by Lani Lenore
The doors leaned open, groaning as they did, and Celia was greeted by a fair amount of light produced by candles. There was a bit of chatting coming from within, but she couldn’t make out the words, and she was unable to stick her nose any further into the room before the maid had turned to her.
“What name?”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, suddenly realizing that her own voice sounded peculiar to her.
“What name shall I say?” the maid droned again, and finally the girl understood.
“Oh, um, it’s Celia,” she sputtered. Though unsure of that herself.
The maid seemed satisfied enough by that, and turned to push the doors open wider in order to face the room inwardly.
“Miss Celia, my lords,” the servant announced, and with that, the girl was ushered inside.
Celia found herself urged into a room that was decorated with red tapestries and dark wood. She stood apprehensively in front of a long table where several people sat, gazing at her like a panel of judges. She quickly looked over their faces, trying not to be rude in doing so, but desperately needing to view them. There were four of them, and none looked familiar.
“Ah, Celia, is it?” A man near the head of the table greeted her. “A lovely name for a lovely girl. You must be famished. Have a seat.”
She hardly got a look at the man who had spoken before the female servant came forward and pulled out an empty chair for her. Without any other option, Celia sat down at the edge of the table where the sharp angle cut across the end just beyond her elbow. Beside her at the table’s end sat a man who was fully bald with a monocle over one eye, and seated on her right was a rather sullen-looking young man who had an absorbed interest in his own plate. She thought she could rest assured that these people were not her own family, judging by the way they had received her. Why should she announce herself to her own family at dinner?
“I wasn’t sure you’d be joining us,” said the man who had complimented her name and face, drawing her attention back to him. “Tell me, how do you feel?”
Since she’d been posed a question, Celia took the opportunity to look at him in order to answer. He had friendly eyes. His hair was brown, but graying, and was drawn back in a style that suited his face. He had a small mole on his left cheek. She guessed him to be around the age of forty years, and he was still an attractive gentleman. He smiled pleasantly at her, and she noticed that he was dressed in fine clothes, which led her to remember that she was not even wearing shoes.
“I’m well; thank you,” she said, though she wasn’t sure that was an honest answer.
The servant that had escorted her to dinner set a plate of food in front of her and poured wine into her glass. Celia recognized the meat as duck, but wondered how she could recall that.
“That is good to hear,” said the man. Then an abrupt look of surprise and horror came over his face as he attempted to drink from his glass. “Where are my manners? I have yet to introduce myself. Forgive me. I am Irving LaCroix, and this is my father’s house. My father, unfortunately, is absent.”
Irving motioned to the chair beside him on the other end of the table, drawing attention to the fact that it was empty. Altogether, there were three empty chairs at the table aside from the one she had filled.
“This is my lovely wife, Anjessica,” Irving went on, and Celia’s attention was led to the woman on Irving’s left. She was lovely indeed, with long black hair and pale skin. She was quite a bit younger than her husband, and she was also, as Celia observed, heavily pregnant. The woman glanced up at Celia from her plate with a meek smile, but did not say a word.
“My younger brother, Maynard,” Irving established, motioning toward the young man sitting directly beside Celia. Maynard did not look up at either one of them, and while he was fairly handsome, Celia thought he appeared sullen and melancholy. His mouth was a full pout. He didn’t wish to socialize with them just now, possibly feeling uncomfortable with the new company. Celia felt a jolt of worry as she wondered if her dress was hanging too low, and she felt her face flush as she drew a bit of her hair over her shoulders. She didn’t like to think that she was standing out among them, and wouldn’t want her state of dress to be the reason that Maynard was embarrassed to look at her.
“And this is my uncle, my father’s brother, Baltus.”
She turned toward the bald man who sat beside her on the end, partially expecting him to ignore her as well. He was not so irresponsive. He did not acknowledge her with words, but she was surprised to find that he disregarded his food fully to stare at her with one good eye and peer at her with the other through a dirty monocle.
Why is he looking at me like that?
It made her heart leap uncomfortably when she turned to find him leaned toward her with his head on his hand, hardly a chair’s width of space between his face and hers. His eyes were sharp beneath the age spots on his brow, and he did not seem the least bit ashamed by his stare. The way he looked at her was strange—she would swear that there was an expression of utmost pleasure on his face. She might have once again worried over the neck of her gown, but he was looking directly into her eyes.
It’s as if I’m an animal he’s studying, or a piece of art on the wall. She did not feel at ease beneath his gaze.
“Fair Celia, perhaps you could tell us where you were headed?” Irving called her attention back, but she was reluctant to give it. For some reason, she did not want to turn the back of her head to the man called Baltus LaCroix. The only thing that could have urged her to neglect her feeling of insecurity was a strange question such as Irving had asked.
“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, coming slowly away from her distraction.
“The carriage, I mean,” Irving clarified. “Where were you and the young man going?”
Carriage? Young man? Celia began to feel distressed, though how could she have hoped to know what he meant? Irving took a bite of his food. She’d nearly forgotten about her own.
