by Joyce Alec
The couple had barely spoken for two days aboard the ship. They were still a day and a half from port when the winds kicked up, and the sea began to toss the massive vessel about like a toy boat. The captain ordered everyone to their staterooms for the remainder of the journey.
Chloé had her own room next to Edward’s on the upper floor. Their servants were one level beneath. When the ship began to roll on its side, the lower rooms were flooded first. Chloé’s door flung open, and Edward grabbed her by the hand just as a wall of water rushed through the hallway. Edward could not hold on, and Chloé was thrust against a heavy wooden pillar. He fought the water and grabbed hold of her before the water took her again. She was unconscious, her head covered in blood from a deep gash.
Edward dragged them both to the deck while it was still above water. A sailor pulled them to a nearby lifeboat just as the entire deck was consumed by the sea. The waves tossed the small lifeboat around like a rag doll, but it remained upright by the grace of God. Edward removed his shirt and wrapped it around Chloé’s bleeding head, hoping to keep her alive until they got to safety.
It was but an hour before a large fishing vessel pulled the survivors on board. The fishermen helped Edward get Chloé’s head properly bandaged as the boat moved quickly toward calmer seas. As far as Edward could tell, they lost both his steward and Chloé’s handmaiden. There were only three lifeboats taken in by the fishing vessel, and they were mainly filled with crew.
Edward sat by Chloé’s side staring at her lifeless body. What had he done? She was so innocent, so untouched, and she may never open her eyes again. His eyes suddenly began to well with tears.
The fishing boat pulled into port, and Edward rushed Chloé to his home in London where a doctor was waiting. The doctor told Edward there was not much he could do. He changed her head dressing and cleaned her wound. It was up to God now. She was resting comfortably, and they could only pray that she would wake.
Edward sat awake in his study all night long. Just before sunrise, a winded footman banged on the front door of the townhome. He delivered Edward a letter from his bedridden father. It was news of his mother. She had died suddenly from a horse fall.
Edward’s mind spun with emotion. Grief, guilt, anger. His stomach tightened, and his head throbbed. He had just returned from the worst few days of his life to this. He had done all of this for his mother. He didn’t really care about the dukedom. He had done it all to save her from the embarrassment from the financial ruin. He caused all of it. He had done this to his family. To Chloé. He had done it all.
He sunk to the floor, tears welling in his swollen eyes. He had to somehow fix this. He had to make it right. He lay on the floor until sleep finally took him.
It was around midnight when a soft knock on his study door awakened him. “Sir, the lady wakes,” his house-maid squeaked, stirring him from his slumber. He sat upright, lightheaded, and found his way to his feet. “I will be right up.”
“Yes, m’lord,” she agreed, sliding back out of the room.
4
Edward peeked into Chloé’s bedchamber. She was struggling to sit up. He rushed to her bedside to help her. “Careful, you’re still weak,” he said softly.
“What happened?” she asked, stroking her head. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my home… in London,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside her.
“Who…” she stammered, her throat exceptionally dry.
“Here,” he said, bringing a nearby glass of water to her lips. “Drink. You need water.”
She gingerly sipped the liquid, her head obviously hurting. “Thank you,” she whispered. He smiled the sweetest smile she thought. “Um, who are you?” she asked.
Edward sat back, startled. “Pardon?” he asked almost involuntarily.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked again, her mind searching to no avail.
“My name is Edward.” He cautiously explored her eyes for some sort of recognition. There was none.
“Edward,” she repeated. “Do you mind telling me what my name is? I can’t quite remember.”
He was in complete shock. The bump to her head must have caused her to lose her memory. He didn’t want to alarm her any more than necessary, so he attempted to remain calm. “Your name is Chloé,” he said, stroking her face.
Her brows furrowed. She felt no attachment to such a name. “Am I French,” she asked in perfect English.
“Oui, mademoiselle,” Edward answered her with a kind smile.
“I feel French,” she giggled.
Edward was amazed how calm she was. She had no idea who she was or where she was, and she was giggling. He suddenly felt a ray of light course through his weary body. He thought her quite remarkable at this moment. He took in her perfection for an instant before quickly retreating back into himself, standing and placing the water back on the table.
“Mademoiselle,” he stammered, “You must excuse me. I shall return shortly.”
“All right,” she said, sensing his abrupt unease.
Edward ordered his staff not to give the lady any information about herself or anyone else until further notice. He skulked back down to his study to contemplate the goings on of this crazed morning.
First and foremost, he must go lay his mother to rest. His father was physically unable to handle all the arrangements, so the task lay with him. He must first have a suitable steward since he had lost his dear Wexby to the sea. He called upon his senior valet, Fry, whom he had recently taken in from another London household when they could no longer afford him. He did not know much of the man, but he had been a superior valet since he had hired him.
Fry was a tall, sturdy gentleman. He had a soft demeanor but a commanding tone when needed. Edward believed that to be his best quality as a leader amongst the staff. He needed someone with Fry’s manner to watch over Chloé while he was gone.
