In truth, he wondered night and day about his family. A hole yawned inside him where he imagined his love for them belonged. Did he have children to go with that saucy wife of his? Were his parents still living? Did they have a place to live, food to eat now that they must surely think him dead? Had he ever before considered the plight of widowed females or orphans in his country?
Ned also thought about the brain. Why did one not remember the most personal details when one had amnesia, but still retain general knowledge, such as how to care for a horse? Would this curse ever lift from him? Was he destined to be known as Robert Robinson for the rest of his days?
At night, lying on his cot in the large shed that he shared with the other of Mr. O’Connor’s grooms, he tried to summon the vision he sometimes still had in his dreams. He knew she was a real person. He knew that he loved her. He knew that if she was not his wife, he wanted her to be. Most of all, he hungered to have her in his arms again. To bury his face in that hair. To plunder kisses from those smiling lips.
But she came to him now less and less. He hoped that did not have some cosmic meaning. If she was truly unwed, had she found someone else?
He formed fists and beat the sides of his head. Why would his memory not return?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IN WHICH OUR HEROINE
LISTENS TO HER FATHER’S ADVICE
“But Papa, I am certain that Beverley is still alive and will recover his memory soon! I have been reading all about memory loss in the medical journals that Aunt Sukey has looked out for me.”
They were standing in the navy blue room for gentleman callers in Caro’s Aunt Sukey’s London residence.
“My sister is an absolute menace,” her father said. “You have been in London a month, and as far as I can tell, you have refused all invitations to balls, picnics, and the like. You stay in this place with that deuced tortoise day and night, humoring Sukey by cataloguing her beetle collection! You must think of your future!”
Caro’s brow wrinkled. “Are you ill, Papa? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“I am fit, but who knows how much longer that will be the case? I worry about you, child. When I stick my spoon in the wall, you will have no home and no income. I wish I could be sanguine about Beverley’s return, but I am afraid I just do not have that luxury. You must be provided for.”
Looking at her life from Papa’s point of view was something Caro had not done before. It was a grim prospect, she now saw. She could not bear for him to worry about her. Of course, he could not share her hopes about Ned. They were not rational. She knew that. But she was far from ready to give them up. She was not prepared to have her carefully constructed world collapse. She could not admit that the dreams she had at night of being safe in Ned’s arms were nothing more than wishful thinking.
“I would not have you worry, Papa. Tell me what you would have me do.”
“If you really have no further taste for society, I feel, as does Jack, by the way . . .”
“You have discussed me with Jack?” She knew a spurt of anger.
“I wanted to know what his idea was about the probabilities of Beverley’s return.”
“He has given up?”
“His heart and his mind are in conflict about the matter. And as fond as he is of you, he longs to see you safely settled. I think he is rather afraid that you are fading into a pale similitude of your aunt. Beetles and tortoises do not require your talents, Caro. You love children. You love people. Heaven only knows what my sister loves.” From his seat on the blue sofa, he looked at Henry Five, Aunt Sukey’s tortoise, with disdain. “I believe you should seriously consider Lord William’s offer.”
Caro’s heart accelerated and her hands grew damp with panic. “But marriage, Papa. Marriage is so final. If Ned should come back, what would I do?”
His face was serious as he looked into hers. “Write to Lord William. Be open about your feelings. You may ask for a long engagement, if you wish.”
“But that is hardly fair to him!”
“His feelings for you go very deep, Caro. In fact, I wish you could love him. I would die a happy man.”
Anger darted through her. “I mean no disrespect, Papa, but you would not. Because you would know that I was not happy!”
“Please write to Lord William, Caroline. I am in London to visit my doctor in Harley Street. I will say no more for the present.”
“You are ill.”
“None of us can live forever, my dear.”
Kissing her cheek, he resumed his bowler hat and gloves.
“Will you stop by here afterwards to let me know what the doctor said?”
He hesitated.
“Surely you mean to see Aunt Sukey and to stay here with us before you go home?”
“This house full of women makes me uneasy. I am meeting Jack at the club for dinner and will spend the night there. If there are gruesome tidings, I will write them to you in a note. Now, run upstairs, sharpen your quill, and do as I ask.”
Seriously worried about her father, Caro knew she would do as he asked. Avoiding her aunt, who would never approve of this course of action, she went upstairs to her bedroom, where she had dwelt almost the whole of last season, and, after several drafts, produced a letter that she hoped would do:
Dearest Lord William,
I hope this letter finds you well and flourishing in Devonshire. As you know, I am now in London, staying with Lady Susannah, my father’s sister. I am meant to be participating in the Little Season, but I am afraid I do not have the heart for it.
I have been studying the phenomenon of memory loss and continue to think that the duke of Beverley must be lost somewhere without his memory. I know that most people think this highly unlikely. You are probably of that theory yourself, as is my father.
He is here in London to visit his doctor in Harley Street, and I think he is ill, though he will not confirm it. However, I think it likely because he has suddenly become very concerned over my future and what will happen to me when he does die. His estate is entailed upon a nephew since my brother died. I will have no home, and very little income.
