by Wolf, Bree
“Adrian,” Grant mumbled when a sudden thought struck.
Eugenie blinked her eyes. “Pardon, my lord?”
Squeezing her hands, Grant looked down at her. “I need to go and…speak to an old friend. Please, do not despair. I promise I shall find a way to protect you both.” Then he turned around and hurried from the room, knowing there was no time to lose.
Chapter Eight
Truths to be Uncovered
Walking the gardens, Nessa looked down upon the letter in her hands. It was addressed to her, to the name she had been told was hers and it bore the seal of the Earl of Wentford. At least, that was what it said under the small coat-of-arms.
Four days had passed since her husband had come to see her, and Nessa had spent these past four days wandering the familiar halls and grounds, always torn between belief and disbelief. Had he truly been here? Or had her mind conjured him to satisfy her curiosity? As she walked along the outer wall surrounding the abbey, everything looked as it always did, making it easy for Nessa to imagine that nothing had changed. That she was still Martha, living at the abbey because she had nowhere else to go.
And then this letter had arrived.
Inhaling a deep breath, Nessa’s hands trembled as she broke the small wax seal and unfolded the parchment. Then her eyes settled on the writing on the page and she wondered if it ought to look familiar to her.
My dearest Nessa,
I’m writing to assure you that your family was overjoyed to hear of your impending return to us. Your father sends his love and bids me to tell you that he can hardly wait to have you with us again.
I am currently readying the house for your arrival and shall come to fetch you home in a sennight.
I cannot imagine how it must feel to you to hear of a home that you cannot remember, but please believe me when I say that we’ve all missed you dearly these past years and wish for nothing more but to have you with us once again.
Your loving husband,
Grant
While he had used the official seal to close the envelope, the letter was simply signed Grant, and Nessa could not deny that the level of affection she read in that simple statement touched her. If only she could remember this man, this husband of hers, Nessa suspected she could love him as dearly as he seemed to love her. Was this possible? Could she come to love a man she did not remember? Was there any chance for her to regain what she had lost?
A deep sigh left her lips. “What if I can never remember?” she mumbled into the stillness of the garden. “What if his love hinges on his belief that at least one day I’ll remember? But what if he’s wrong? Will he come to hate me for it? Because I stole his wife and refuse to return her?”
“Even if your past remains lost to you,” Sister Anne suddenly spoke out from behind her, making Nessa spin around, “your future is still within your grasp. All you have to do is reach for it.”
Smiling at her friend, Nessa nodded. “It sounds simple when you say it. However, I fear it might not be. I do not know what awaits back…home, and I’m not afraid to admit that it frightens me. Yes, a part of me would love nothing more but to stay here and hide.”
Sister Anne smiled. “Is there a part that wants something else?”
Excitement surged through Nessa’s heart at the thought of her husband and child. “Do you truly think he loves me?”
Sister Anne chuckled. “Does he appeal to you?”
“He’s a handsome man,” Nessa stated reasonably. “He seemed kind and compassionate and devoted in his love for…”
“You?” her friend asked, watching her carefully. “Are you afraid you will disappoint him?”
Nessa shrugged. “I cannot help but wonder why he would love me.”
“Love doesn’t need a reason.”
Chuckling, Nessa rolled her eyes. “But I do.” Sighing, she began to walk once more, relieved to see Sister Anne fall into step beside her. “Perhaps if I knew why he loved me, I would not have such trouble believing it to be true. Perhaps then I would not doubt him.”
“Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Do you think he would tell me the truth?”
Sister Anne stopped, and her gaze narrowed as she looked at Nessa. “Are you determined to doubt everyone around you? Every word they might speak to you?”
Sighing, Nessa looked down at the letter in her hands. “He did not write of our daughter,” she finally said, feeling her heart tighten in her chest and was surprised by how much she wanted this unknown child to remember her. Was this the bond between mother and child that could not be severed under any circumstances? Did she somewhere deep down know that she was a mother and that there was a child out there that was hers to love and protect? “He wrote of my father, but not of our daughter.”
Sister Anne sighed, putting a gentle hand on Nessa’s arm. “She was very little when you were lost to her. Yes, it might very well be that she does not remember you.”
“But why does he not tell me so?” Nessa asked, feeling her heart constrict in her chest. “There is so much I don’t know. I am dependent on others to know about my own child.” Her voice began to quiver with helplessness as well as anger. “Why would he not tell me? He must know how much I fear to be forgotten by my own child. Did I not say as much when he was here? How can he not know?”
“Perhaps he simply wishes to spare you the pain.”
“If he does not tell me things because he fears they might hurt me,” Nessa snapped as her hand tightened on the letter, “I cannot help but wonder what else he is not telling me. What else might he be keeping from me because he fears I may not understand?”
Sister Anne frowned. “I’ve never seen you so distrustful.”