Fry happily agreed to the position and assured his lordship that Chloé was in good hands. Edward instructed him to not give her any information, only to aid in her physical recovery. Fry was to call in the doctor to examine her while Edward was preparing to depart.
Edward met with Chloé’s doctor in the foyer. “She’s improving physically, but her mental state is quite fragile,” he told Edward. “She must be kept calm and, hopefully, she will gradually regain her memory. Don’t push her to remember.”
Edward was ecstatic to hear those words. He was quite sure he did not want her to remember their relationship prior to now. It would surely destroy her and any real happiness they had a chance at would disappear. “Yes, sir,” he answered the doctor. “I will instruct the staff. Thank you.”
“Fry,” Edward called to his steward after the doctor left. “I am off. Please keep the lady calm and without distress per the doctor. Get word to me at my father’s if anything should arise. Thank you.”
Fry nodded and carried his master’s bag to the waiting carriage. “My condolences, sir,” he bowed to Edward as he ascended the carriage stairs.
“Thank you, Fry. Take care of her. Oh, and please find a governess quickly. It will not do to have a young lady staying with us alone.”
“Aye, sir. I shall take care of it.” Fry paused before turning. “And, thank you, again. For the promotion.”
Edward nodded as the carriage pulled away.
Edward returned from his father’s with a renewed conviction. He had a unique opportunity to change his fate. He married Chloé at the behest of his father to save the family, and never intended on having any real feelings for her. He certainly would not be the first of his circle to marry for a reason outside of love. But he saw something in her innocent eyes trusting him… with everything. She was so vulnerable, but entirely confident that Edward was there for her. He was struck by the feeling that surged in his soul when she looked at him with that trust. It made him want to protect her. To heal her. To, perhaps, even love her.
He spent the next few days bringing her food and sitting with h
er in her bedchamber, which vexed her new governess, Mrs. Parker, to no end. He told Chloé they were distant cousins and, after the death of her parents, she was now in his charge. The story was basically true, but he omitted a few thorny details.
Her memory was still entirely absent. She depended on him for every piece of her jagged puzzle. She asked him about how her parents passed away. He truly had no idea how her mother died, and he had vague details of her father. He initially explained to her that the doctor advised against filling her head with information. It was better, he said, to let everything come back on its own.
Her attitude was brilliant. She agreed to ask no more questions about her past and, instead, dedicated her time to finding out about Edward. She found him so easy to talk to and felt a deep trust in him. She was not sure why, but something deep inside told her he was good, so she held to that feeling and genuinely wanted to know more about him.
After a few days, Edward took her for a short stroll to the park across the street from his house. She breathed in the wet London air and brushed her hands across the patch of bright red poppies growing around a tall apple tree.
Edward picked a ripe red apple for her. “Mmm, perfection,” she cooed after taking a hearty bite.
Edward enjoyed watching her experience things like she never had before. Everything was new and fresh. It made him feel new and fresh, feelings he could not remember ever having. They sat down on a cold stone bench and enjoyed the rest of their apples.
“I must go out tonight,” he told her. “But I shall not be late.” He was planning on putting in an appearance at Almack’s. He had not been since he returned, and rumors of his demise in the shipwreck were beginning to take flight.
“I shall miss your company, dear sir,” Chloé said coyly.
“And I yours,” he returned, rising. “Shall we return to the house, then?” he asked, offering his hand. “I do not want to over tire you. And Mrs. Parker will be unnerved you’re unaccompanied.”
She snickered and rose shakily, almost falling. Edward caught her at the waist, and her face flushed hot with embarrassment. “I am so sorry, sir,” she apologized.
He straightened her and placed her trembling hand on his arm. “Do not apologize, Chloé,” he said, using her given name. She blushed and bowed her head, allowing him to guide her back to the house.
When Edward entered Almack’s, every head in the house turned. He was dressed in full dandy-wear. His fitted waistcoat spread elegant across his shoulders, and his starched cravat was expertly knotted by Fry. He had no idea the fellow was so talented with a cravat. He strutted across the room like a proud peacock. The ladies in the room released a collective sigh as he crossed in front of them. He certainly was the star of the ton.
“Edward, chap,” his friend, Lord Andrew Dreshere, Marquess of Albany, called across the room.
Edward joined the table full of gamblers, looking over his friend’s shoulder at his cards. “Albany, you fool, fold on a pair, what are you thinking,” he jested, intentionally revealing Albany’s hand.
Albany jumped up from his chair, falsely-confrontational, grabbing Edward around the waist. “Edward, you just cost me a monkey!” he bellowed.
“Is that bloody all?” Edward jeered. “Well, I’m quite sure you would have lost far more if I let you play that appalling hand.”
The two men sat down, still half-embracing. “Where have you been? We thought you’d gone off and died somewhere. Heard something about a ship,” Albany blustered.
“Ah, the stories of my passing have been greatly exaggerated,” Edward quipped. “There was a capsized ship, however.”
“Aye?” Albany asked, leaning forward. “What happened?”