“We’d come to suspect you were fleeing the country for some reason, though with the marches and the Great Fear, it’s no wonder you were crossing the mountains. But don’t worry. None of that has reached us, and I suspect it won’t.”
Fleeing the country? Great Fear? She was terribly confused. She knew nothing of this.
“The…what?”
“The Revolution, my dear. Do you meant to say that’s not why you were crossing the mountains?”
Celia froze. She could think of no way to go along with this in order to hide her affliction. In the short moment she had to consider, she decided on the truth.
“I’m sorry,” she burst. “It’s embarrassing, but there’s no use pretending. I can’t remember anything, actually. I know nothing about a carriage, or a man, or a war. I have no idea where I was going, or even where I came from.”
Irving slowed his chewing in consideration, but neither Maynard nor Anjessica seemed to be listening to her. Celia did not want to look at Baltus again, because she knew his eyes would be cutting into her. In fact, she imagined that she could feel his sour breath drifting across her skin.
“You mean to say that you were hit on the head or something like that?” Irving asked, sounding incredulous, but didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Well, it is possible. It was a nasty accident.”
“Accident?” She considered, but the word brought no memories back to her.
“Why yes,” the talkative man said, as if surprised that she didn’t recall at least that. “The roads are dangerous in the mountains. The carriage you were in came off the road and rolled down a steep incline. Tore the coach to pieces. Threw you and the young man out.”
Celia felt her throat clench.
“Is he…” she started, but stopped short, unwilling to say it. She didn’t remember a man, but she hated to think that someone who might have been close to her was dead.
“Oh no; he’s quite alive,” Irving assured her, and Celia felt a small amount of relief. “Unfortunately, the driver
and horses were not so lucky. In fact, it was good fortune that Baltus decided to return to us when he did. It was he who spotted you and brought you back here.”
“That I did,” the bald man agreed, and though Celia did not wish to look into his stare, she was glad to hear that his voice had a civilized tone—and that was good, for she had to thank him.
“Thank you for helping me…us,” she corrected, turning only halfway toward him.
“You’re very welcome, my dear,” Baltus said, yet was unabashed in how he stared.
Celia turned to her own plate then, lifting her fork and thinking she should have felt hungrier. Had she truly been in an accident on the road? That would explain why she was in this strange place and why she’d been so sore when she’d woken up. Like her name, the story of the accident was something she had to accept as truth. It was not as if she could dispute it.
“And don’t worry over the notion of memory loss,” Irving said to her as she took three green peas into her mouth. “There’s a good chance that it will only be temporary. Right, Baltus?”
“Oh, quite.”
“And besides, I’m sure that—”
The loud groaning of the dining room doors interrupted. A second female servant came just inside and stood at attention, but if she had mentioned a name for who she was announcing, Celia did not hear it. Faces turned toward the door, but Celia was too busy staring at the maid to care for anyone else who might enter. Had the jolt to her head disturbed her vision as well? She examined the servant at the door and then turned her eyes toward the maid across the room—the very same that had dragged her here from upstairs. Clearly, they were two different people, but…
…they look exactly the same.
Both of these servants were women with raven hair and cold, black eyes. They wore the same uniforms, had the same body shape and the same slender nose. These two individual maids were strikingly similar in appearance. They were twins.
Heavier footsteps came into the room then, drawing her attention back to the door, where she saw a figure that made her senses freeze and her heart leap. There, stepping slowly into the room, was a man. But he was not just any man. To Celia, he might have been her savior. If he was the one they’d spoken of—the one who had been with her in the accident—then he was the only person who could tell her anything about herself. She stared at him with little shame, and she was not sure if it was because she was trying to remember him, or because he was so handsome to her.
The man was tall with broad shoulders and a nicely-shaped jaw. His eyes were tawny beneath a brow that appeared rather harsh and dark, but there seemed to be a gentle quality to his face. His mouth appeared somewhat unhappy, but his lips were well-shaped. His hair was the color of fresh rust, and his skin held a faintly sun-kissed hue. The man was similar to her in dress, for he wore no shoes or coat, and his shirt tails were hanging loose.
He glanced at everyone at the table, not regarding one over another, a respecter of none. Irving piped up to play the host. His voice shocked Celia from her trance.
“Ah, there he is. Come in, young man. Have a seat.”
The second maid pulled out the empty chair directly across from Celia, in between Baltus and the pregnant Anjessica. The red-haired man seemed a bit reluctant, but eventually he was obliged to be a proper guest, and seated himself.
“I didn’t quite catch your name,” Irving pointed out, leaning forward in order to see the man he was addressing.
Celia hardly realized she was holding her breath as she waited to hear his reply. What would she call this man who was her only hope here—this man who had yet to even look at her? The man didn’t say anything for a moment, looking down at the tablecloth as a servant placed a platter of food before him. Finally, he spoke.
“Adam,” he said, and even though it did not make any bells resound within her, she was pleased to hear it.
