by Diane Gaston
He broke in. ‘Do you wish to take this coach?’
Was she in a hurry to reach London? He’d not thought of how she might feel about this trip. Perhaps she wanted to pursue her true life faster than he desired.
She looked surprised. ‘No. I already told him no. It is too difficult a trip for you.’
Then why mention it? ‘I can endure it if it is what you wish.’
Her eyes flickered with pain. ‘It is not what I wish. I wish—’ This time she interrupted herself. ‘Never mind what I wish. I believe it is too difficult for you, but I have delayed your arrival in London by many days and I thought you should know there was a way to reach the city faster.’
‘Do not say it.’ He caught her gaze again. ‘A couple more days will not matter.’
He hoped.
Chapter Eleven
There was so much more Claire wished to say to him, but when she looked into his eyes, the words wouldn’t come. If only she could tell him how much she loathed the idea of reaching London, how much she wished she could simply stay with him.
Even if it were on a fishing boat, she would be content.
Her security. Her anchor.
But he wanted a ship, wanted to be back at sea, where he felt he most belonged. She could not stay with him. Besides, she was his family’s enemy, a member of the loathed privileged class, and set to return to the world to which she was supposed to belong. More reason he did not wish to stay with her.
She hated seeing him in pain, had hated the fear he might die, the only secure part of her world. Life as she knew it—remembered it—began with him. Until his fever broke she’d been distraught with worry that he would die and her world would end with him.
And yet she knew she would soon part from him.
She reached across the table and grasped his hand. ‘Have I told you how grateful I am to you, Lucien? And how sorry I am that I have put you through all this—this delay—and—and—the highwaymen and all.’
He moved a finger to stroke her skin. ‘The highwaymen were not your fault, you know.’
‘You would not have been in that carriage on that road if it had not been for me,’ she said.
‘We would not have survived the attack if it had not been for your bravery. And Ella’s,’ he countered.
That scene came back to her. ‘Ella was so fierce and daring. She made me feel I could be, too.’ She turned it around in her mind. ‘I know this sounds silly, but I relish knowing I can remember what happened. Even the awful things like the highwaymen and the raft.’
And fearing him ill enough to die.
Their hands remained clasped.
‘I know memories are important to you,’ he said. ‘And ours have been memorable.’
She felt that pull towards him, the one that made her wish to have his arms around her, his lips against hers, to have that physical intimacy that men and women desire. Those feelings that made her feel she must have been less than ladylike before the shipwreck.
If she did convince him to make love to her, she knew his sense of honour would compel him to offer marriage to her and a naval marriage was one he did not want.
She pulled her hand away. ‘I am keeping you from eating and, I must confess, I am fatigued myself. I believe I should go to my room.’ She stood and yawned for effect. ‘Will you be all right without me?’
He picked up a piece of bread. ‘I am feeling quite well, my lady. And Cullen will be here soon, I am sure.’
She walked to his side and, because she could not resist, leaned down to kiss his forehead.
‘Goodnight,’ she murmured.
She hurried out of the room.
Her room was right next door and she rushed inside, fearing she would burst into tears before she reached it.
They would have two more days together. Merely two.
She took a deep breath and paced the room willing herself not to weep. Weeping had never done her a bit of good—
She stopped.
That was almost a memory!
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a time that weeping had not done her a bit of good.
Nothing came.
The door opened and Ella walked in. ‘What are you doing, m’lady?’
‘Trying—trying to remember something.’ She wiped her eyes.
Ella came closer. ‘Are you weeping, m’lady? Why are you weeping?’
‘I wasn’t weeping.’ She’d been trying not to weep.
‘Well, you look as if you were,’ the maid insisted. ‘Did you and the Captain have another row?’
‘We did not have a row.’ On the contrary. He’d been lovely with her. Tears threatened again and she blinked rapidly to force them away.
Ella put her hands on her hips. ‘You had a row. But do not worry. The Captain will come around. Cullen always does and then he is sweeter than ever.’
Claire needed to correct this impression of Ella’s. ‘Ella, Captain Roper and I are not—not in a romantic way towards each other. I have told you before. He rescued me from the sea and has helped me ever since.’
The maid shook her head. ‘You can tell me a hundred times, but I will never believe it.’
Claire had this inexplicable need to convince her, though. ‘Do you not know why I am travelling to London?’
‘Because that is where the Captain wishes to go,’ Ella replied.
‘No,’ she said patiently. ‘I am going to London to be married.’
Ella broke out in a huge grin. ‘You and the Captain are going to be married?’
‘No!’ A stab of pain pierced her insides.
‘Then who are you to marry?’ Ella asked, looking very sceptical.
Claire turned away. ‘I am to marry Lord Stonecroft.’
‘You are not!’ Ella’s voice rose in shock. ‘Who is Lord Stonecroft?’
She waved a hand. ‘Some baron.’
‘Some baron?’ Ella repeated.
Claire turned her back to the maid. ‘Here. Help me dress for bed.’
