by Anna Bennett
By the time sunlight began to peek around the edges of the drapes, Caroline had already been awake for an hour. She’d been so hopeful that a decent night’s sleep would cure her memory loss, but her mind was still a blank slate. Well, except for the kiss between her and Nash in his study, which she played out in her head over and over, much like rereading a favorite scene from a book. Until a knock sounded on her bedchamber door. Sitting upright, she called out, “Come in.”
“Good morning,” Delilah said, uncharacteristically sheepish. She held out a pale blue gown draped over her arm. “This is one of mine, so you may wear it without fear of starting a civil war.”
Caroline shot her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“I apologize for running off like a ninny at dinner.”
“You needn’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”
“No? Well, I am embarrassed nonetheless.” Delilah laid the pretty dress at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling today?”
“As confused as ever,” Caroline admitted.
Delilah gave her a conspiratorial wink. “That makes two of us, then.” Her perfectly coiffed blond hair and smart pink dress brightened the room—and made Caroline feel distinctly unkempt. “I’m certain you have a barrage of questions,” Delilah continued, “and I shall attempt to answer them the best I can—over breakfast. But right now, I’m going to send Molly in to help you dress.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Caroline threw off the covers and had started to unplait her braid when Delilah popped back into the room.
“I forgot to mention—you needn’t worry that Nash will be scowling at us throughout breakfast. He left the house after informing Stodges he’d be gone for much of the day.”
“That’s good to know.” An odd combination of relief and disappointment swirled in Caroline’s chest. But clearly the duke’s absence was for the best. She needed some time to figure out what their kiss had meant to her—and to him. She couldn’t stop thinking about the question he’d posed afterward: What if this is just the beginning?
After Molly tamed Caroline’s thick tresses into a smooth twist and helped her don the fetching blue frock, she found Delilah sipping tea at the breakfast table, a newspaper next to her plate. “What are you reading?”
Delilah’s free hand fluttered over the pile. “One of my favorite columns in the Hearsay. I thought you might like it, but that’s for later. First I must explain why Nash was so upset last night.”
Caroline filled her plate with eggs, ham, and toast from the sideboard, sat across the table from her friend, and shot her a sympathetic smile. “I have an inkling. He told me that the dress belonged to your sister, Emily.”
“He did?” Delilah gulped. “I haven’t heard him say her name in … ages,” she said hoarsely.
“It clearly pained him.” Caroline’s chest squeezed as she looked into Delilah’s blue eyes, clouded with sadness. “I fear it must be the same for you.”
“Yes and no,” Delilah said softly. “It hurts. But I long to talk about her. I do not think it is healthy to lock up her room, leave her belongings untouched, and pretend that she is merely away on a holiday.”
Caroline frowned. “Is that what your brother is doing?”
Delilah nodded. “He couldn’t bear to live in this house after Father and Emily died. We moved to our country estate and stayed away from town for five years. We only returned a few weeks ago, at my insistence,” she said, sniffling. “I thought he might take comfort in having something of hers, a memento, to hold close. So, once we were settled here, I offered to sort through her things and freshen up her room. But Nash wouldn’t hear of it.”
Caroline ached for both of them. “I’m so sorry.”
“Nash cannot bring himself to face the memories, but I long for them,” Delilah said, her voice thick with anguish. “I’m afraid that if I don’t talk about Father and Emily, I’ll forget how they looked and moved and sounded. Some days I feel like I already am forgetting.”
Caroline stood, rounded the table, and hugged Delilah’s slender shoulders. “I know it’s not much comfort, but anytime you want to talk, I am here to listen.”
“Thank you,” she replied, dabbing her eyes with her napkin. “It’s nice, having someone to confide in. I used to talk to Emily, but when she died, I lost more than just her. I lost a part of Nash too.”
Caroline swallowed the huge knot in her throat. “I realize it’s none of my business, but may I ask what happened to Emily? I’d like to understand.”
Delilah nodded and drew a deep breath. “Five years ago, my sister was in love. I was still a girl at the time, but even I could see that she was positively smitten. Her beau was so handsome and kind that I confess to being half-smitten myself. He asked for Emily’s hand in marriage, but my father did not approve of the match.”
“Why not?”
“He was a barrister. Father said he would be an entirely unsuitable husband for the daughter of a duke.”
Caroline nodded sadly. “He wanted her to marry a peer?”
“I suppose so. But Emily and her beau were so happy together.” Delilah smiled softly. “And they refused to let my father keep them apart.”
“They eloped?”
“They tried.” Delilah picked up her teacup and stared into space. “When my father discovered they were on their way to Gretna Green, he chased after them on horseback. They were in his sight when some highwaymen ran their coach off the road … and it flipped over.”
“Oh no.”
“Father was so enraged that he drew his pistol, charged toward the scoundrels, and shot one—but not before the highwayman shot back. Father didn’t survive his wounds. And my sister died in the coach accident.”
“How awful,” Caroline breathed.
“Emily was eighteen. The same age I am now,” Delilah added softly, as though the realization twisted the knife that already pierced her heart. “Suddenly, Nash and I were alone in the world. He inherited the dukedom—and responsibility for me—long before he should have. We kept the circumstances around their deaths secret. No one knows that Emily was eloping. They assumed that my father was traveling with her.”
