The Duke's Forbidden Love (Book 4, Age of Innocence)

by Debra Elizabeth

  “No, thank you. I find I’m quite tired again.”

  “You mustn’t overtax yourself.” Mrs. Spencer tucked the covers around her before picking up the tray and heading for the door. “You rest now. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Spencer.” She felt her eyelids grow heavy and snuggled into the pillow. She was beginning to feel safe here, especially with Mrs. Spencer vouching for the doctor and the duke, but she had no idea why that was so important to her. She tried to understand why, but it was all too much to think about with her head pounding.

  She was asleep before the door clicked closed.

  Chapter 6

  WHEN SHE NEXT OPENED HER eyes, shadows had gathered around the room. “Oh no, I’ve slept the day away.”

  “Yes, you did,” the velvety baritone voice said.

  She turned her head to see the duke once again sitting beside her bed. It was unsettling. “Your Grace, I’m sure you must have better things to do than watch me sleep.”

  “Nothing is more important than your recovery,” Warwick said. “I’m glad to see you are able to rest. Do you by chance remember your name?”

  She shook her head. “I am afraid not. It is most distressing, but my memory is blank.”

  “I see. Well, I can’t call you miss for the duration of your stay here. What shall we call you? Does any name seem familiar?”

  She tried to think of a name, but she had no idea where to start. “I don’t have any idea what name to choose.”

  Warwick leaned forward and stroked her hand. A tingle raced up her arm at his touch. “Perhaps if I give you a few options, you may pick one you like.”

  She nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.” The duke’s hand was warm, and she enjoyed the way he was stroking her hand, almost like he was trying to put her at ease. She had to admit it was working.

  Warwick rubbed his chin. “Let me see. Emily, Ava, Genevieve.”

  She shook her head.

  “Sophia, Daphne, Clara.”

  “Oh, I like Clara.”

  “I see. Do you remember why that name might be special to you?”

  “No. Perhaps I had a doll named Clara when I was younger.”

  “It’s a beautiful name and suits you very well, Lady Clara.”

  Clara frowned. “Lady? How do you know I’m a lady?”

  “Your clothes are finely woven and certainly not anything a servant would wear.”

  “Oh. Perhaps if I saw them, my memory would return.”

  Warwick nodded. He stood, walked to the armoire and pulled out a gray gown. “It’s been cleaned of all the mud. Luckily, it didn’t rip in your accident.” He brought it to the bed for Clara to see.

  She fingered the hem of the dress, wishing some memories would come forth, but much to her frustration, she could not remember a single detail of her life. She shook her head. “I do not recognize it. Did I have anything else with me when you found me?”

  “A cloak and bonnet. You carried no valise or reticule.”

  “That’s distressing. Where was I going? I wish I knew.”

  “Do not overtax yourself. Dr. Winston said your memories could be slow to return.”

  Before Clara could respond, there was a knock on her bedchamber door.

  Warwick strode to the door. Clara could hear whispers, but that was all. When he came back to her bedside, he said, “I’ve arranged for a dinner tray to be brought up for you. You must try to eat so you can regain your strength. Perhaps you’ll feel well enough tomorrow to be out of bed and sit by the window.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I hope so as well.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say and was saved from further conversation when, a few moments later, a young maid came into the room carrying a tray of tea, toast, and beef broth and put it on the table.

  “That will be all,” Warwick said.

  The maid curtseyed and left the room.

  He brought the tray to the bed. “Try to eat as much as possible.”

  Clara nodded and took a small bite of the toast. She felt self-conscious, eating with the duke watching her.

  “Is it to your liking?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s perfect. However, I don’t wish to keep you from your dinner.”

  It took a moment before Warwick understood what she meant. “I’ll leave you to it, then. A maid will return to retrieve the tray. By the way, I’ve asked my sister, the Countess of Fulton, to join us here at the castle tomorrow. Being alone at my estate without a proper chaperone will tarnish your reputation, and I would not like to be the cause of that.”

  “Your Grace, you’ve been so kind, and I don’t wish to cause more trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. I enjoy my sister’s company.”

  “Thank you for your continued generosity.”

  “Lady Clara, you don’t need to thank me each time,” he said, standing. He gazed at her a moment longer and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again and left the room.

  What had the duke been going to say? Clara picked up the toast again and began to eat. He’d been nothing but helpful, and she wondered why he was showing her such kindness. Did he have a habit of helping strange women he happened upon? Should she believe the housekeeper’s recommendation of his good character and not question his kindness? She wanted to, but something held her back. Where did this apprehension stem from? It was so frustrating not to know who she was or anything about her life. When would her memories return? Before she realized it, she’d eaten her toast and drank her broth. She’d been hungrier than she’d thought. She picked up the cup of tea and sipped it slowly, trying to piece any memory together. Nothing, not a single shred of who she was became clear to her.

