The Forgotten Marquess

by Jane Charles

  The question remained, however, if she’d ever recover those memories. As they hadn’t come to her yet, not since her return, a part of her feared that they might not ever. Would she come to love him again, or would trust and a friendship be all that they ever shared?

  The thoughts were too disturbing, and she pulled her hand back and walked to the railing.

  “What is wrong, Elaina?” Tristan asked as he came to her side.

  “What if I never remember our marriage, of being your wife?”

  His smile was gentle and encouraging. “You will.”

  “But, what if I don’t?”

  “Then we will make new memories and I can only pray that you can come to love me as you once did.”

  “If I don’t,” she hesitantly asked. It was a true fear, to be stuck in a marriage with a man she didn’t love. It had been different with Clive. That was born out of not wishing to be alone. Of wanting a place to rest her head and strong arms to hold her. She’d accepted theirs was a friendship of deep caring and some love, but not the kind of love most women aspire to when they wish to marry. Something she must have experienced with Tristan.

  “Then we will determine how we should best go on.” He took her hands again. “But it is too soon to be worrying about any of that now.”

  “I can’t help myself.”

  Instead of being angry or worried, Tristan continued to look on with love. “It is your nature.”

  “What?”

  “You worry. You plan. And even though you’ve always been excited to see what a new day brings, when the unusual or disturbing happens, you worry, think again and try to control the outcome when there is no control.”

  She blinked at him. “Do I really?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you in Alderney?”

  Yes, she had. She’d worried that she had a husband. She worried that she’d be committing bigamy, which she nearly had. She worried that she’d sin. She worried that caring for Clive was wrong, and she’d assumed what advise Pastor Morgan would provide, when it had been the opposite. She’d fought every suggestion because she had no clear idea of what was to come, or what mistakes she might make because she didn’t possess full knowledge. It had frustrated her friends and it had certainly frustrated Clive. “Yes,” she finally answered without going into specifics. Elaina had already told Tristan too much of her time on the island and even though she couldn’t change a thing or take it back, it also bothered him that Elaina had nearly married another man.

  “Tell me more about your life in Alderney. You were a companion, correct.”

  She laughed. “I wasn’t much of one, but when it became obvious that I had no household skills, Rebecca, that is Mrs. Pettigrew, didn’t know what else to do with me and kept me on as her companion.

  “And, what did you do as a companion?”

  “Kept her company,” Elaina shrugged. “Attended to her household accounts because she didn’t enjoy doing so and helped supervise the servants.” Elaina shook her head. “It’s strange. I may not have known who I was, but I knew how to run a household. I even offered to take over as her head housekeeper when her other one retired, as I did know how to direct servants, but Rebecca would have none of it.”

  “You’ve been directing servants a good portion of your life. First here, before we married, and then at our home. It was a natural role for you.”

  “Far more natural than cooking or cleaning,” she laughed. “My bread was either burnt or didn’t rise correctly, and the soup either too salty or tasteless, and the reason Cook banned me from the kitchen.”

  “You were raised a lady so it is not something that would have been taught.”

  “I know that now, but I didn’t then. And though often frustrating, it was interesting some of the conclusions that others drew as to what my life had been, though most settled upon being a lady, or at least a woman of privilege, since my skills were limited to painting, stitching, reading and music.”

  “Not gardening?” he asked quietly.

  Had she gardened before? “Yes, I did tend to Rebecca’s garden. I knew instinctively what was a weed and flower and how to tend the kitchen garden beds, when the herbs should be cut to be dried...I suppose I did have one useful skill, but why hadn’t anyone considered that I’d been a gardener.”

  “Because gardeners are usually men,” Tristan advised with a laugh.

  Yes, they were. “It shouldn’t be that way. Women are perfectly capable of taking care of flowers, herbs and vegetables,” she defended.

  “You have no argument from me,” he assured her.

  “You said we had gardens at home, and I had a hand in their design.”

  Tristan narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

  “What do they look like?”

  Instead of answering, he tilted his head and gave a warning smile. “You know I cannot tell you that.”

  “Why. Is it because if I learn that I preferred daffodils over delphiniums my entire world will come crashing down around me?”

  He laughed. “I believe you like all flowers equally, but that is all I’m going to tell you.”

  “Oh, you are so frustrating,” she blew out.

  His grin turned to wicked with a playfulness in his eyes. “That is certainly not the first time that you’ve accused me of such.” He bent forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. “And I cannot wait for you to do so more often.”

  Warmth spread through her being, to her core, and Elaina wasn’t certain it if was from his touch, the kiss on her cheek or the seductive whisper in her ear. How had he frustrated her before and why did she have the feeling it was something she enjoyed and hated at the same time?

  Chapter 16

  Tristan could share the entire afternoon and evening with Elaina, just as they were, coming to know each other again, and Elaina coming to know herself.

  He longed to kiss her as he’d done so many times before she’d sailed to France but knew that she’d not welcome his attention.

