by Lucy Adams
“Enough,” Marcus said aloud, the sound ringing around him as he forced his thoughts to quieten. There was no need for him to consider all such questions, not when he was not even well recovered! The most important thing he had to do before anything else was to write to the League, to let them know what had happened and to mention the loss of Mr. Breton. He would have to mention the absence of his tiger, still confused and a little afraid as to what had become of one of his most loyal servants. And thereafter, he would have to consider his investigations and, mayhap, from where he was now situated, look a little more into such matters in the hope that he might, finally, be able to come up with the answers he required.
Chapter Five
For whatever reason, Augusta found herself to be in better spirits over the next week. Her father was not in any particularly high spirits, for he remained melancholy and quite lackluster with each day that passed—which Augusta had become quite used to—and Mr. Stayton was doing nothing but attempting to recover, given his injuries. It seemed that his leg had been badly bitten, in more than one place, which forced him to remain abed and with his leg stretched out in front of him, atop some pillows. Augusta had heard that he was required to have his bandages changed every few hours and that it did place him in quite a good deal of pain to have it done, but she could find no guilt nor sympathy for him and had, in fact, even found an extra pork chop to give to Rufus.
However, it was not this alone that had brightened Augusta’s spirits. Instead, it came from the fact that she no longer felt alone in her father’s estate as she had before. There was now Lord Farrell to speak to, and she found herself spending a good deal of time in his company. His rooms had been turned into private living quarters, so that his bedchamber was kept for him alone with the adjoining room a place where he might sit, read or do whatever he wished. There was a sense of propriety when they conversed there, as though it was quite the thing to be sitting in a gentleman’s private rooms and talking about all manner of things—as much as he could remember. There was always a footman or maid with them but Augusta did not think that her father would even bat an eyelid should he discover her in such a situation, given his current mood.
Smiling to herself, Augusta found her feet, once more, turning towards Lord Farrell’s rooms. Her father had gone out for a short walk about the grounds—which, given that it was a fine day, might lift his spirits somewhat. Her cousin was still within his rooms which meant that Augusta was quite alone. Save for Lord Farrell, of course.
She rapped tentatively on the door, only to hear him call for her to enter. His voice sounded encouraging and welcoming and she could not help but smile as she stepped inside, seeing him putting a book down on his lap as she came in.
“Please, do not get up,” she said at once, seeing him putting his arms on the chair in an attempt to rise. “I know you still struggle with a little stiffness and pain.”
He grimaced. “It is just as well that my head is well recovered,” he said, running one hand through his hair as though he was ensuring that it was not as painful now as it had been, “else I fear I might never have risen from my bed.”
She smiled and tugged at the bell pull, knowing that the maid would be with them in a moment. “Should you like something to drink? Or to eat?” Sitting down in her usual chair near to the fireplace—which only had a small fire burning within it given the warmth of the summer’s day—she lifted one eyebrow in Lord Farrell’s direction, only for him to chuckle and beam a bright smile towards her.
“I am surprised that you have had to ask me,” he answered, chuckling. “Yes, I should like some fresh coffee very much indeed.” The warmth in his eyes made her blush, realizing just how much she had come to know him this last sennight. Every time they sat to converse or simply to enjoy each other’s company, she always asked if he would like to eat or drink something and he had always expressed a delight and a love of fresh coffee. She, of course, had tea and always sampled whatever it was the cook had created for them by way of delicious delicacies.
“Next time, I shall not ask you at all,” she answered, with a teasing lilt to her voice. “It is good that you have remembered just how much you like coffee, Lord Farrell.” Her smile dimmed as the light from his eyes faded almost at once. “Forgive me,” she said quickly, heat rising up within her chest almost at once, feeling as though hot coals of shame were being piled on her head. “I did not mean to remind you of your troubles.”
Lord Farrell’s smile was tight but not unkind. “You did not,” he told her, with such a sense of truthfulness in his voice that she could not help but trust him. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Augusta.” Her smile began to grow again and his eyes warmed all over again. “You can take my word that I speak the truth.”
“I will,” she answered, praying that the heat would soon leave her hot cheeks. “Now, Lord Farrell, can you tell me if you have remembered anything about yourself?” She sat quietly, her hands held gracefully together in her lap but Lord Farrell merely did as he always did. He sighed and shook his head, misery etched into his expression but Augusta steeled herself against it. He would not always be this way, she told herself, forcing herself to believe it. One day, she would ask him and he would state aloud that yes, he did recall something of himself after all. It would merely take a little more time.
“It will come back to you, I am sure,” she said, confidently, when he did not answer. “I have a good deal of confidence that it will be so.”
“I must hope that you are correct,” he told her, with a small, sad smile. “Truly, Lady Augusta, you are my only comfort at present.”
