by Anne Herries
‘You intended to return in good time,’ Charlotte replied, smiling up at him. ‘I am so happy to see you safely returned, Jack. I suppose you cannot tell me why someone shot you— Was it because of me? Because of that quarrel in town?’
‘You mean when I accused Harding of cheating at cards?’ Jack frowned, for all he knew of the affair was what Jeb Scott could tell him. ‘Why should it have concerned you?’
‘Because he threatened me and you were determined to punish him...to make certain that I was safe.’ Her eyes clouded as she realised that he knew nothing of what she would tell him. ‘I fear your trouble is my fault, sir.’
‘Why? I beg you will tell me, because I have no idea. I am sorry, Charlotte. I know it must pain you, but I can remember nothing of our meeting or anything that happened.’
‘Nothing at all?’ Her eyes lowered and he saw a single tear slide down her cheek. ‘I fear you will hate me if I tell you it all.’
Jack reached out and caught her hand, leading her to the open window. ‘Come, the day is warm, let us walk in the garden. You may find it easier to tell me away from the house...somewhere we shall not be overheard.’
‘There is a little summerhouse. Grandfather Ellington says you often went there with your grandmother when she was alive.’
‘Show me the way,’ Jack suggested and smiled down at her. She was lovely to look at and he thought her honest and charming, yet he sensed unease in her and knew that what she had to tell him would be revealing and perhaps distress her, too. ‘My promise is made to you, Charlotte. I shall not withdraw. I do not wish to—but there must be no secrets between us.’
‘There were none on my side.’ Her wide eyes looked up at him then. ‘You asked me to marry you because Grandfather needs an heir,’ she said softly. ‘I promised I would be a good wife and give you children and you said you would make me happy—but you never said you loved me, though I believe you felt some warmth towards me.’
‘Did I not speak of love?’ Jack frowned over the information. ‘I think I must be hard to please if my heart was not your own, Charlotte.’
‘Matt—my brother, for whom you purchased colours—calls me Charlie and you do it sometimes.’
‘Charlie?’ He nodded and saw the dimple at the corner of her mouth. ‘Yes, I see why. Please continue, Charlotte. Tell me, if you will, how we met.’
‘I was dressed as a youth in some of Matt’s outgrown clothes and I was escaping from two men who were pursuing me. One of them was Mr Patterson and he is a friend of Lord Harding—’
‘Good grief!’ Jack was astonished and laughed out loud. ‘What on earth were you doing dressed like that? Was it for a masquerade?’
‘No, it was very early in the morning and in London. I...’ She swallowed hard and he saw real fear in her eyes.
‘Please do not be afraid of me, Charlie. Whatever it is cannot be so bad—or why would I have asked you to marry me?’
‘At the time you were inclined to think it amusing and yet you were cross with me, too, for risking my reputation and more. If those men had caught me, I should have been ruined.’
‘It was a foolish masquerade. But there was more?’
Charlotte dutifully told him the whole of what had happened. When she had finished, she lifted her head, half-defiant, half-ashamed. ‘If you no longer wish to marry me, I understand.’
‘I knew this in London—before I asked you to marry me?’
‘Yes, of course. You guessed it from the start—but you made me confess it to you and scolded me. You said that if I ever stole from a friend of yours, you would beat me.’
‘Did I indeed? How very unchivalrous of me,’ Jack said, but his mouth quivered. ‘I seem to have been harsh to you. I wonder that you accepted my offer.’
‘Oh, no, you were never harsh. I assure you that Matt was furious with me—and if Mama ever knew she would disown me.’
‘Then we must make certain she never discovers your little secret.’
‘I was afraid that Lord Harding intended to inform your grandfather. He threatened me with exposure if I did not pay him the four thousand pounds Matt owed him.’
‘You will not do so,’ Jack said sternly. ‘Not one penny. As far as you are concerned, none of it ever happened. I shall deal with Harding. I have a personal score to settle with him.’
‘Do you think it was his men who tried to kill you?’ Charlotte looked pale and shaken.
‘I am certain of it,’ he told her. ‘However, it has little to do with you, Charlotte. Harding’s hatred of me and my family goes back much further.’
‘Oh...I had thought it all my fault that you were hurt.’
‘No, certainly not,’ he replied and led her to the seat in the white marble folly. The small summerhouse was in the midst of a riot of climbing roses and beds of sweet-scented flowers, the heady mix filling the air with a soft perfume. ‘You are not to blame. What you did was foolish, but far from being a crime. You recovered a worthless necklace but Harding could never prove it was you that took it. He is a cruel, vindictive man and I shall settle with him in good time.’
‘You must be careful. If he tried to have you murdered once, he will do so again.’
‘I was not expecting him to strike against me. He was, I believed, ill and close to death, but clearly that was not the case. His seizure could not have been as severe as I was led to believe at the time, for I imagine I thought he would die. I have learned since that he is recovering.’
Charlotte reached out to touch his hand, gazing up at him. ‘It must seem so strange, to know only what people tell you...so many pieces of the puzzle must be lost to you.’