Ella untied her laces and helped her out of the dress.
‘This Baron Stonecroft,’ the maid went on. ‘Is he as nice as the Captain?’
‘I—I do not know.’
Ella untied Claire’s corset. ‘Well, is he as handsome?’
Claire wriggled out of her corset. ‘I do not know.’
‘What do you mean, you do not know?’ Ella cried. ‘Have you not met him?’
‘I do not know if I have met him.’
‘You must know!’ Ella turned her around and peered into her eyes. ‘Are you ill, m’lady? You are talking nonsense.’
Claire had a sudden empathy for Ella’s parents. Ella’s outspokenness was unrelenting.
‘It may sound like nonsense,’ Claire said, ‘but it is true. I know very little about Lord Stonecroft except that I was betrothed to him. I do not remember him. I learned about him in Dublin when my brother called upon me. I did not remember my brother either.’
Ella shook her head. ‘I do not understand you.’
‘Let us have some tea.’ Claire wanted to tell Ella everything. She needed a friend right now.
There was a kettle in the fireplace, a pot, cups and milk on the table and tins of tea and sugar. Ella, still looking baffled, set about making the tea while Claire changed into her nightdress. She wrapped her Kashmir shawl around her shoulders and lowered herself into a chair at the table.
‘Sit with me,’ she told Ella.
Ella, a wary gleam in her eye, sat opposite her.
Claire poured tea for both of them.
‘Something happened to me because of the shipwreck.’ She handed Ella one of the cups. ‘Captain Roper said he was taking me to one of the rowboats when a wave washed over us and swept us into the sea. I was hit on the head.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘B
ut I do not remember this. When I woke up, we were on a raft—a door from the ship, really. And I remembered nothing about myself before that moment.’
‘You lost your memory?’ Ella asked.
‘Yes,’ Claire replied.
‘Because of being hit on the head?’
‘I do not know about that,’ Claire said. ‘I remember some things. Everyday things. How to care for myself. I know things, like about the war or about London or Dublin. I don’t remember anything about myself, though. I don’t remember being in London or Dublin. I don’t remember reading about the war or learning anything that I simply know.’
‘But-but...’ Ella stammered, ‘you seem like an ordinary lady.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Beg pardon. That sounded wrong. I don’t mean you are ordinary. I mean, it doesn’t show.’ She peered at Claire. ‘You really don’t remember about yourself?’
Claire sipped more tea. ‘No. I know my name because Captain Roper told me my name. It never sounds right when I’m called Lady Rebecca, though.’
‘G’way.’ Ella’s eyes grew big.
‘When my brother—my half-brother—came to Dublin, he looked like a stranger to me. When he told me I was to marry Lord Stonecroft, it was as if that was the first time I’d heard it. The only people I remember are the Captain and the people I’ve met since the shipwreck, the fishermen who saved us, the innkeepers where we stayed, the clerks in the shops we visited.’ She smiled at Ella. ‘And you and Cullen, of course.’
‘My poor lady!’
The young woman’s sympathy touched her and tears stung her eyes again. She took another sip of tea to regain her composure.
Ella did the same, looking very thoughtful.
‘So,’ the maid finally said. ‘You are going to London to marry this lord you don’t remember?’
Claire nodded.
Ella slammed her hand on the table. ‘How can you? You don’t know him!’
‘I don’t know what else to do,’ Claire admitted.
‘Stay with the Captain!’ Ella cried. ‘Marry him!’
Her heart ached in her chest. ‘He does not wish to marry me, Ella. He is going to London so that he can get a new ship.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘He wants to go back to the sea.’ Claire knew this without question. ‘And even if he did not, his family and mine were enemies two generations ago. My grandfather caused his grandfather to lose his fortune and property. He would not wish to marry an enemy.’
‘That is nothing,’ Ella insisted. ‘Cullen’s family and mine have been enemies for longer than that, but what is that to us?’
‘I—I became upset tonight, because we will likely reach London in two days and what will I do when I must say goodbye to the Captain? He is the only one who knows about my loss of memory.’ She quickly added, ‘And now you, of course.’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Ella promised.
Her loyalty made Claire wish to weep all over again.
Ella set down her teacup and stood. ‘I think we will be rising quite early tomorrow, so I think you should go to bed.’
Claire smiled inwardly. Her servant, a girl younger than herself—probably—was telling her what to do. ‘Very well, Ella.’
‘And tomorrow we’ll start trying to get your memory back.’
* * *
The next morning Claire rose early, hearing Ella already moving about the room. They washed and dressed and met Lucien and Cullen for breakfast. They were on the road by eight o’clock.
Cullen again rode on the outside, but he’d already decided that the coachmen seemed like honest, hardworking men. This road would be well travelled and their coach never out of sight of some other horseman or vehicle. The possibility of another attack seemed remote.
Claire was heartened that Lucien’s colour had improved. He reported feeling well, but, then, he would say that, so she watched him closely.