  Further, his fear was as real as hers, that she might not remember him, and worse, might not ever love him again. Tristan wasn’t certain what he’d do if that turned out to be the case.

  He tried to exude confidence, that all would return to her, if only to give her that certainty and comfort, even though the longer they were together without her remembering anything about their life, the more he was losing faith in her doing so.

  “There is a chance that you’ll remember nothing until I take you to our home,” he reminded her, and himself. “Then it will likely come back to you as it did here.”

  “I can only hope you are correct.”

  “If you are so concerned, we can depart tomorrow. Perhaps it will put you at ease.”

  And for the first time, Tristan saw fear, near panic in her eyes.

  “What is wrong Elaina?

  “I’m not ready.” She pulled away from the railing and descended the few stairs. “I need to return to the house. We’ve been out here too long.”

  Out here too long? There was nowhere they needed to be, and they could spend as much time as they wished anywhere on the estate. However, before he could question her, Elaina had hurried ahead, as if she couldn’t wait to be away from him and the devil was licking at her heels.

  Instead of following, Tristan held back. Why was she so afraid to return to Hopkins Manor? She’d loved their home and had gone to great lengths to make it theirs, so why didn’t she wish to return?

  As he didn’t have the answers, and likely neither did Elaina, he settled onto the settee and glanced around and shook his head. She loved this folly more than she’d let on. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have designed a near replica at their home, though on a smaller scale. As they lived along the coast and there was no lake on the estate, she’d had trees and bushes planted to hide the folly, and a garden maze led directly to it.

  It had been completed before the garden had begun to take shape and the two of them would sneak out and spend the afternoon, usually listening to the
waves, enjoying the breeze of the ocean as they were intimate. Tristan had taken Elaina to the heights of passion inside that folly almost as much as it had happened in their bedchamber. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her, nor she him, and he’d become especially insatiable while she carried their children.

  What he wouldn’t do to have her with him again. Arms and legs wrapped round him, as he was buried deep inside the woman he loved. A woman who no longer even remembered him.

  As her husband, Tristan had the right to demand what he wished, but what gentlemen wanted to go to his wife’s bed when she did not desire the same. He may long for her with a fierceness that he’d not experienced since before she left, but he would deny the passion for his wife until the time when Elaina finally remembered him and welcomed her into their bed. And, if she never remembered him, Tristan could only hope that she’d fall in love with him again, thus their marriage could return to what it had once been.

  Why was the very idea of returning home so very frightening? Elaina should be comforted that she’d been happy there. That she and Tristan had been happy. And even though she didn’t have the proof, or memory, Elaina knew in her heart that she could trust him. So, why didn’t she want him to take her home?

  Was it because she was afraid of remembering?

  No, that couldn’t be it. All she’d wanted these past three years was to remember, so it must be something else, but what?

  Was there something she didn’t wish to recall? Something so horrible that they feared telling her?”

  There was something very important being kept from her. Though there was no proof, her stomach warned otherwise. What were her brothers and Tristan so afraid of her finding out? What awaited at Hopkins Manor that was so frightening? What was she hiding from? Why was she too afraid to go home?

  She closed the door to her chamber and wandered into the small sitting room, frustrated and anxious, but uncertain what to do with herself. On the small table sat a novel she’d attempted to read the other evening, but Elaina wasn’t so much in need of trying to occupy her mind that she’d try to read the dreadful story.

  Besides, she needed to remember, not escape into fiction.

  As she paced, the silence plagued her, bringing about pain in her head, as if she were trying too hard. It was something Xavier had warned, that she could suffer if she pushed too heard. But if she didn’t push, how would she ever recall anything.”

  With a sigh, she sank down on the settee and glanced around.

  She’d spent many hours in here, alone, and had been quite content, if not happy.

  She’d not only read, but she’d written.

  Elaina frowned.

  She wasn’t an author, but she clearly recalled pen and parchment…books…journals!

  Why hadn’t she remembered before now?

  It was an odd question since she knew better, or perhaps it was simply rhetorical, especially since some memories were clear and others illusive, fragmented and still returning to her, but Elaina now remembered how to find out information without Xavier even knowing.

  Her journals.

  Elaina had written daily from the age of thirteen until…Blast! She didn’t know when she had stopped because her memories ended as well, but she must have continued the practice until she married at least.

  They’d started as a way of talking to her mother. Writing the things that she wished she could ask, or the things she would normally have shared with her mother. At least she had for a time, but what if she’d stopped. Elaina couldn’t remember anything past the first month following her mother’s death. Four years were missing, but she did recall writing in the journals again, in this very room, and in London, until the memories faded again. Certainly, she had recorded her life within the pages for the years that had not yet returned to her and they were the keys to at least some of those missing years. She just might get some of the answers she’d been denied.

  At that, she jumped up. She’d written journals and knew exactly where she’d hidden them.