Again, the look in his eyes had her flushing, feeling rather awkward that he had spoken such a kind compliment but at the same time, finding herself more than a little delighted. When the maid brought in the tray, they enjoyed conversation for a good hour or so, on a number of topics.
“I find it very unusual that you can recall our current political situation, but cannot remember your own name,” she told him, tilting her head to observe him a little better. “Nor anything else about yourself, it seems.”
Lord Farrell blew out an exasperated breath. “It is very trying indeed, I must admit,” he told her, shaking his head. “I can remember that we have a Prince Regent, that the King is unwell and that there has been some difficulty in getting various pieces of legislation through our parliament, but I could not tell you where my estate—should I have one—might be nor whether or not I have any family to speak of.” His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping. “Nor what I was doing here.” Slowly, he looked back at her, a small smile catching one side of his lips. “Although I can inform you that I have been to London,” he continued, his eyes flaring as though he had just recalled such a thing. “It seems as though I can remember certain things about my past and this, in fact, has only come back to me now.”
A surge of hope caught Augusta’s heart. “Then you are improving,” she said, decisively. “Now, what can you recall about London?”
He waved a hand. “Nothing in particular,” he said, with a small sigh. “Just that I was there for the Season. I am sure you know what I refer to.”
A sense of embarrassment began to wrap around Augusta’s shoulders and she looked away. “I—I have not been to London, Lord Farrell.”
“No?” He sounded surprised and Augusta felt her cheeks heat.
“I am surprised,” he continued, when she did not answer him. “A young lady such as yourself? I would have thought London would have been your most earnest desire.”
Her heart twisted painfully. “It might well be, Lord Farrell,” she stated, calmly, “but when one is reliant on one’s parent to make all such arrangements, there is nothing one can do if it is decided they shall not go.” Her lips tore into a sorrowful smile. “I should very much like to attend London for the Season, but my father is not at all eager to do so.”
Lord Farrell said nothing for some moments. Instead, he simply looked at her, his j
aw working but silence surrounding him. Augusta looked into his face without hesitation, seeing the flickering emotions in his eyes and wondering at them. Was it that he felt sorry for her? Was upset on her behalf?
“Then I shall ensure that, as a repayment of your kindness, that you are permitted to attend London for the Season come next year,” he said, suddenly, his words tripping over each other. “You say that I am a titled gentleman of some kind, Lady Augusta.” He lifted his chin, his dark blue eyes holding a promise that she wanted to believe in. “I shall use my title and influence and—hopefully—my wealth to ensure that you have a Season, Lady Augusta. I shall provide housing, a companion or chaperone or whatever it is you require in order to ensure that you have all that you desire.”
His words floated around her for some minutes but Augusta did not push them away. Instead, she let them linger, let them slowly drop into her heart as she considered all that he had said. There was a kindness to his words, a gentleness that had her wanting to believe him, wanting to trust him. It was a foolish thought in some ways, given that he could not recall anything about himself, but still, she had the urge to do so.
“You are a kind soul, I think, Lord Farrell,” she murmured, as his eyes fastened to hers, a quickening within her that she could not fully understand. “A very kind soul indeed.”
He did not smile but his gaze grew in intensity, sending a shiver through her.
“I mean every word, Lady Augusta,” he said, with such a determination in his voice that she wanted to believe him. “When I am recovered and if it proves to be as you have said, then I shall do everything in my power to make certain that you have all that you desire.”
Finding a lump in her throat and a wave of tears rushing into her eyes, Augusta dropped her head and swallowed quickly, reaching for her teacup so that she might take a few reviving sips. It was all too much to believe, she told herself, it was all much too foolish. She could not simply expect such things to happen merely because he had told her it would occur! And yet there was now a spark of hope, the beginnings of belief that it might be as he had said. To go to London, to enjoy a Season, to dance in a gentleman’s arms and to enjoy all that London had to offer—it was almost too wonderful to think of!
“If you are a titled gentleman,” she replied, having managed to regain her composure, “then I look forward to all that you have offered, Lord Farrell.”
His smile was one that lifted her spirits all the more, made her lips curl in response, her tears kept well at bay.
“I look forward to being able to give it all to you,” he told her, reaching forward for his coffee. “For it is less than you deserve for all of your kindness to me.” Something in his expression shifted as he looked at her—as though he were thinking deeply about what had been shared between them, as though he wanted to ask her more. “Tell me, Lady Augusta—and this is only if you wish to share such things with me—are you less than content here in your present circumstances?”
Her happiness and hopefulness evaporated in a moment and she looked away. She had never once spoken to anyone of how she truly felt living in such a grand house with only her father for company.
“I do not mean to pry,” Lord Farrell continued, gently, “but it is only that the staff have, on occasion, mentioned between themselves that the master of the house is not in particularly good spirits.” His quiet manner had her dragging her gaze back to him, her face warm but her heart beating painfully. “I did wonder if you had a particularly trying situation here, Lady Augusta, that is all.” He spread his hands, his coffee now back in front of him. “It must be difficult with no-one to talk to about your circumstances.”