‘Yes...’ Jack felt the nerve jumping in his throat. ‘People are helpful. Grandfather, the servants...and you, Charlotte. Everyone has something to tell me and in time I believe the rest will come back. I must try to live with what I have and be grateful that I am alive.’
‘Amen to that. I am very grateful for I could not have borne it had you died,’ she said simply and looked as if she meant it. Jack felt something stir inside him. This girl was like an open book to him, the pages his for the turning; he could see her feelings in her eyes, sense her hurt and her hope. He did not believe he flattered himself by thinking that she loved him...was deeply in love with him.
Jack was not certain what kind of a man he had been, but he knew that something in this girl’s eyes touched his heart. He felt warmth spreading through him, pushing back the mist and the loneliness that had pervaded him when he first realised that his memories were lost. He’d had no name, no home, but now he had both—and, he believed, there was love for the taking. His heart was responding to her and instinctively he reached for her and drew her into his arms. His kiss was soft, enquiring, and he felt the instant response even though she drew back after a few moments and looked at him uncertainly.
‘You must never be afraid of me, Charlie,’ he said softly. ‘I promise I shall not hurt you...at least not intentionally.’
She nodded and smiled, but he knew she was trying to hold back. He believed that she cared for him, but she was afraid to show it— Why? What had he done or said to make her unsure of him?
Jack trailed a finger down her cheek. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘That I am very fortunate,’ she replied, ‘if you still wish to marry me?’
‘Forget that foolish escapade. We shall never speak of it again,’ he said. ‘I see that you do not quite trust me, Charlotte. Perhaps that is not surprising since I must seem different. You see, I do not know myself as yet. I can only know how I feel at this moment—and I want to make you happy, my love. I think we should marry soon. I must deal with this other business first, but after that...’ He took her hand and carried it to his lips, kissing the tips one by one. ‘I shall court you, Charlotte, teach you to trust me and to love me.’
Her eyes seemed deeper than the ocean as she gazed up at him and he wanted to drown himself in their cool depths, to forget this business of Harding—but knew he could not. His father’s death must be avenged.
‘I do not think it would be hard to love you, Jack—but first you must know yourself and be sure that you love me.’
Chapter Twelve
Alone in her room as she changed for tea that afternoon, Charlotte thought of her walk with Jack and the interlude in the summerhouse when he’d kissed her. His kisses had been light as a butterfly’s touch, without passion or demand, teasing, encouraging a response from her, which she had not been slow to give. It seemed that her determination to keep a little aloof from him had gone flying the moment his lips touched hers.
In London he’d seemed so much at home, a man of fashion and of the world, an invisible barrier keeping her and the world at bay. He’d offered her everything but love...but this new Jack was different. There was a look of steel in his eyes when he spoke of his enemy, but otherwise he seemed softer, more ready to love and to be loved. She was not certain what to make of it, though she knew that when she was in his arms she longed for more. She’d wished that they could have gone somewhere even more secluded than the shaded summerhouse...a room where they could close the curtains and lock the door and she could melt into the warmth of his embrace...and that was a scandalous thought for a young unmarried girl.
Charlotte had been determined to keep something of herself back, but when he’d caressed her cheek and kissed her, asking her to trust him, she’d wanted to give all that was her—her very soul. She’d wanted to, but something held her back. Once he recovered his memory, would he remember that he had a mistress in London and that marriage to Charlotte had been merely a means of giving the marquis the heir he craved? That he had not been in love with her, but merely considered her a suitable wife? Would he become the charming but slightly distant man she’d known in London? She was not sure how she would feel if he shut her out after this time of sweet togetherness.
Charlotte had been prepared to accept what he gave, for she knew the alternative was to marry where she could not love. But if she believed in this new Jack, gave her heart to him completely, only to have this new warm and loving man snatched from her, how could she bear it?
And if he never recovered his memory, would she ever be certain that he was wholly hers? Would he be the man she had fallen so desperately in love with? Perversely, she wanted the man she’d known, but she wanted him to look at her in the way the new Jack looked at her. A smile of derision touched her mouth, for she knew she asked too much.
She’d told him the truth about how they had come to meet, even though she had feared he might turn from her in disgust, but he’d laughed at her fears—and she’d seen the man she’d fallen in love with. Jack was in all essentials but one the man she’d known in London—yet there was something different and she did not know what it was.
Charlotte almost thought that this Jack might truly be in love with her. Something in his smile, in the caress of his voice, made her feel he was genuinely attached to her and yet it was difficult to give everything without fear of hurt. Jack had given her all the material things that she could ever desire—but there was one thing she feared might elude her, one thing she craved. She wanted his heart, the very essence of him, to know that he was truly hers, as she was his. But perhaps it was never possible to have complete love.
She’d given her word that she would never cling or demand that he dance attendance on her and she was too proud to break it, so although she responded to his kisses, she did not initiate them.
* * *
Lady Daisy wept when she first saw her son and threw herself into his arms, begging him to tell her that he still knew and loved her, but was gently put away.