You once said that you would wait for me until I was ready to marry you. I admire you tremendously, and if I am to marry anyone but Ned, I would like it to be you. I think we would do extremely well together. I would enjoy being a vicar’s wife and working side by side with you in your parish.
However, I still need time to let Ned go, if this is just a silly notion I have. Would it be possible to have a year-long engagement? By the end of a year, I should certainly know my heart.
You are a wonderful man to be so patient with me. If you have fallen in love with someone else, you must be frank and tell me so. I told you I would not hold you to your word, were that the case.
Very truly yours,
Caroline Braithwaite
When she was finished with the letter, she made a second copy and enclosed it in an envelope addressed to her father.
During the following days while she worked at Elise’s soup kitchen and visited her at her London house, Shearings, to help alleviate these last weeks of boredom during the duchess’s confinement, she forgot the letter entirely. She did not even refer to it as she massaged Elise’s swollen ankles, or crocheted tiny clothes for her baby’s layette. Caro knew her friend had suddenly conceived the idea that she would die in childbirth.
“Sunshine, any woman who rode alone from Grantham to Yorkshire in the pouring down rain in a single night will find childbirth a disappointingly tame event,” the duke said.
“You are a man and know nothing about it. You had better keep your distance, or I will box your ears. After all, it is due to you that I am in this predicament!”
“Oh, I see. You had absolutely nothing to do with it?”
“Stop aggravating me, Peter. At this moment, I should like a strawberry tart, of all things.”
“In November?”
“If you love me, you will find me a strawb
erry tart.”
Laughing, the duke left the two of them alone. As usual, they fell to talking about Ned.
“Do you know,” Elise said, “I think the reason for Ned’s bolt off to Sarah Randolph’s when he got the viscountess’s letter was because he was concerned for that poor bastard child she thought she was going to have. He wanted desperately for it to have a father. It’s all of a piece with his concern for those poor young boys in his orphanages.”
“Why do you suppose that he has such concern for them? I think it admirable,” Caro said, “but you must admit it is unusual.”
“It must have something to do with losing his father so young. That’s the only thing I can think of.”
“His mother must be having a dreadful time of it now.”
“Yes, Peter says the heir—Ned’s cousin—is most anxious to move his family into the property."
“I wish I could visit her, meet her, talk to her about Ned, but Jack tells me it would not be the thing.”
* * *
Lord William’s letter came, eventually. When she spared a thought for it, Caro was surprised that it was a week in coming. With a trace of curiosity, she opened it at the breakfast table.
Dear Miss Braithwaite,
Your letter surprised me very much. To be quite frank, I had decided that you would never take me up on my offer. I am flattered that you, after all, have considered me to be the “port in the storm.” I know how confused you must be at this time.
I hesitate to inform you that with all my promises of undying love, I have, to my surprise, formed another attachment and am on the point of becoming betrothed to Miss Violet Archer.
I know you well enough to know that you will be very happy for the two of us. She is a princess of a woman and has many of the characteristics which caused me to fancy myself in love with you. We are to be married at Christmas. The announcement will appear in the newspapers shortly.
I am dreadfully sorry not to be in a position to help you. I wish you the very best of everything, and pray daily along with Violet that the duke may be found.
Sincerely,
Lord William
Caro did not know whether to feel relieved or anxious. Lord William was the only man she had been able to conceive of marrying, if she could not marry Ned. Rising from the table in a fog of thought, she went upstairs to dress. Did this mean she had to launch herself back into the Season? There were only a couple of weeks left before the ton would disperse to their homes for the holidays. It was highly unlikely that she would find a person she would be prepared to marry in that short of time.
Sitting in the Pink Saloon, she was crocheting a baby bootie when Bates announced Lord Harry Seaton.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
IN WHICH WE SEE EVENTS IN IRELAND
Ned was giving Persephone her daily exercise around the ring when Mr. O’Connor hailed him and asked him to bring the horse to the show ring. He had a customer.
Beverley tried to shake off his feeling of sadness at this news. Any buyer who knew his horses was certain to want Persephone and her foal. But he would miss her. He had come to think of her as his. Perhaps the buyer would wait until after she had foaled to take her away, and he could still take care of her until spring.
Opening the gate to the exercise ring, he led the Arabian out by her halter. He had brushed her down already today. Her slate gray coat was shiny, and, as usual, she held her head proudly, exhibiting her lovely neck.
The show ring was only about 250 feet away. Squinting in the morning light, he tried to get a glimpse of the buyer, but the fog was still thick on the ground. When he was about a hundred feet off, he still could not see the man’s features, but his stance had something familiar about it that tugged at his memory.
Suddenly, the buyer started forward. “Ned? Beverley? By all that’s wonderful! Is it really you?”
The man ran to him and embraced him heartily, slapping him on the back. When he pulled away, Ned looked at the face before him. An onslaught of memories took him by surprise. Eton, cricket, Cornwall, sailing, Oxford, the Eight . . . Jack! This was Jack! His dearest friend in the world.