  First Elaina locked the doors, one to the bedchamber and the other to the small sitting room, as both opened out into the corridor. She then moved the chaise beside the window, as well as the rug and lifted the door to the priest’s hole. She’d discovered it quite by accident when she was only twelve. In a fit of wanting her set of rooms arranged how she preferred them, and not her mother or a servant, Elaina had set about moving furniture and found the hiding place. It was dusty and had more than a few cobwebs, but to Elaina, it was amazing. From that day forward, only furniture that she could easily move was placed on top of the rug that covered the door, and all her worldly secret treasures were hidden within.

  Not that she had anything worldly, or treasures for that matter, but it gave her a place to store her journals and anything else she wanted to hide from her nosey brothers.

  With a giddiness that she hadn’t experienced in some time, Elaina opened the door and peered within, afraid that her writings had been discovered. However, they hadn’t been and as with the first time when she’d opened the door, cobwebs filled the space and dust covered the leather-bound books. Quickly she removed them and checked the dates, then placed them in reading order, oldest on the top and newest on the bottom. Taking the oldest one first, she dusted it off and returned the others to be read later, then settled onto her settee.

  She must have been there for hours because when the knock came to her door, Elaina was startled and noted that it had grown nearly dark outside. At one point she had lit more lamps but vaguely recalled doing so.

  After stashing the journal in her small desk, Elaina went to the door to find her maid waiting with a most curious look.

  “It’s not like you to lock your door, Lady Hopkins. Is all well?”

  “Yes,” she assured her maid.

  “Dinner is soon, and I’ve come to help you prepare.”

  Except, Elaina didn’t want to go to dinner and almost asked that a tray to be delivered but reconsidered. Xavier was no doubt anxious to know if she’d recalled anything further or if Tristan had told her too much. If she remained in her chamber, he would come here and demand answers and make certain that she’d not succumbed to some form of hysteria.

  “I’d completely lost track of time.”

  “Doing what, Lady Hopkins?”

  Elaina glanced about the room because she certainly couldn’t tell her maid the truth. She’d go straight to Xavier. Elaina had learned early on that the maid reported everything to her brother. This was only because he had knowledge of something only mentioned to the maid, such as her observation that Elaina believed red was a fine color for roses but she didn’t wish to wear it or have it anywhere in the house. It had been a strange thought and she had asked her maid if she’d always disliked red. She did not know because she’d not been employed when Elaina grew up in this manor. However, at dinner, Xavier confirmed that Elaina had never much cared for the color of red.

  If she couldn’t trust the maid with something so simple as a color choice, she certainly couldn’t tell her about the journals or Xavier would confiscate them before supper had concluded.

  “Lady Hopkins?” the maid asked again.

  Then Elaina spied the book and gestured to the desk. “Reading.” She’d started it a few days back, but it hadn’t held her interest. It wasn’t a lie either. She had been reading, except the book that held her attention was within the desk and not on top of it.

  “Well, we must hurry. You don’t wish to keep your family waiting.”

  “Of course not,” Elaina smiled, though she really wished they’d go on without her so she could continue reading about herself. Unfortunately, no memories were triggered, and it was almost like reading someone else’s private writings, but at least Elaina was coming to know the girl she had been. The lonely, heartbroken and mourning child after her parents had died. All of them had suffered but dealt with it in their own way. Except, Lucian had been sent back to school and her younger brothers were kep
t occupied by their tutors. Elaina’s governess tried to continue as before, but Elaina was having difficulty and that was when their guardian, the Duke of Tilson, had decided to send her to her grandparents in France, despite the war between the two countries. Despite the fact, or because of it, he wasn’t willing to bring another child into his home when he already had seven of his own and he thought it best if Elaina be raised by a relative.

  Elaina hadn’t wanted to go. She wanted to be near her brothers. She’d already lost her parents and it was cruel to send her to another country to live with strangers. However, Nana and Grandpapa hadn’t remained strangers long and had welcomed Elaina with a love she’d not experienced outside of her own mother. It was there that Elaina began to heal from her loss.

  In the time that she was away, Elaina had exchanged letters with her brothers, but she’d missed them terribly. Even their teasing manners because sometimes it was lonely being the only child in a house with aging grandparents. Except, Elaina had made friends in Dinan, France. One girl named Monique and a boy named Pierre. Monique was her age and Pierre was two years older.

  At one point, when Elaina was all of sixteen, she was certain she was in love with Pierre. He was so handsome and kind. And, he was her first kiss. Pierre had stolen it behind the stables.

  That was all the farther Elaina had gotten in her reading before the maid knocked on the door. She was nearly done with that journal. Supper couldn’t end quickly enough because Elaina had to return to her chamber to read the rest and learn what became of Pierre and why he hadn’t turned out to be her husband.

  “There you go, Lady Hopkins,” her maid announced, and Elaina blinked in the mirror. She’d been so lost in what she’d learned from the first two journals that she’d not even noticed that her clothing had been changed and hair arranged.

  “Is something wrong?” her maid asked.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Because ever since we’ve come in here, it’s as if your mind is somewhere else.”