Caroline pressed a hand to her stomach as she pictured what that time must have been like for Nash and Delilah. Though she longed to remember her own family and experiences, she did not envy memories as painful as theirs. “I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you, a girl of thirteen, to lose two beloved family members at once.”
“I cried for weeks, and when my tears ran dry, I turned to novels as a sort of escape. But my brother didn’t have that luxury; he assumed the duties of his new title almost immediately. He was forced to sort through my father’s personal belongings but couldn’t bear to touch Emily’s. When he happened to see a well-meaning maid packing up her hairbrush and ribbons, he ordered her out of the bedchamber, slammed his fist into the vanity’s looking glass, and locked the door as he left. He forbade anyone to enter her room from that moment on.” Delilah set her teacup down and fiddled with the handle. “Emily was beautiful and witty and headstrong—everything I wanted to be but wasn’t.”
Caroline reached for her hands and squeezed them tightly. “She sounds positively lovely, and I have no doubt she’d be proud of the woman you are today.”
“You remind me of her,” Delilah said hoarsely. “And when you mentioned gold was your favorite color, I couldn’t stop thinking about that dress of Emily’s. It made me happy to see you in it.” Her eyes brimmed, and her nose turned pink.
Caroline pulled her into another hug. “Don’t fret. I spoke to your brother last night, and I don’t think he’s angry any longer.”
“Good. I’m used to being at odds with him, but not about Emily. I much prefer it when we’re sparring over my lack of social engagements.”
Caroline pulled back so she could look into Delilah’s eyes. “All I can say is this: When I remember who I am, I hope I’m lucky enough to discover I have a sister like you.”<
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Delilah swiped at her damp cheeks. “No matter who you are, I feel certain we shall remain friends.”
Caroline didn’t state the obvious—that her true identity could make such a friendship unsustainable. Her relationship with Nash—if it could even be labeled as such—was based on equally unsteady ground.
“It’s no wonder your brother is so protective of you.”
“He’s terrified that something will happen to me and our small family will be snuffed out, just like this.” Delilah snapped her fingers to demonstrate. “But sometimes I feel like a princess locked in a tower.”
“And your brother would be the fire-breathing dragon?”
“Precisely.” Delilah shot her a watery smile. “At least he agreed to let me attend a ball with him. And he brought you here. Both of those are encouraging signs that perhaps, in due time, the dragon inside him can be tamed.”
“I hope so,” Caroline mused, wondering if she could play a part in his healing. Or if he might play a part in hers. He had opened up to her just a little. That trust and his kisses combined to make a rather promising start.
“Now then,” Delilah began. She took a fortifying sip of tea and picked up a newspaper from the table. “Before I turn completely maudlin, I must introduce you to The Debutante’s Revenge.”
An unexpected shiver stole through Caroline’s limbs. “That sounds rather ominous.”
“Not at all. It’s my favorite column.”
“Ah. A gossip column?”
“Not exactly. Rather, each edition arms sheltered young ladies—like me—with indispensable information so that the trials and tribulations of the marriage mart will prove less intimidating.”
“How very intriguing.” Caroline peered at the newspaper, and a small drawing—a sketch of a young woman sitting beside a handsome gentleman on a pianoforte bench—caught her eye. The couple was depicted in detail that was both remarkable and captivating. Their hands hovered above the keys as though they were poised to play a duet, their pinky fingers barely touching. The sheet music propped on the stand forgotten, the man and woman gazed at one another as though their slight, incidental contact had left them completely shaken. Momentarily stunned.
Caroline blinked away a similar vision—of her and Nash’s hands resting between them on the bench in his study. The drawing in the newspaper captured everything she’d felt in that moment. The breathlessness, the giddiness, the glorious anticipation.
“Isn’t the sketch lovely?” Delilah asked. “This column is from a few weeks ago, but it’s one of my favorites.” Caroline picked up the paper and read the letter accompanying the drawing.
The Debutante’s Revenge Dear Debutantes,
Physical contact between a woman and man may cause strange, but not unpleasant, stirrings—even when such contact is of a completely innocent nature. Any thrilling sensations which may result from such contact are not to be ignored, for they are a sign of desire, which may, in turn, lead to more passionate encounters. A young woman must be prepared for those unsettling feelings, in any eventuality.
Delilah arched a brow expectantly. “What do you think?”
“Delightfully forthright,” Caroline managed, even though her whole body tingled oddly. “Who is the author?”
Delilah’s mouth curled into a conspiratorial smile. “That’s the most delicious part. No one knows.”
“An anonymous column written for debutantes,” Caroline mused. “I confess I’m intrigued. I should like to read the rest of the columns.”
“It just so happens I’ve saved the entire collection,” Delilah said proudly. “Come with me.”
* * *
Nash flexed his fingers as he strode through a sparsely furnished antechamber into the office of Edmund Drake, his friend and solicitor. Though they were roughly the same age, Drake had already grayed at the temples. Fortunately for Drake, most of London’s young ladies found his prematurely silver hair charming and distinguished. Dashing, even.