“I’ve never had any reason to,” Nessa remarked, regretting the tone in her voice. Still, the anger that had suddenly seized her was hard to silence as it was an expression of the fear that lived in her heart. “Without my own memories, I’m vulnerable.” Her voice dropped lower, became quieter as anger finally yielded to fear. “I do not know the people who are my family. I do not know who they are and what we meant to each other. I know nothing of them while they know everything about me.”
“I can see that you’re afraid,” Sister Anne said, grasping Nessa’s hands, “and you’re not wrong to be careful. But do not allow your fear to stand in the way of reclaiming the happiness that was once yours. Not everything has to make sense. If you feel like you should trust your husband, then do so even when there is no logical reason why you should. Believe that even without your memories you will be able to know what is true and what is not.”
Nessa sighed. “I can only hope that you’re right.”
Chapter Nine
The Beast of Ravengrove
After half a day on the road, Grant finally reached Ravengrove, its ancient towers looming dark and forbidding into the overcast sky. A storm seemed to be coming, casting gloomy shadows over the old fortress as it stood surrounded by a dense forest on one side and a rushing river on the other, its waters ice cold even in the heat of summer.
Years had passed since Grant had last been here, but he well remembered the adventures he and Adrian had embarked upon as children. Three years younger than the current Earl of Remsemere, Grant had idolized Adrian from the moment they’d met and he had followed him every which where. Adrian, in turn, had jumped at the chance to be the elder, to teach Grant about the ways of the world as he himself had been the youngest of four brothers. At Eton, Adrian had taken Grant under his wing and taught him the ropes, and a deep friendship had formed between them.
And then tragedy had struck and taken Adrian’s family one by one.
Now, he was the only remaining member of his family living at Ravengrove. Still, the place looked as though the dead were never far away, haunting the dark recesses and lonely corridors of the ancient fortress, never to be forgotten.
Grant did not know what precisely had happened. He’d asked once, but Adrian had grown taciturn and evasive and loaths
ome of company. Even the company of his best friend.
After that, life had led them down different paths. While Grant had found love, Adrian had gone to fight in the war, daring death to take him as well. However, Adrian had lived and finally returned home. Still, as far as Grant knew, he hadn’t left Ravengrove in years, spending his time alone and far off from everyone he’d once held dear. Anger and pain had found their way into his heart, and it seemed he could no longer bear the presence of another soul.
Grant suspected that something more had happened than the normal horrors of war to alter his friend in such a way. Something had cut deep into his soul, matching the long scar that ran across his right eye and down his cheek. It was a ghastly sight, and Grant had drawn up short when he had first seen it, shocked by the brutality that had caused it.
Still, Grant doubted that it had been the scar but rather Adrian’s despondent mood as well as harsh and oftentimes unfeeling ways that had earned him the name, Beast of Ravengrove.
Who had first uttered this name was impossible to tell. However, whenever Adrian and his family’s bad fortune were whispered about, everyone seemed only too happy to make use of it, enjoying the mystery and drama that clung to it.
Pulling his mount to a halt in front of the heavy oak doors, Grant was surprised when a stable boy appeared as though out of nowhere, greeting him respectfully and leading his horse away to the stables. Apparently, someone was seeing to the upkeep of Ravengrove after all.
Still, Grant doubted that it was Adrian’s doing.
Upon approaching the doors, Grant found them swinging open and Hammond, Ravengrove’s ancient butler, appearing in their frame. He bore the usual, serious frown that Grant remembered from his childhood, his snow-white hair reduced to a crown encircling his head, giving him a deeply dignified appearance. “My Lord Wentford,” Hammond mumbled, giving a formal bow that Grant feared might upend the old man’s balance.
“Good day, Hammond,” Grant hastened to greet him, stepping forward in case the old man should require assistance. “Is his lordship at home?”
Straightening, Hammond met his gaze for a second, and Grant could see that despite appearances not all was well at Ravengrove. The lawns might be trimmed, the chandeliers dusted, the floors scrubbed and everything kept in working order, but the heart of the household beat weakly and without strength. “He’s in his study, my lord.”
Thanking Hammond, Grant hastened toward the familiar corridor, ignoring Hammond’s objection for him to await his master’s arrival in the drawing room.
“I’m here on a matter of urgency,” Grant remarked over his shoulder, casting the old man an apologetic look. “His lordship will understand.”
The look on Hammond’s face was one of disagreement. However, he did not further try to dissuade Grant from his course.
Grant hurried onward, passing paintings of happier days, of a home full of family and joy. Years had passed since then, and he wondered if he should not so easily have complied with Adrian’s wish to be left alone.
What kind of man had his friend become in the past few years? Certainly, Grant had written to him, informing him of his impeding nuptials, inviting him to the wedding and then announcing the birth of his daughter. However, Adrian had never replied with more than a brief note, offering his congratulations. Nothing personal. Nothing heart-felt.
And then Nessa had been lost to him.
Grant swallowed when he remembered Adrian’s reply to the news of Nessa’s death. It had been a letter like no other, and Grant had been deeply touched by the thoughtfulness and devotion of Adrian’s concern and sympathy.