“I was on my way back from France, and we were tossed about by a massive storm. The ship went over. It was quite rough,” he confessed. “I’ve been recovering. Lost my steward, as well.”
“Oh, that’s remarkable,” Albany replied. “Glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you.”
“Condolences on your mum’s passing as well,” a friend to Edward’s left, Tembly, added.
“Thank you, Tem.”
“Arg, this nonsense must stop,” Albany thundered. “We’ve got cards to play!”
Edward chuckled at his friend’s segue. He admired a man who would not dwell on the inevitable. “Let us play, friends,” Edward agreed, tossing in his bet.
The next morning, Chloé joined Edward at the breakfast table.
“Pleasure to see you up and about, my lady,” he said, rising as she sat down.
“Thank you, sir. How was your evening?” she asked, reaching for a slice of warm bread.
“Fine, thank you.” He truly missed being completely rude and obnoxious with his friends. It was a fine release. He would get back into the swing of the ton soon enough. And, perhaps, he would be able to share it with his new bride. His expectations, which were once wretchedly low, were on the rise because of Chloé.
“Where did you go,” she probed, her curiosity killing her.
He smiled at her. She was so transparent. “Almack’s.” She stared at him blankly, obviously not knowing anything of the club. “It’s a fine club. I have many friends who frequent the place.”
“Oh,” her eyes dropped to her plate. “I see.” She felt a deep pang of jealousy that he may have been courting the attentions of another lady, or ladies, at the club.
He could feel her mood shift. “Perchance, you can come with me another time, my lady.”
She smiled, nodding in agreement trying not to betray her girlish mind. Edward was so enraptured with her coquettish frailty. His stomach churned at the thought that she may cast him out of her heart entirely once she regained her memory.
He suddenly did not feel like eating and rose to excuse himself. Chloé watched him stroll out of the room, his long stride purposeful. She felt like every time they had a moment, he pulled away. A glimmer of doubt was beginning to tug at her. She was missing something. She needed to regain her memory. She was sure that would help.
She sat in silence, pushing her eggs around her large white plate. Fry stalked into the room, not noticing Chloé sitting there. “Oh, dear, I am so sorry, milady. I did not see you there.” He turned to leave.
“Monsieur Fry, please wait,” she insisted. “May I please beg of you to tell me anything you may know of my past.”
Fry froze in his tracks. His master had made it clear that he, nor anyone else, was not to talk to the lady about her past. “I’m afraid the doctor advises against it, m’lady. He said that it is best you remember on your own.”
“But, surely, you must know something,” she pled.
And he did. He knew his master had married the girl in France and brought her to London on the ship that sank. “I am afraid I do not,” he lied.
She knew he was lying. “Do you not know how I came to get this rather large bump on my head?”
“Mademoiselle, I would love to help you, but I am afraid I cannot.”
“All right then,” she conceded. “Then will you at least sit with me for a bite of toast?”
Fry had grown to truly like his mistress, so he obliged. He thought it sad that she could not remember her past. And he was growing to question his master’s motives for keeping the fact they were married from her. He found it impossibly odd, even in her condition.
5
Weeks passed, and Edward and Chloé had become incredibly close. Her memory had still not returned, and she had grown to accept that it may not. And she was fine with it. She saw her life as near to perfect. Edward had become so important to her in the last weeks, she felt like she could ask for no more. She thanked God every night for bringing him to her in her time of need. She felt truly blessed and looked no further than the present. The past was gone, and her future seemed bright. She was genuinely happy.
Edward felt much the same. More times than not, he forgot that this heavenly beauty was the same woman he met in France. He had the fortune of knowi
ng she really hated him for what he had done to her. And she should. On the rare occasions reality sneaked up on him, he was quick to push it back down, deep inside his soul. He did not know what he would do if he lost the girl he had grown to… love.
He was so close to bringing Chloé out with him to meet his friends. Her health had improved greatly. She was physically ready, but something was holding him back. It was all a lie, and it vexed him significantly. He was nervous about making it so public. However, since he mentioned it to her, she would not stop attempting to convince him she was ready.
He promised her he would take her by the new moon. He was headed out that evening, and he left her with pouty eyes. “Next time, I promise, my lady.” She loved when he addressed her as “my” lady instead of “milady.” He said it with a possessiveness she yearned for.
“Yes, my lord,” she returned, equally expressive.
Edward entered Almack’s with his usual clamor. The ladies at the club followed his every move with their covetous gazes. One lady in particular had been pursuing Edward more than usual since his return from France. Charlotte Palmer, somewhat of a social climber, longed for Edward’s attention and had little desire to play coy. She shadowed him every time he visited Almack’s.
“Hello, love,” she whispered in his ear as he stood at the front door, surveying the crowd.
“Ah, Charlotte,” he said, moving down the steps away from her. “How are you this evening?”
“I will be much better, Edward, if you grant me a dance this eve,” she boldly drawled to his back, turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.
Edward ignored her as usual, finally laying eyes on his circle. “Hello, boys,” he exclaimed louder than needed.
