For brief moments, she contemplated Monsieur Moreau carrying out such a wretched scheme. Was that why he had disappeared? With him gone, the scandal would all fall on her shoulders. And she’d never be able to prove she had nothing to do with it.
When she’d told him she was finally coming to London, had he left Town because the large cache of paintings he’d been storing for her had already been sold? What if he’d been passing them off as her father’s capolavori… masterpieces... all along?
If so, she was in serious trouble.
Bruising disappointment settled in. How could he do that to her? After all they’d been through together, the nearly nine years of hard work and effort to bring her to where she was today.
It made no sense. He would have known he’d be caught eventually, that he’d be hanged or transported for it. The art world was too small to pull off this kind of hoax successfully.
No! Monsieur would never do that. She rejected the idea outright. She refused to believe he was anything but honorable. Why risk ruining his sterling reputation by selling fakes? He was already making good money doing it lawfully.
Now, she was seriously worried. Now, his disappearance was more sinister than she’d imagined. Suddenly, she was certain her father’s signature being on her paintings and his disappearance were connected. To succeed with the fraud, someone had to get rid of Monsieur first.
And, as awful as it seemed, it had to be someone he knew.
She walked toward the carriage beside Reed, her mind teeming with these conjectures, half aware he was sending her searching looks.
Suddenly a voice called out, “Selly!”
The voice was so exuberant, both their heads shot around. Two men were hailing someone called Selly. “Look Morley, look who’s here!” one said to the other, gesturing in their direction.
Tally turned her head to look behind her, searching for the object of the man’s enthusiasm. No one else was there but them. Oh no! They were hailing Reed! Her legs almost gave way from under her. His name was “Selly”? Which meant he had stolen that watch!
Faces wreathed in smiles, the two men rushed towards him, laughing merrily.
“Selly, my good man, what a surprise!” called one of the happy pair as they came closer to Reed and her. “We didn’t even know you were back in England.”
She felt like a cornered animal must. Just what she’d feared! She was going to be proven a liar and a sham right here in public. Twisting her head from side to side, she looked for a way out. She had to escape!
* * *
Reed saw his wife stop abruptly, then step back. She remained in his shadow for brief moments. She appeared to be assessing the situation. Finally, she nodded to herself, murmured, “I’ll wait for you in the carriage,” sidestepped to circumvent the rapidly approaching men, and set off at a brisk pace toward the waiting hackney. Foster, who had been trailing along behind them, slowed his pace for an instant, before — reluctantly it seemed — shuffling after her.
She’d left him to meet these men alone! A proper wife would have stayed to greet his friends with him!
Were they friends?
Reed felt abandoned. Apprehensive.
She knew he’d be floundering and need her help! How could she do this?
As the men neared, he thought they looked a little like a parody of pals he’d viewed once, many years ago, in a pantomime. One was short and jovial-looking, the other tall and spare with a more serious demeanor.
What daft observations! Were they true memories? This was no time to let his mind off its leash. He kept his uneasy gaze on their faces. His mind swirled with confusion. Friend or foe?
A hazy image of these men on horses slid into his consciousness.
What should he do? Ask them outright who he was?
Caution bade him not. What if one of them was the person who’d shot him? Better to bide his time and hope they mentioned something that helped him recover his memory. If they weren’t good friends, he might well put Talia and himself in danger by revealing his affliction.
“Good to see you!” he greeted them in as non-committal, yet friendly a manner as possible. He hoped they didn’t notice his uncertainty. Peripherally, he noticed Talia pause. Her back straightened. He waited to see if she’d turn around, but no, she continued on her way to the carriage. She probably thought his memory had come back!
If only it were so!
“We’re rather in a hurry, I’m afraid, so I can’t stop for long,” he told the men.
He sensed his wife’s keen attention. She was almost certainly trying to hear what they were saying. He knew she must be trying to study the newcomers as closely as one could glancing sideways.
Foster extended his hand to help her into the carriage and she hesitated. Then, she must have realized she’d look strange standing there because she accepted his assistance and stepped up, disappearing into the carriage.
She didn’t know these two men, that much was clear. So there was no way he could be certain they were friends. All the more reason to be cautious, he decided.
“Then come join us at Sylvester’s tomorrow night. There should be a good group of us there and we have six years to catch up on!”
Six years! He’d been away that long? That explained why the few memories that were revived today, had come wrapped in cotton wool, making him question if they were genuine. He’d been blaming it on the residue of opium in his system, but that many years away could explain it too.
Foster came to stand by his elbow and, in a low tone, said, “Miss– um… Leighton says you’ll have to hurry. You have an appointment at four this afternoon and it has already gone half-three.”
Reed thanked Foster and turned back to the men.
“I’d be delighted to join you, but we’re leaving Town for awhile, so we’ll have to postpone that pleasure until I return.” Hearing a quaver in his voice, he searched for a way to leave these men before they realized he had no idea who they were.
The shorter of the two exclaimed, “Bet we know where you’re going!” He smiled knowingly at the taller man, who hesitated uncertainly for an instant, then hastily agreed with him.