Drake looked up when Nash entered and waved his secretary away. “We’ll finish this up later.”
The whip-thin secretary gathered his papers and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Of course, Mr. Drake.” He turned toward Nash and made a halting bow. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said, scurrying out of the office and shutting the door behind him.
Drake’s inner sanctum smelled of leather, ink, and cigar smoke. Every surface from the wall of shelves, to the fireplace mantel, to the floor was cluttered with opened books, crumpled papers, and even—unless Nash was mistaken—a discarded cravat or two. The entire room was in shambles, except for Drake’s desktop, which was neat and orderly. Meticulously so. Much like the eye of a hurricane, Drake was the calm center in a world of chaos. If there was one thing Nash needed, it was a little serenity, and he knew he could count on his friend to steer him in the right direction.
Nash sank into the seat that the assistant had occupied and leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. “I have a problem.”
“You have lots of problems,” Drake said with a grin. “What’s the latest?”
“There’s a woman staying at my house, and I don’t know who she is. Neither does she.”
Drake blinked in disbelief. “You jest.”
“I’m dead serious,” Nash said—and proceeded to tell him the rest of the story. Except for the part about him being absolutely, inconveniently attracted to her.
When he was through, Drake sat back and rubbed his chin. “You need to find out Caroline’s identity, but you also need to be discreet. If anyone discovered she was living under your roof unchaperoned, her reputation would suffer.”
“Right. And for Delilah’s sake, I’m trying to avoid any whisper of scandal. She’ll want to marry, someday.” Nash swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping that day was in the distant future.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” Drake said. “Would you like me to head to the Grey Goose? Make some inquiries?”
“Not yet,” Nash replied, grateful for the offer but also hesitant. “I have another idea, but I want to talk to Caroline first.”
Drake nodded shrewdly. “Would this mysterious woman of yours happen to be clever and headstrong?”
“How did you guess?” Nash asked, unsurprised. Drake was too perceptive by half.
“Is she also witty and beautiful?”
Nash suppressed a groan and stood. “I’m going to a pub where I can have a pint and something to eat. Are you coming?”
Drake barked a laugh as he grabbed his coat. “Could it be that the man known throughout the ton as Stoneheart is smitten?”
“Hardly,” Nash grunted, fairly certain he hadn’t convinced Drake—or himself.
Chapter 9
“Gentlemen are not the only ones entitled to a taste of wickedness.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Caroline trailed Delilah up the staircase to her bedchamber, eager to read more issues of The Debutante’s Revenge. The one she’d read at the breakfast table earlier had resonated with her in a way few things had since she’d awaken in the duke’s house. Perhaps, like Delilah, she was a devotee of the column. Maybe one of the newspapers in Delilah’s collection would provide the spark she needed to regain her memory.
Delilah shut the door behind them and tossed her blond curls behind her shoulder. “Please sit,” she said, waving a hand at her bed, which was covered with a counterpane in a spring-like shade of pink. All the room’s furnishings, in fact, from the bright yellow curtains to the fresh green wallpaper to the charming landscape of a cottage hanging over the bureau reflected Delilah’s sunny personality.
While Caroline settled herself on the edge of the mattress, Delilah threw open the doors of her armoire and ducked her head inside. When she emerged a few seconds later, she held a small stack of newspapers, which she presented to Caroline with unexpected reverence.
“They’re in order,” she said, “with the most recent issue on top. I’m going to leave you here
so that you may read them in peace. Take your time, for while each column is short, it’s meant to be savored. Let the words wash over you; let the drawings stir your imagination. Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” she said, oddly touched. “I shall.”
Delilah shot her a wide smile as she glided out of the room and shut the door behind her.
Brimming with anticipation, Caroline kicked off her slippers, stretched out on the bed, and plucked a random paper from the middle of the stack. Her eyes scanned the page, and the image of a man and woman waltzing immediately captured her gaze. His large hand was splayed across the small of her back; her fingers rested on an impossibly broad shoulder. Their chests were only a breath apart, and they looked at each other with such tenderness that it left Caroline breathless. The column beneath the sketch read:
The Debutante’s Revenge Dear Debutantes,
While dancing is not inherently scandalous, it does provide ample opportunities for titillating flirtation, passionate glances, and exhilarating contact.
Interestingly, a gentleman need not be excessively dexterous or graceful in order to be a good dance partner. Rather, he should move with a natural confidence. He should hold you with care and respect. He should look at you with something akin to wonder.
If you are fortunate enough to find such a dance partner, you may wish to consider him as a potential beau.
For expertise on the dance floor often extends to other key areas as well.
Goodness. Her fingertips tingling, Caroline sat up and studied the column again. She agreed with its advice, but, more importantly, she recognized something within it. Perhaps she’d had a dance partner like the one described. Or maybe she’d simply read this particular column before.
Vexingly, she had no recollection of either.
Her heart beat fast as she selected another newspaper from the pile. In this issue, the sketch showed a young woman from behind as she sat gazing at a lush garden, her sumptuous gown skimming the stone bench and kissing the ground beneath.
The Debutante’s Revenge Dear Debutantes,