“Yes, it is very difficult.” Augusta had not meant to say anything with such firmness or dedication but had rather intended to speak with careful consideration, not giving too much of herself away. And yet, from nowhere, she had told him the truth without having meant to do so.
Lord Farrell’s eyes lit with sympathy. “You are your father’s only companion and support?”
“I am.” She had begun to speak the truth and had no reason to keep the rest hidden from him now. It stung, speaking with such calm honesty as she was doing at present, but there was also a balm being rubbed into her open wounds as she did so. It was both agony and healing in equal measure. “He has often very sorrowful moods which no-one can seem to pull him from.” She shrugged just as a heavy sigh tore from her lips. “There is nothing I can do but be present for him when he requires me, try to encourage him when there is opportunity and manage the house and staff with as much skill as I can, for he is unable to do so.” Dropping her head, she gave it a small shake, despondency within her. “It can often be a very lonely existence.”
There had never been any intention on Augusta’s part to speak with such frankness but there was something about the friendship that had begun to be built with Lord Farrell that had left her feeling comfortable enough to do so. As she watched him, she felt deep within her heart as though he understood precisely all that she felt, all that she struggled with. There was a growing sense of camaraderie between them and Augusta accepted it eagerly, having had nothing of the sort in her life before.
“Thank you for your honest words, Lady Augusta,” Lord Farrell said, quietly. “I am sorry for what you endure alone.” His smile lifted but his eyes remained sorrowful. “I must hope that, when I recover, I will be able to do something to help you in this.”
“I think you have offered enough already, Lord Farrell,” she told him, with a quiet laugh. “A Season in London is all I have ever wished for and to believe now that it might be possible is something that I have never been able to hope for before.” Her eyes softened and she leaned forward in her chair, wanting him to see the earnest truth in her eyes. “I thank you, Lord Farrell. Even without the knowledge of your name, your title, your family and your friends, your kind and selfless character is making itself known.”
Lord Farrell dropped his eyes as though he were embarrassed, before looking back up at her slowly, his expression tight. “You think much too well of me, Lady Augusta,” he told her, firmly. “You are much too kind.”
“Not at all,” she replied, reaching for the teapot and pouring herself a little more tea. “Now, I must finish this and then ensure that all is prepared for dinner this evening.” She glanced back at him and saw a far-off look in his eyes, as though he were in the depths of thought and lost to the world. “I have enjoyed our conversation this afternoon, Lord Farrell.”
Giving a slight start, Lord Farrell shifted in his chair but when he smiled at her, it did not quite reach his eyes.
“As have I, Lady Augusta,” he replied, making her smile grow all the more. “As have I.”
Chapter Six
Augusta sighed wearily as she sat down with her needlework, finding a sense of solace in the quietness of the afternoon. Most likely, within an hour, she would find the silence oppressive and would struggle to concentrate on what she was doing but, for the present, she was very much enjoying the solitude. She had told her father that she was to go for a ride and had even told the servants to have her horse saddled, only for her to change her mind and decide that she was much too tired to do so.
Her father had been in very dull spirits today, and Augusta was somewhat fatigued in all she could do to encourage him. Whatever he wished for, he received without hesitation, but this morning, he had wanted nothing at all. He had sat in his seat at luncheon, looking over the food with a sorrowful eye as though it were all rotten and entirely distasteful. When she had tried to encourage him, he had stated, in a dark fashion, that he was not at all hungry and that he hoped their cook would improve for this evening’s dinner. Augusta had flushed with embarrassment, catching the look shared between the two footmen waiting on them and making a quiet mental note to go and speak to the cook directly thereafter.
That done, and with a tea tray set out in front of her, Augusta was finally able to push aside her own thoughts about her father and co
ncentrate instead on her needlework, knowing that it would soon become dull and boring but finding it something of a relief at present. Ever since Lord Farrell—or whatever his real title was—had been brought to the house, Augusta had found herself a good deal more caught up with all that was going on. She was still doing her best to care for her father in whatever way she could, and the absence of her cousin from the dining room and their quiet evenings had been something of a relief. She was quite certain that her father had not noticed Stayton’s absence, being as distracted as he was with his own thoughts, whilst she had found her mind returning, over and over, to Lord Farrell. It was not that she was drawn to him, of course, but rather that he presented something of a mystery to her and that, of course, distracted her a great deal. She wanted to help him discover the truth about himself, to know exactly who he was and where he had come from, wanted him to know who had injured him and who had flung him, pushed him or knocked him into that particularly dark pit. It was all very murky but Augusta found herself very eager to help him recover all of his memories. How difficult it must be for him to be surrounded with such confusion and lack of clarity, even though he did not seem to evidence such emotions whenever she spoke to him.