Tears started to his eyes. Embarrassed, he drew the man back into another embrace. The tears rained down his face as his memories rushed back, colliding in their desperate chase to reclaim him.
“Lost your memory, Old Man?” Jack said sympathetically.
“Until now! Thank the Lord you came to this stable. Best in Ireland, I recall now.”
O’Connor, a short man with fair hair and brilliant blue eyes, was watching this reunion carefully.
Jack turned to him, his arm still across Ned’s shoulders. “O’Connor, you’ve had the services of the fifth duke of Beverley, Edward Fitzhugh, my closest friend in the world. He disappeared months ago. Sailing accident. Lost his memory, apparently.”
Ned shook his head like a dog after a swim. “Still don’t remember most of it, confound it. Landed with a fisherman and his wife in a lighthouse on the southern tip of Ireland.”
“You’ve Providence to thank that you are still alive, Ned! That’s a hell of a long swim from Cornwall.”
“I was hanging on to something that was keeping me afloat.”
Connor’s eyes had gone from suspicious to merry. “Well now an’ all. This is a fine day! Had a duke tending my stables, have I? That’ll be a story worth tellin’ ”
“I don’t wonder you don’t recognize him,” Jack said. “He buys horses here, but he’s brown as a nut and his hair is twice its normal length. Not to mention his . . . uh, garments. No offense, old man, but you look like a comic Valentine.”
“You run a fine operation, O’Connor,” Ned said. “I’m going to miss my mares. Especially this one. Persephone’s my favorite.”
Jack turned to looked at the horse for the first time. “Ah.” He smoothed a hand over her arched neck. “Beautiful head. Arabian. When will she foal?”
“April,” Ned answered.
“Well, since you’re without funds, I think I must buy her for you, Ned. A coming home present. Now show me what else you’ve got.”
“Follow me,” he said.
O’Connor chuckled good-naturedly, following the two men and the newly-spoken-for Persephone. When they reached Ned’s section of the stables, the duke fell into his persona as stable hand. “These two sisters are prime. Daphne and Chloe. Have to show them who’s master, but they know their worth. Julia here is going to be a good mother. She’s affectionate and loving. Then there’s Mariah. I hate to leave her behind, but she’s grown tired of breeding, I think.”
Jack moved through the loose boxes, examining the stock, making his own assessments. Then he asked, “Which do you think would breed best with Apollo?”
Ned remembered Jack’s stud. Bit of a bruiser. “Depends on what you’re breeding for.”
“I’ve a mind to try racing.”
“Then it’s Daphne or Chloe.”
Jack turned to O’Connor and began haggling over price, while Ned stood by as though in a dream. Caro! A picture of her dancing in the firelight snapped into his mind. The woman who had not left him alone through this ordeal. Miss Caroline Braithwaite. A fierce longing for her overmastered him, and he lost track of the negotiations.
“Then it’s set,” Jack said. “I have Daphne, Chloe, and Persephone and their foals. Come back for them in April.” Then he turned to Ned. “Now, I’m afraid I must deprive you of the duke. There are plenty of people who will be beyond happy to greet him in England.”
Ned extended his hand and shook O’Connor’s. “Thanks for taking a chance on me.”
“It was plenty obvious ya knew horses.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a coin purse, preparing to pay him his wages.
“No, keep your money. A reward for saving the life of a stranger.”
Jack put a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Probably the first honest work he’s done in his life. Let’s be off, then. I can’t wait to see my Kate’s face when she sees you, not to menti
on Caro’s.”
When they were inside Jack’s hired curricle, Ned finally assembled the courage to ask, “What of Caro?”
Jack cleared his throat.
His heart banged against his ribs. “She’s not married?”
“She’s held out all this time, sure you were coming back. But her father fancies that he’s not well. Chivvied her into an engagement, just last week.”
Engagements could be broken. “Not the milky chap.”
“Worse. His brother. Lord Harry.”
“What?” He did not have kind memories of the frequently insolent young lord. “She didn’t like him above half!”
“Well, his brother got engaged to Violet Archer, remember her? Soprano? House party?”
“Vaguely. Thought he was smitten with Caro.” Lord Harry was not going to be a gentleman about this. Lord William would have been.
“Well, they met at the orphanage. Both assisted Caro with the play. Which she did a bang up job of, by the way. Those orphans of yours were pleased no end. Fabulous success, it was.”
“Where is Caro now?”
“Just came down from London. She wanted a year’s engagement, but Lord Harry compromised by giving her six months. Caro’s a loyal chit. Pity I didn’t find you a bit earlier.”
“Engagements can be broken,” Ned said. Confidence bloomed inside him, bold and bright as a huge sunflower.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
IN WHICH A REUNION TAKES PLACE
“Mother, how long is this going to take? I have been standing on this stool for far too long!”
Caro’s mother had lost no time in planning her daughter’s trousseau, though Caro forbade any fittings for a wedding dress.
“Now, Caro, you have nothing else to do this morning, so I suggest you be still. This is going to be a wonderful addition to your trousseau. It is a walking dress that is all the crack. Lord Harry has disclosed to me his plans for your honeymoon. You will need it.”
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