Neither noticed Reed’s bewilderment, he hoped.
“Windhaven, of course. You must be chomping at the bit to get back there, after being away for so long.”
Reed winced as the taller one cuffed him on his wounded shoulder, which was already aching from his near miss with the runaway cart earlier. “We’ll look forward to reminiscing about old times over an ale when you get back to Town, old boy.” He glanced meaningfully toward the carriage and waggled his eyebrows. “I sense you will have a lot to tell us.”
Reed wondered what message the man was trying to convey. Something to do with Talia, but what did they know of her?
“Or we might see you sooner, at Epsom Downs.” The short, stout one gave him a friendly poke in the ribs with his elbow. “Now that you’re back, you’d never miss the Derby, eh? We’ll see you there, if not before.”
He shook hands with the two men, groaning inwardly when the tall one again clapped him heartily on his sore shoulder. He wondered if perhaps this man, having failed to shoot him dead on the first attempt, was now aiming to kill him with friendliness! He envisaged a pain-filled and sleepless night ahead.
The pair went back to join their female companions, who were caught up in their own conversation and didn’t appear to be interested in Reed at all. Well, six years was a long time and they looked quite young, so they probably didn’t know him.
He walked swiftly to the hackney and climbed aboard.
Epsom Downs? Horse races? Did he bet on horses? Not a good sign for his pocketbook. Perhaps that was why his dear spouse was upset with him. Those two had assumed he wouldn’t want to miss the races, which meant he’d been a regular and involved in more than a passing manner. That could explain the lack of servants and carriage, if he’d squandered all of his blunt on gambling.
Or he could be a horse breeder.
He preferred that picture. It fit in better with the solid person he thought… felt… assumed he was.
Tally had taken her pencil out and was sketching the two men. Reed didn’t recognize them, that was obvious to her. She hoped they hadn’t noticed. Her drawings would help Mr. Mason identify them, if she captured good enough likenesses. She’d give him the sketches to show to his sources. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, by tomorrow evening, someone had recognized one or both of the men and they could reveal who Reed was?
Foster gave a warning knock on the door and, seeing Reed approaching the carriage, she hurriedly slipped her sketching paper into her bag. No need to let him know she was planning to have his friends investigated.
“Mason shouldn’t have traipsed off like that, leaving you sitting here alone. He’s supposed to be keeping you safe.” Reed was disgruntled and letting her know it.
“The man’s entitled to some time of his own.” It looked like they’d totally abandoned the fiction of the Scot being her brothers’ friend.
She changed the subject. “That must have felt strange.”
His look said that was a colossal understatement.
She peered up at him. “Did you not recognize them at all?”
Leaning back against the squabs, Reed closed his eyes. “Their faces look familiar, like people I knew long ago, but my mind remains a big black hole when it comes to recalling their names or anything else about them.”
Indeed, his brain seemed to have shut down completely. “Knowing I have no memory, why did you walk away and leave me alone?” He heard the accusation in his voice but felt no guilt. She deserved it.
“I don’t know those men, so there was not much I could have done had I remained,” she explained gently in her it-only-makes-sense tone of voice. “I assumed it would be easier for you not to have to make introductions, if you didn’t remember them. And it also provided you with an excuse to leave them, if they knew you had me waiting in the carriage.”
It made too much sense, robbing him of his right to be angry with her. He felt aggrieved and wanted to direct his ire at someone. Everything seemed strange without the memory of who he was.
Looking out at the people they passed, he wished with all his heart that his identity, his life! would be restored.
Why did his wife not know men who appeared to consider themselves his good friends?
Stop looking for trouble. The men said they hadn’t seen him in six years and Mrs. P said he and Talia had been married for less than three weeks. Of course, she didn’t know them. She barely knew him!
Nothing strange in that, was there?
She suddenly leaned closer and, without saying a word, patted his arm to comfort him. She must have seen his disappointment and realized how upset he was. There wasn’t much she could say. They had no idea how long his blank memory was going to continue. He did, however, appreciate her calming touch.
They’d called him “Selly”. His mind went back over every word that had been uttered in their exchange. He heard the tall one mutter something that sounded like, ‘Trust an Eames to find a beauty….’
No mention of the name Leighton, not once. That seemed wrong. For all he knew, he was a swindler, using Eames and Selly for some people and Leighton for others. Christ! Had he married Talia under a false name? Was she being duped too or was she part of the duping scheme?
He wished he knew whom he could trust to answer all his questions truthfully. He’d have liked to think his wife was trustworthy, but was she? He hated to admit it, but her eyes were too frequently evasive.
He was preoccupied and silent all the way back to the house. He didn’t like the doubts that were starting to invade his beliefs. Doubts about himself. Doubts about his wife.
He swallowed painfully, past a hard lump of suspicion. She was all he had. He depended on her for everything. And, besides that, he liked her. One hell of a lot! He didn’t want to contemplate a world where he discovered Talia to be counterfeit.
