflection of his own pain. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly. Rising, he went to Judith and enfolded her in his arms as she shook with sobs. So she had suffered throu
gh the misery of Adam’s accident not just as a friend, but as a woman who loved him. And in the aftermath, not only did Adam not remember her, for some unknown reason he had been claimed by Antonia.

  Eventually Judith’s weeping diminished and she pushed away from Simon with a wavery smile. “I’m sorry to behave like such a watering pot, but the last week has been dreadful, and there has been no one I could confide in.”

  She stopped to dig a handkerchief from her reticule and repair the ravages of her tears before continuing in a more controlled voice. “Adam and I had reached an understanding just before you and Antonia ended your engagement. She was so miserable that we decided to keep silent for a while.” Judith shook her head in disbelief. “Even though our betrothal had not been announced, I can’t believe Adam would have offered for Antonia when he had just asked me to marry him.”

  “You are right, he would never behave so despicably.” Simon leaned against the settle, his brows knit. “I had noticed that you and Adam always seemed to be together, and I even remember thinking that the two of you would suit very well. I was so happy that I wanted all my friends to be as well.” He swallowed. “But why would Antonia pretend that there was an understanding between her and Adam? And why didn’t you tell her the truth right away?”

  “I think I know the answer to your first question.’’ Judith poured more tea and took a revivifying sip. “You know how fond Antonia and Adam have always been of each other. She may have decided that if she couldn’t have you, she might as well take Adam, who said just after he returned to England that she could always marry him.”

  “I assume that that was before he had a chance to know you,” Simon interposed.

  Judith gave him a grateful glance. It soothed her lacerated spirit to have someone take her seriously. “Exactly. He was half-teasing when he said that, but he was also half-serious. Perhaps right after the accident, when she was feeling so distraught, she decided to marry him if he survived.”

  “And if that happened, she wouldn’t let a little thing like amnesia stop her,” Simon said dryly. “Lord, why did I have to fall in love with such a headstrong female?” The question was rhetorical. Her heart-stopping beauty and charm were sufficient answers. “But why didn’t you tell her the truth?”