In fact, it was this letter that had led Grant to Ravengrove this day. For despite the losses Adrian had suffered, he still seemed to be the same kind-hearted man Grant had known all his life…somewhere deep inside. He hid it well, retreating from the world and all those in it, pretending that he did not care.
But he did.
If it weren’t for that belief, Grant wouldn’t even for a moment have considered entrusting Eugenie and their child into Adrian’s care.
He could only hope his friend would help him. After all, it was no small favor to ask.
Without knocking, Grant opened the old door, its hinges well-oiled as it slid open without a sound, revealing a room cluttered with books and ledgers. Like towers, they stood on the ancient desk as well as in the corners of the room. Dark wood panelling dominated the small space, giving the impression of confinement. The glass of the three windows opening to the west was clouded, dimming the limited light even further. A lone candle stood on the windowsill and beside it, staring out into nothing was Adrian.
With his hands linked behind his back, the current Lord Remsemere stood tall, his shoulders squared and his feet slightly apart like the soldier he had been. His pitch-black hair had grown to his shoulders and was tied in the back, looking somewhat unkempt. His attire too seemed to have been chosen without care, without thought for his appearance or station. A simple shirt hung from his large frame, stuffed into a pair of work-worn breeches that made Grant wonder what his friend did all day. Judging from the alert tension in his body, Grant doubted that he spent his time solely with the ledgers and books stacked high around him.
“What are you doing here?”
Sighing, Grant chuckled, not surprised in the least that Adrian had been aware of his silent entrance. Still, the gruffness in his voice made him wonder if he was, indeed, doing the right thing. Still, he had little choice. “I need your help,” Grant said without preamble, knowing that Adrian had never cared for polite words.
His friend’s shoulders tensed before he slowly turned from the window. His pale blue eyes looked shrouded in the dimly-lit room while the light from the candle bounced off the scar stretching across the right side of his face.
Indeed, for a short moment, Grant could understand why people called him the Beast of Ravengrove.
“My help?” Adrian asked, doubt in his eyes as he looked at Grant, his gaze as sharp as ever.
Grant nodded, relieved to see that Adrian had not taken to the bottle like so many war veterans. Although pain rested on his brows, the look on his face was alert, aware and currently assessing the man before him after the years that had separated them.
Grant nodded. “Yes, something happened, and I’ve come here today because I need your help.” Closing the door behind him, Grant stepped further into the room. His eyes remained on his friend as they each tried to gauge who they had become and who they were to each other now.
“Why would you come to me?” Adrian asked, a disbelieving snort rumbling in his throat. “You know very well that I am not fit to do anything these days. I’m of no help to anyone.”
Grant swallowed as his hopes began to fall. “Nessa is alive,” he blurted out, wondering if anything could break through that indifferent exterior his friend seemed to cling to so desperately.
For a second, a small flame sparked to life in Adrian’s eyes; however, other than that, he showed no sign that Grant’s news had affected him in the least. While someone else might have overlooked such a subtle detail, Grant knew his friend well despite the years that stood between them.
“She was pulled from the sea three years ago and has been in an abbey up north,” Grant elaborated as his hands gripped the backrest of the chair in front of him. His gaze held Adrian’s, and he could see the man’s jaw tighten. “She does not remember who she is. She doesn’t remember me.” Grant swallowed, for once not concerned to appear strong and hopeful. With Adrian, he didn’t need to pretend. “I frightened her. I…I was so overwhelmed when I saw her, I simply had to…I mean, I knew she didn’t remember. I knew that. But in that moment…I had to feel her.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “She shrank back, begging me not to touch her.”
Adrian exhaled a long breath, and his eyes darkened with sympathy. “It was one moment,” he replied. “Nothing more.”
Grant nodded. “I know. I mean, once I released her, she spoke kind
ly to me, asked about her life. She…”
“Did you recognize her?” Adrian asked abruptly, for the first time taking an interest in their conversation.
“I did,” Grant replied with a smile. “She may not remember who she is, but she is Nessa. She is the woman she’s always been.” He sighed. “I cannot help but worry though that she will never remember what we had, who we were together. It would be torture to have her so close and remain strangers.”
For a long moment, they remained silent, and Grant wondered what was going on in his friend’s mind as he stepped forward and started rearranging some of the ledgers on his desk. His gaze, though, was distant, not focused on the task his hands performed, and Grant suspected that it had become a habit, keeping his hands occupied so his mind was free to wander.
“I understand that you’d want her to remember,” Adrian suddenly said as his eyes rose to focus on Grant, “however, there is an alternative to retrieving old memories.”
Grant frowned.
“Creating new ones.”
At first, his friend’s simple words confused Grant before they slowly sank in. Then a smile claimed his face. “I need to conquer her heart again,” he whispered into the stillness of the room. “Thank you.”
Adrian gave a short nod. “Was that the help you were referring to?” he asked, doubt in his voice as his eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion in them.
