17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I ris's eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead. A dull ache pulsed through her head, and unfamiliar voices murmured around her. She struggled to open her eyes, each attempt feeling like a monumental effort.

"She's waking," a deep voice announced. "Lady Iris? Can you hear me?"

Iris managed to pry her eyes open, squinting against the harsh light that flooded her vision. Blurry figures surrounded her, their faces swimming in and out of focus. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt thick and unwieldy in her mouth.

"Water," she croaked, her throat parched.

A cool glass pressed against her lips, and she sipped gratefully. As her vision cleared, Iris found herself staring into the concerned face of an older gentleman she didn't recognize.

"Lady Iris," he said gently, "I'm Dr. Blackwood. You've had quite a fall. How are you feeling?"

Iris blinked, confusion clouding her mind. "I... I don't know. Where am I?"

A woman's voice, tinged with worry, came from her left. "You're home, darling. At Rosewood Manor."

Iris turned her head, wincing at the movement. An elegantly dressed woman stood beside the bed, her face a mask of concern. Behind her, a distinguished-looking gentleman hovered anxiously.

"I'm sorry," Iris said slowly, "but who are you?"

The woman's eyes widened in shock. "Iris, darling, it's me. Your mother."

Panic began to rise in Iris's chest. She looked from the woman to the man, searching their faces for any hint of familiarity. "I don't... I can't remember..."

Dr. Blackwood leaned forward, his voice calm and reassuring. "Lady Iris, please try to remain calm. It's not uncommon for patients to experience some confusion after a head injury. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Iris closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. But her mind felt like a blank slate, devoid of any recent memories. "I... I'm not sure. Everything is hazy."

The doctor nodded, turning to address the couple Iris now knew to be her parents. "It appears Lady Iris is suffering from retrograde amnesia. It's likely temporary, but we must be cautious not to overwhelm her. Allow her memories to return naturally."

Lady Rosier's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my poor darling. What can we do?"

"For now, rest is crucial," Dr. Blackwood advised. "Surround her with familiar objects and people, but don't push her to remember. It's important that she feels safe and comfortable."

As the doctor continued to explain her condition, Iris found her attention wandering. She stared at the ornate wallpaper, tracing the intricate patterns with her eyes. Something about it tugged at the edges of her memory, but the harder she tried to grasp it, the more elusive it became.

"Iris?" Her father's voice broke through her reverie. "Are you alright, my dear?"

She managed a weak smile. "Yes, I think so. Just... overwhelmed."

Lady Rosier perched on the edge of the bed, taking Iris's hand in hers. "Don't worry, darling. We'll help you through this. You'll be back to your old self in no time."

As her parents fussed over her, adjusting pillows and smoothing blankets, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. A nagging sense of incompleteness that she couldn't quite place.

The day passed in a haze of brief naps and gentle questioning. Iris learned that she had a sister, Maude, to whom she was very close. Maude showed her pictures of the family and told stories of their childhood, but it all felt like a tale about someone else's life.

As evening approached, Iris was alone for the first time since waking. She sat up in bed, her gaze drawn to the window. The gardens beyond were bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the flowers mere shadows in the fading light.

A flash of movement caught her eye. A dark figure on horseback rode past, pausing briefly at the edge of the property. Iris's heart quickened for a moment, a surge of emotion she couldn't name washing over her. But as quickly as it had appeared, the rider was gone, leaving Iris to wonder if she had imagined it.

A soft knock at the door pulled her attention away from the window. "Come in," she called.

A young woman she recognized as Maude entered, carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits. "I thought you might be hungry," she said, setting the tray on the bedside table .

Iris studied her sister's face, searching for any sign of recognition. Maude was pretty, with kind eyes and a gentle smile, but she was a stranger like everything else.

"Thank you," Iris said, accepting a cup of tea. "It's... Maude, isn't it?"

A flicker of pain crossed Maude's face, but she quickly masked it with a smile. "That's right. How are you feeling?"

Iris sipped her tea, considering the question. "Confused, mostly. Knowing that I should remember all of this is strange, but..."

Maude nodded sympathetically. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you, but we're all here to help. Is there anything you'd like to know?"

Iris hesitated, then asked, "Can you tell me about... well, me? What sort of person am I?"

Maude's eyes softened. "Oh, Iris. You're the kindest, most talented person I know. You have a gift for music—you play the pianoforte beautifully. And you're always so full of life, always wanting to learn and experience new things."

As Maude spoke, Iris felt a stirring of something—not quite a memory, but a sense of rightness. Yes, she thought, that sounds like me.

"What about... is there anyone special in my life?" Iris asked hesitantly. "A suitor, perhaps?"