‘I sent a messenger ahead,’ Lucien told her. ‘To let Lord Stonecroft know you will arrive tomorrow.’
Claire’s stomach plummeted. ‘I suppose that was wise.’
Parting from him was becoming more real.
When they were well on the road, Ella spoke up. ‘Captain, m’lady told me about losing her memory.’
Lucien responded to her in a careful, non-committal tone. ‘She did?’
‘I think it must be a hardship not to remember anything about yourself,’ Ella went on. ‘I think we should help m’lady remember.’
He looked as if he were stifling a smile. ‘I agree. How do you think we should do that?’
Ella appeared lost in thought for a moment. ‘We should ask her questions.’
Claire felt her stomach clench in anxiety.
Lucien must have noticed. ‘Are you willing, my lady?’
She took a couple of long breaths. ‘I am willing to try.’
He turned to Ella. ‘So what questions?’
Ella tapped her cheek with her finger. ‘I don’t know,’ she finally said.
‘I tried something before,’ Lucien went on. ‘Asking general questions. Nothing about an actual memory, just questions about life.’
Ella blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’
Claire’s hand shook, but she wove her fingers together to disguise that fact. ‘The Captain told me to talk about a school.’
The maid brightened. ‘Did you remember anything?’
Claire shook her head. But she’d almost remembered.
‘So,’ Lucien said, ‘we should ask about something different. Like...’ He paused. ‘Like, tell us about a house.’
‘A house?’ Claire felt her skin heat. She wished she had a fan.
‘Yes,’ Lucien said mildly, as if it was the most inconsequential of subjects.
‘Do you mean like a country house?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He sat up straighter. ‘A country house. Describe it.’
‘I don’t remember a country house.’ Her heart pounded.
‘Imagine one. Any one,’ he said. ‘Remember. Do not think about it too much. Just respond.’
She released a shuddering breath. ‘Like one of stucco?’
‘What colour stucco?’ he pressed.
She waved a hand. ‘White.’
‘What style?’
‘Style?’ She stalled.
He nodded. ‘Jacobin? Tudor? Palladian?’
‘Palladian,’ she said. ‘Tudor or Jacobin would not be stucco, would they?’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I would not know. Very well, we have a white Palladian country house. What does the hall look like? Remember, you are merely inventing this.’
‘It is long and narrow with a wide staircase at the end and plasterwork cornices and ceiling.’ She blinked. That seemed so specific.
‘Very well,’ he went on. ‘Now imagine a room. Any room.’
A vision of a room flashed through her mind. A schoolroom. She heard a child’s laughter. Her heart raced. ‘A—a schoolroom. Tables, slates, books.’
Ella broke in. ‘You are remembering something, m’lady!’
The vision vanished. ‘But it does not feel like remembering. I cannot place myself there.’
‘Try imagining another room,’ Lucien suggested.
She saw a small sitting room and a man. More like the shadow of a man. Her anxiety rose until she wished she could jump out of the carriage.
‘I—I cannot!’ She wrapped her arms around herself.
He reached across the carriage and touched her arm. ‘No matter,’ he murmured. ‘We will leave it now.’
‘M’lady!’ Ella cried. ‘Do not fret so. We did not mean to upset you.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I am quite restored. I do not know what happened.’
* * *
Lucien thought he knew what happened.
Something she almost remembered frightened her. Perhaps it was not the blow to her head; perhaps it was fear that made her lose her memory. What else could have happened to her besides the shipwreck?
And how did he know he was not delivering her to the lion’s den by taking her to London?
‘I have an idea.’ Ella leaned forward. ‘Let us sing a song. Maybe you will remember music.’
Lady Rebecca still looked strained, but she seemed to force a smile. ‘We can try.’
The maid began singing.
Yonder stands a pretty maiden,
Who she is I do not know,
I’ll go court her for her beauty,
Let her answer yes or no.
Her voice was a crystalline soprano. She turned to Lady Rebecca. ‘Do you know this one?
Lady Rebecca shook her head.
‘Are you sure?’ Ella sang more.
Pretty maid, I’ve come to court you,
If your favour I do gain
And you make me hearty welcome,
I will call this way again.
Ella looked at Lady Rebecca. ‘No?’
‘I do not remember it.’ She looked distressed.
Ella sighed. ‘How about this one?’
As we marched down to Fenario
As we marched down to Fenario
Our captain fell in love with a lady like a dove
And the name she was called was pretty Peggy-o
‘I do not know that one either,’ Lady Rebecca said quickly.
Lucien was glad she interrupted. That song was about a captain.
‘Sing a song you know,’ Lucien suggested to Lady Rebecca.
She gave him an annoyed face. ‘You sing a song first.’
Before Lucien rose in rank, he’d loved singing along with the seamen as they did their work. He hadn’t sung much since then.
And most of those songs the seamen sang were not fit for ladies.
He thought a moment, then remembered one that was not too scandalous.
Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking,