Now came the real mystery. Who was this man to her? Was he family? A lover or husband? She suddenly remembered the letter she’d found upon waking. It professed love. Was he the one who had written it?
Irving reintroduced everyone for Adam’s benefit, this time adding onto the end: “And these are two of our maids, Luci and Margot. If you need anything at all, feel free to ask one of them. They will see to it. And of course you already know Celia.”
Adam looked where he was directed, meeting Celia’s eyes as if he’d just become aware that there was a woman sitting in front of him. He stared at her a long moment, and she back at him. Was that recognition in his eyes? Would he open his mouth and say—
Yes, Celia is my fiancé. We were traveling to visit my family when the carriage came off the road.
At least, she hoped he would say that, for it was a desirable answer. She waited, her heart pounding, and then—
“No, actually,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “I’m having trouble recalling anything before waking up just moments ago.”
He didn’t know her? He didn’t remember anything before waking up here? How could that be? She was sure that her distress was showing through her eyes when he looked back at her.
“Am I supposed to know her?” he asked quietly, as if directly to her. “I assume I am not supposed to know the rest of you.”
Celia’s heart may have sunk, but Irving’s face lit with interest. She might have been dismayed by it if she’d had her senses, but she felt numb.
“Do you mean to say that you have amnesia? The both of you? How bizarre!”
It couldn’t be said that Adam’s face had held much enthusiasm before, but at those words, he appeared to lose all tolerance.
“What did you say your name was again?” he inquired of their host curtly.
“Irving,” the man said quickly, and then dismissed him promptly. “In all seriousness, Baltus, what would you say were the odds that they should both have amnesia?”
“It’s quite a phenomenon indeed,” the bald man commented.
“Pardon me, but it’s not something I find entertaining,” Adam interjected firmly, unafraid to look at either of them.
“No, no; of course not. How rude of me,” Irving excused himself. “It’s just that we were telling Celia that we were certain you’d be able to remind her of who she was. It seems that she, too, hit her head in the accident.”
“What accident?” Adam wanted to know. Celia only watched them as they served conversation to each other.
Irving recounted the event, ending in the fact that it had been Baltus’s returning carriage that had spotted them and brought them here. Celia studied Adam as he was told this, and contrasting to hers, his natural response was not to be grateful.
“Why did you not take us into the nearest town to be cared for properly?”
It was a blunt jab against this household and its hospitality, and no one seemed to know how to respond. There was an uncomfortable silence for several moments, in which Celia was able to take another bite of food before someone finally spoke.
“That’s awfully rude for a man who’s just had his life saved.”
The voice was a surprise when it came up, for it came from the throat of young Maynard, who had not opened his mouth until now. Even though he had spoken, he still did not raise his eyes, and Celia observed the scene as Adam and Irving both turned to him with unappreciative looks.
“The man’s just been through an ordeal,” Irving patronized his brother. “Mind your own tongue.”
Maynard did not look abashed, only sitting ignorantly as if he had said nothing at all. Something about this confrontation disturbed Celia. Were there not more important things to think of? These people had not been forced to bring them back here to their home. She and Adam could have been left in the wilderness to die. She considered bringing this point up to Adam, but he spoke first.
“No, he’s right. I apologize,” Adam said as if he’d been reading her thoughts, barely glancing toward Irving before looking back to her.
Celia’s heart began to hammer once again. If Ada
m felt he could have spoken freely, she wondered what he would have said to her. There was intent in his eyes—or perhaps he simply hoped she had something to say to him. Whatever it was, it was not revealed.
Celia and the gentleman she did not remember spent the rest of the dinner in silence toward each other, but her thoughts were running wild.
Chapter Three
Immediately following the end of the late dinner, Celia was bidden goodnight by the chatty Irving, was ignored by the rest, and was led back upstairs by one of the twin maids, though not so hastily this time. They took a leisurely pace through the house, and there was no harsh grip on her arm as they moved up to the third floor.
Celia wondered how pleasant the dinner had been—with all the silence and tension that had been added to the room—but her stomach was filled nonetheless. She had to be grateful for that.
Without complaint, she was led directly to the room where she had woken up just hours before. The longcase clock that stood against the wall proclaimed that it was just after nine, but she quickly forgot the time when she looked away from it, swelling with the idea that she was a bit wiser. Many things were left in shadows, but she had a general idea of where she was and how she had gotten here.
A coach had wrecked—one headed to an unknown destination—and she had been saved from certain death by the LaCroix family. She had met the members of the household, and they were quite an assortment indeed. She’d even go so far as to say that they were an extremely odd group, but she had to be thankful toward them for treating her so well. However, it was not only for her own sake. They had saved Adam, and though she had exchanged few words with him, he was valuable to her as the only link to her forgotten self. She hoped for the moment she would be able to speak with him privately, but they had been steered away from each other after leaving the dining hall, and she was certain that any chance of talking to him may not occur until the sun had risen.