  When she finished the tea, she moved the tray off her lap and got up from the bed, hanging onto the bedpost until she felt steady on her feet. She used the necessary and washed her face in the basin, then fingered the bandage and wondered if there would be a scar. Would it matter? Something about being perfect at all times niggled at her memory, but she couldn’t remember why that stood out. Would a scar diminish who she was? She had no idea if it would.

  She went to the window, taking in the view from her bedchamber. Her room faced the garden, and it was breathtaking. She couldn’t imagine she’d ever seen a more beautiful garden. The coming dusk threw shadows on the rows of flowers already in bloom and the rose bushes soon to bloom. Hedges lined the perimeter of the garden, with benches strategically placed along the way. A beautiful fountain gurgled in the center. When she felt stronger, she would like to wander the garden paths. Though she couldn’t remember specifically, she thought one of her greatest pleasures was walking in a garden and enjoying nature.

  A knock on the door took her away from the view of the garden. “Come.”

  The same maid that had brought her dinner tray walked into the room. “I’ve come to collect your tray, my lady. Will you require anything else?”

  “No. Perhaps you can tell me your name?”

  “I’m Gertie, my lady.”

  Gertie walked to the bed, picked up the gray dress and hung it in the armoire. “Would you like me to brush out your hair?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  The maid walked to the dressing table and picked up a brush while Amelia took a seat. Gertie was gentle in working out the tangles in her hair around the bandage. “You have lovely hair, miss,” she said as she braided the long tresses and tied it with a ribbon. “There. When you are ready to dress in the morning, please ring, and I’ll be happy to assist you.”

  Amelia nodded. “Thank you, Gertie.”

  Gertie curtseyed and left with the tray.

  Amelia returned her gaze to the garden and sighed. She had no idea what she was going to do once she regained her strength. Would the Duke of Warwick turn her out when her wound was su
fficiently healed? He had no obligation to her, and it terrified her to think that she would soon be on her own, without a clue what she should do or where she should go.

  There was nothing she could do about her predicament tonight. She walked to the armoire and fingered her gown again, praying she’d remember something, anything at all. When nothing came, she turned away and climbed back into bed. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would help jog her memory. At least, she hoped it would.

  Chapter 7

  WARWICK WAS IN HIS OFFICE when the butler announced his sister.

  “Countess Fulton, Your Grace,” Gresham said.

  Meredith swept into the room and walked to her brother, kissing him on the cheek. “James, darling. What’s this about? Your note was cryptic at best.”

  “Meredith, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “How could I not, with such a mysterious note?”

  Warwick chuckled. “I apologize for not being more forthcoming, but I thought it best not to elaborate overmuch.”

  Meredith settled herself in the seat in front of Warwick’s massive oak desk. “Well, I’m here now, so please tell me what this is about.”

  “Would you care for tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Gresham nodded and closed the door behind him.

  It had taken two days for Warwick to make the decision to summon his sister. For some inexplicable reason, he felt protective of Lady Clara. She’d struck a cord within him, and he was loath to share her with anyone. Her delicate beauty took his breath away every time he looked at her. He took a deep breath and told his sister how he found Clara walking alone down the road. When he finished the tale, he sat back and waited.

  It took a moment or two for Meredith to say anything. “My goodness, the poor girl. What a horrible accident.”

  “There’s more to the story, which perhaps explains why she was walking alone in the first place.”

  “Oh?” Meredith leaned forward. “Now I’m doubly curious. Pray, tell me what else has happened.”

  Warwick stood and paced the length of his office, trying to get his emotions under control. The more he thought about the abuse Clara had suffered, the angrier he became. His eyes were cold when he glanced at Meredith.

  “James, you’re scaring me. What’s the matter?”

  Warwick walked back to his sister and took her hand. “I do apologize, dear sister. Once I explain everything, you’ll understand my agitation. Clara’s tale takes an ugly turn, I’m afraid. She has multiple bruises near both her elbows and along her waist, consistent with someone abusing her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Dr. Winston has confirmed the abuse. Someone clearly used his strength against her.”

  “Oh no! I can’t even imagine. Who would do such a thing?”

  “I do not know, but I find myself relieved you’re blessed with a loving husband. Not all women are so fortunate. Perhaps it explains why Clara was alone on the road—she could be running away from her abuser.”

  “A husband, perhaps?”

  Warwick shook his head. “I don’t think so. She wears no wedding band.”

  “What a horrible situation. Now I understand why your note was lacking in detail. What has she to say about the bruises?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Not a word? Why? Is she embarrassed about her circumstances?”

  “There’s more to her situation than ugly bruises and abuse. When she fell down the ravine, she hit her head and suffered a nasty gash.”

  Meredith’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no! How awful.”

  “The worst part of the whole situation is she has no memory of who she is or where she comes from. Winston said it happens sometimes with head injuries, and he hopes her memory will slowly return.” Warwick kissed his sister’s hand and took his seat at the desk again. “Obviously, she cannot remain here without a proper chaperone, and I was hoping you could stay while she recovers. It could be a fortnight or more.”

  “Of course, I’d be happy to. I’ll need to send a note to Fulton and send for my maid.”