* * *
The library was in total darkness when Reed entered it late that same night. With all the questions buzzing about like noisy bees in his mind, he’d been unable to sleep. He might as well make use of his rare wakefulness to look for information on “Eames” and “Windhaven”. His “friends” said it was the place he’d most want to visit upon his return. They seemed confident it was important to him.
It must have something to do with horses because, almost in the next breath, the shorter of the two mentioned Epsom Downs and horse racing. And the vague images he had of these men, they were on horses.
Had he worked there? Or maybe it was his home?
Those men were gentlemen. Odd how he’d recognized that immediately. He’d known they were peers the instant he spotted them. That knowledge appeared to have remained lodged in his brain when all sense of himself and his own identity remained illusive.
They spoke as equals. Was he one of them, then? If so, then he couldn’t have been working at this Windhaven place. Nor must he be an actor or a thief, though thieving depended largely on a man’s circumstances, he’d learned. Some peers were capable of thievery and not only of enormous sums but of a person’s body and soul. Ah… intriguing recollection. He hoped one day he’d remember why he was so certain of a peer’s potential for perfidy. (And his own penchant for alliteration!)
He wasn’t sure how one researched a place? Perhaps he’d focus on the name he thought he’d heard, instead. ‘Eames’.
He strode over to the bookshelves and unerringly found the Debrett’s.
He stilled abruptly. He’d known exactly where it was! Damn odd. He hadn’t even hesitated.
Shrugging, he put the notion aside, as he had many others in the past few days since he’d awakened sans memory. The good thing was that memories were starting to come back now. They were piling up so swiftly, he was no longer jotting them all down, and he wasn’t worried about forgetting them either. He was discovering that what memory he did have was excellent.
He’d mentioned none of this to “Missy,” as Foster was fond of calling Talia. Most of the recollections flitting through his brain were inconsequential, and none of them were of his wife. And that disturbed him. You’d think the most important person in his life would feature large in his memories.
Nor had any of his recovered memories furnished him with information about who he was yet. He sensed it was only a matter of time before he’d know all he needed to get his life back, but impatience was eating him up. He wanted it to happen now!
Setting first his candle and then the tome down on the lectern, he began flipping through the pages. “Eames.” Spelled as it sounded, he guessed.
“Collins…Davenport…E… Eames!” There it was! Running his finger along the lines, he began to read silently.
George Earnest Gordon Eames, Earl of Merkvale,
Viscount Selwich of Windhaven Forest.
Windhaven! He’d found it without even looking! He sensed there was a little more than luck at play here. He must have a connection to this family.
born 12 Oct. 1761; succeeded his father,
Thomas, the late earl, K.T., 19 April 1814;
married, 5 April 1784, Daphne Anne Dobbs,
da. of Lawrence Dobbs, 1st Lord Bentwick,
Reed Gordon Eames, Viscount Selwich, b. 9
February 1789…
Reed! That must be him! He sat down abruptly in the large armchair behind the desk with the book on his lap. He lit a second candle. He was almost afraid to think it, but “Reed” was not that common a name and even the nickname “Selly” fit, if he were Viscount Selwich.
If it was, he was born in 1789, which made him thirty years old. He hadn’t realized he’d forgotten his age. He hadn’t even thought about it. This Reed Gordon Eames was heir to the family owning Windhaven. But if this was his family, why had none of them come to visit him?
He sat back, reflecting on what he’d just read, hoping it might unblock memories of himself and his family, but nothing h
appened. The only idea going through his mind was that, because of that dream, he was pretty sure he came from a happy family, with loving parents.
He read a few more lines. The Earl, George, was still alive — in his late fifties, Reed calculated, and George had three sons and two daughters. So he might have two brothers and two sisters. Surely one of them must want to know how he was doing!
If he was the heir, why had he been away for so many years? That didn’t sound like a happy family. It sounded more like someone who’d been banished.
None of the sons were yet wed. But since his marriage to Talia was of recent origin, it was too soon to be recorded in any version of the book. Turning back to the front page, he checked the publication date.
1813. Six years ago! The same length of time he was gone. Coincidence? So many things seemed to date back to six years ago. Even that man in the park waiting for his son. Something serious must have happened at that time to change the course of his and other people’s lives.
The question was, if he’d been sent away and stayed away for that long, why had he come back now? He leaned his head against the back of the leather chair, hands linked behind his head, and pondered. He didn’t like to think he was up to no good, but he’d been shot and that meant someone wasn’t happy with him. Try as he might, he wasn’t able to resurrect a single memory of his family or his previous activities, other than that vague Christmas dream.
He closed the book and stood up. He’d take it up to his room. On the slight chance Foster had overheard some of his conversation with his “friends” this afternoon and told Talia, he didn’t want to risk her doing some research of her own. Especially if he’d wed her under a false name!
He’d joked about that earlier, but it was becoming a real concern now. Why would they be living under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Leighton? She must not know his real surname! Was he a fraudsman, after all?
But if he was heir to a title, why would he need to use a false name? Unless he’d done something so heinous his family had disinherited him.
The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife Page 25