‘Dearest Mama, of course I love you,’ he replied in a gentle, yet repressive tone. ‘I simply cannot recall it for the moment. I beg you to accept my apologies and to forgive me if I cannot share your memories of my childhood—but I know I am your son and shall not forget my duty to you, or my affection. I am always at your service.’
She mopped at her eyes, stared at him as if he were a stranger and retired to her seat to sniff into her handkerchief, sending the occasional resentful look at Charlotte. Feeling uncomfortable but not knowing what to say, Charlotte contrived to keep a smile in place. She knew that in some odd way Jack’s mother blamed her for his manner, which she later told her was so unlike him for he was the most considerate of sons.
Charlotte wondered what she considered inconsiderate in his behaviour towards her, for surely he could not be blamed for losing his memory.
Perhaps it was her ladyship’s habit to blame others when she was distressed over some imagined slight? It was no wonder that Jack did not care for clinging ladies.
* * *
Jack had chosen to sit by the window with Charlotte that afternoon some days after his return and was engaged in flirting with her and making her laugh. He had spent the past few days between meetings with his grandfather’s agents, the tenants, various neighbours and the library, where he had been renewing his love affair with the volumes of poetry on the shelves.
‘I had no idea there was such a wealth of treasure on Grandfather’s shelves,’ he told Charlotte. ‘I believe it must be your influence, my love, for I am told I hardly touched them before this.’
‘You mock me,’ she retorted giving him a wicked look. ‘I swear you must have known of Byron and of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Keats, Shelley and Wordsworth, to say nothing of Captain Lovelace’s wonderful verses...’
‘Byron must be known to everyone, for fashion decrees it,’ Jack declared, his eyes bright with mischief. ‘Though I do not think I was an admirer of his until you made me see the glory of his scenes of valour and grandeur.’
‘Nor are you greatly now,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘Do not think you deceive me, sir. You will gain nothing by this mockery, for I am devoted to his verses and shall not be swayed however much you jest.’
‘Then walk with me, Charlie—or shall we ride? I could take you for a drive...we could visit some friends that have come down this week from town.’
‘Friends of yours?’
‘Yes, Phipps has come down to stay with his cousins for a couple of weeks. In his letter informing me of his arrival, he seemed a little put out that I had not contacted him.’ Jack frowned and Charlotte’s hand reached towards his, touching it briefly.
‘You were the best of friends,’ she said. ‘You told me how much you cared for those friends that were in the army with you. Do not doubt yourself, Jack. I am sure the feeling of brotherhood will come back when you are with them again.’
‘Are you?’ he said and the laughter was gone. For a moment she saw such a bleak look in his eyes that her heart sank. With her, Jack was almost his old self, though he was warmer, more eager to please than she recalled. He seemed at ease with his grandfather, but with his mother he was not sure how to behave. Her parents, of course, saw little difference for they did not know him, but Charlotte sensed that he was uneasy with himself at times. It was as if he was searching for what the old Jack would have done or said, rather than relying on instinct. She knew that certain things came into his mind, prompted by a word or a scene, or even a line of poetry, but for the most part his past was still lost to him.
‘Will you wait while I go up and put on my bonnet and shawl?’
‘Of course,’ he said and leaped to his feet. ‘I will have my phaeton made ready. It is time I taught you to drive it, though perhaps my team is too strong for you?’
‘Indeed, I do not think so if I do as you bid me,’ she retorted. ‘I may be small, but I am strong enough.’
‘Horses respect command,’ Jack replied. ‘It is not a matter of strength if you treat them properly and teach them to respect you—as you must respect
them.’
Charlotte nodded, smiling as she sped away to put on her bonnet and place a shawl about her shoulders. She was dressed in a walking gown of green silk, but did not stay to put on a more formal carriage gown. Surely in the country one did not need to be a model of fashion when out for a visit to one’s friends?
She had noticed that Jack’s knowledge of horses was instinctive; driving was not one of the things he’d had to relearn. It was putting names to faces that he found difficult, but his opinions on literature and music had all been there in his mind, waiting to spill out when he was animated. Often now he spoke of things with confidence; she’d even heard him say that he’d been happier in the army than ever before in his life, but when questioned could not explain such a remark. He only knew that it had been a good time for him, though he could not tell her why.
It was as if all the knowledge of his life was there, all the facets of his character had remained, but the structure of his days was missing. He did not know who he was in the habit of playing cards with, though the servants who knew him had supplied the names of many friends. Yet still he was unable to put faces to the names and, though he had begun to recognise neighbours and to greet them as if he’d known them all his life, Charlotte sensed he was still uneasy. His baggage and horses had been sent for from the inn in the north, where, in his ignorance, he’d been forced to leave them; the groom had been dispatched to bring his possessions back with all speed and instructed to pay whatever was owed.
Jack smiled at her approvingly as she joined him in the hall a few minutes later. ‘I swear you are a refreshing change, Charlie. Most ladies I’ve known keep one waiting an age.’
She looked at him enquiringly but made no comment. It was the kind of remark Jack made without knowing where it came from, so she merely smiled.
‘Papa says that Mama is always late when he is ready to set out on a journey, and that half the time is spent repacking because she fears something has been forgotten. He finds it annoying.’