  Warwick slid pressed paper, ink, and quill across the desk to his sister. “Thank you. Perhaps Fulton would like to join you?”

  “Absolutely.” With the note dispatched to Meredith’s husband, Warwick led her upstairs to meet Clara.

  THERE WAS A KNOCK on the door.

  “Come.”

  “Lady Clara, how are you feeling today?”

  Clara looked up as Warwick entered, a beautiful woman on his arm. Her black hair was piled high on her head, with a cascade of curls down one side of her neck. She had expressive hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes and a look of kindness on her flawless face. She looked into Warwick’s equally kind face. “I’m better, thank you.”

  “This is my sister, Countess Fulton. As I told you, I’ve asked her to act as chaperone while you recover.”

  The countess gave her a friendly smile. “I’d be ever so pleased if you would call me Meredith,” she said, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

  “I’m pleased to meet you. It’s very kind of you to come, but I don’t wish to trouble you, my lady.”

  “Please, just Meredith, and it’s no trouble at all. I love visiting with my brother, although perhaps he’ll grant us some time alone,” she said, looking up at Warwick.

  Warwick looked at Clara, uncertainty and concern on his face. She nodded, already feeling comfortable with his sister, and he smiled. “Ladies, I’ll leave you to get to know each other,” he said, walking out of the bedchamber.

  Gertie came into the room. “Shall I bring a fresh pot of tea?”

  Clara looked at Meredith. “Would you care for some?”

  Meredith nodded. “Yes. That would be lovely.”

  Gertie curtsied and left the room.

  “Does your head injury pain you still?” Meredith asked.

  “A little, but everyone has been so kind to me.”

  “My brother tells me you have no memory of who you are or where you came from?”

  Clara felt desperately sad. “I wish I knew. It is indeed frustrating not to know who you are. I’m not sure where I’ll go when I must leave here, if I do not regain my memory.”

  “There’s no hurry for you to leave. Besides, I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  Gertie came back in carrying a tea tray and put it on the table by the window. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

  “No. Thank you, Gertie,” Clara said.

  “Would you care to have tea at the window? Meredith asked. “It’s a lovely spring day; the sun is shining bright, and the flowers in the garden are in bloom.”

  Clara nodded.

  Meredith stood and said, “Do you need help getting up?”

  “No. I only need a moment.”

  “If you’re dizzy, please don’t trouble yourself. We can have tea right here.”

  Clara stood, donned a dressing gown, and walked to the window. “I’m very much looking forward to seeing the garden when I’m recovered,” she said while taking a seat.

  “The estate has one of the loveliest gardens around. It was Victoria’s favorite place.”

  “Victoria?”

  Meredith poured the tea and handed Clara a cup. “Forgive me. I should not have brought her up.”

  “Please don’t apologize. I like hearing more about the duke. Who was she?”

  “Victoria was Warwick’s wife. She died in a carriage accident two years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.” Clara wanted to ask more about their marriage, but it was none of her business. She didn’t expect to be here long, especially after she regained her strength. She couldn’t expect the duke to continue to help her when she was well.

  “My brother was devastated by her death. Th
is is the first time I’ve seen him show any interest in another woman.”

  A frown creased Clara’s brow. “What do you mean? The duke is only being kind to me while I recover from my fall. He’s not interested in me.”

  Meredith smiled. “My brother is indeed kind, but I think there may be more to it.”

  Clara took a sip of her tea while she digested Meredith’s words. Was Warwick interested in her? No, that wasn’t possible. He was a duke, and he had no idea who she was. A relationship was out of the question… wasn’t it?

  The two woman talked a while longer, but once Meredith finished her tea, she stood. “I’ll let you rest now. Perhaps you’ll feel strong enough to join us for dinner soon. My husband will be joining us soon.”

  Clara nodded. “Thank you, Meredith. I would like that, but I’m afraid I have nothing appropriate to wear to dinner.”

  “That’s not a problem. I’d be happy to loan you some dresses.”

  Clara shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.”

  “Nonsense. You didn’t ask; I offered. Once my trunks arrive, I’ll have my maid bring you some selections. We’re a similar size, and they should fit without any alterations.”

  “Thank you, Meredith. I don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness.”

  “I’ll see you later. Rest now,” Meredith said, exiting the room.

  Clara padded back to bed and slipped into the cool sheets, thinking about what Meredith had said. Even though there could be nothing between her and Warwick, she wondered how it would feel to be admired by such a vibrant and handsome man. She closed her eyes and fell asleep thinking about the very handsome Duke of Warwick.

  Chapter 8

  LINCOLN PACED THE LENGTH of his office, rage contorting his face into a permanent scowl. His hands clenched and unclenched as he stalked from his desk to the windows and back again. All he could think about was Amelia’s betrayal. How dare she disappear? Two and a half weeks had passed with no new information concerning her whereabouts. Lincoln had nearly pummeled her father on the day the marriage contract was supposed to be signed. As much as he’d tried to quash the rumors about her disappearance, too many people knew of their betrothal and scheduled wedding day.