Maude's smile faltered for a moment. "Well, there's Lord Edgar Ainsworth. He's been calling on you quite frequently. He's a wonderful man—kind, handsome, and from an excellent family."

Iris nodded, absorbing this information. "And do I... care for him?"

"I believe you do," Maude said carefully. "You always seem to enjoy his company."

As they continued to talk, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that something was being left unsaid. But without her memories to guide her, she had no choice but to trust in what she was being told.

The following day, Iris awoke feeling stronger. Despite her mother's protests, she insisted on getting dressed and joining the family for breakfast.

"Are you certain you're up to it, darling?" Lady Rosier fretted, hovering as Iris's maid, Lucy, helped Iris into a pale blue gown.

"Yes, Mama," Iris said, the term still feeling foreign on her tongue. "I can't stay in bed forever. Besides, I hope being in familiar surroundings might help jog my memory."

As they made their way downstairs, Iris trailed her hand along the banister, willing herself to remember, but the polished wood beneath her fingers remained just that—wood, with no hidden memories to unlock.

The family gathered in the breakfast room; the conversation was stilted and awkward. Iris could feel their eyes on her, watching for any sign of recognition. She focused on her plate, pushing her food around more than eating it.

"I've invited Lord Edgar to call this afternoon," Lady Rosier announced, breaking the silence. "I thought it might be good for you to see a friendly face, Iris."

Iris nodded, not quite sure how to feel about this development. "That's very kind of him," she said politely.

Lord Rosier cleared his throat. "Perhaps it's too soon, my dear. We wouldn't want to overwhelm Iris."

Lady Rosier waved away his concerns. "Nonsense. The doctor said familiar faces would be good for her. And who could be more familiar than dear Lord Edgar? "

As her parents continued to discuss the impending visit, Iris found her attention drawn to the window. The gardens beyond called to her, promising solace from the suffocating concern surrounding her.

"Might I take a turn about the gardens?" she asked, interrupting her mother mid-sentence.

Lady Rosier hesitated. "I'm not sure that's wise, darling. You're still recovering."

"Please," Iris said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. "I promise I won't overexert myself. I just…I need some air."

After a moment's consideration, Lady Rosier relented. "Very well, dear, but I shall come with you. We mustn't stay out too long."

Grateful for even this small freedom, Iris practically fled the breakfast room. Her mother followed at a discreet distance as Iris made her way through the manicured lawns.

The gardens were beautiful, a riot of color and fragrance. Iris paused before a bed of roses, their delicate petals unfurling in the morning light. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

For a moment, she was transported. The scent of roses mingled with something else—sandalwood, perhaps?—and she could almost hear the strains of a piano. But as quickly as it had come, the sensation faded, leaving Iris more confused than ever.

"Iris, dear?" Lady Camilla Rosier's voice broke through her reverie. "Are you alright?"

Iris opened her eyes, blinking away the remnants of the strange vision. "Yes, I'm fine. Just... thinking."

As they continued their walk, Iris was drawn to a secluded spot at the edge of the garden where a rose arbor caught her eye. Something about it tugged at her memory, but she couldn't quite place why.

"Mother," she said, turning to Lady Rosier, "was this a favorite spot of mine?"

Her mother hesitated, a flicker of something—worry? Guilt?—crossing her face. "I... I'm not sure, Iris. You did like it. Perhaps we should head back to the house. You wouldn't want to tire yourself before Lord Edgar's visit."

Iris allowed herself to be led back, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Lady Rosier knew more than she was letting on.

The afternoon found Iris seated in the drawing room, nervously smoothing her skirts as she awaited Lord Edgar's arrival. Her mother had insisted on dressing her in her finest day dress, a confection of pale green silk that Iris found oddly restrictive.

When Lord Edgar was announced, Iris steeled herself, unsure what to expect. The man who entered was undeniably handsome, with golden hair and a charming smile, but as he approached, Iris felt none of the familiarity she had hoped for.

"Lady Iris," Lord Edgar said, bowing over her hand. "It gladdens my heart to see you looking so well."

Iris managed a smile, acutely aware of her mother's watchful gaze. "Thank you, Lord Edgar. It's kind of you to call."

As they settled into polite conversation, Iris found herself studying Lord Edgar. He was everything a young lady should want in a suitor—handsome, wealthy, and clearly besotted with her. Yet something felt off, like a painting that was slightly askew.

"I thought perhaps," Lord Edgar said, "if you're feeling up to it, we might take a turn about the gardens. The fresh air would do you good, I'm sure."

Before Iris could respond, Lady Rosier interjected. "What a lovely idea! Iris was just saying this morning how much she enjoys the gardens. Weren't you, dear? "

Iris nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As they made their way outside, she couldn't help but compare this walk to her stroll that morning. Where that had felt freeing, this felt suffocating.

Lord Edgar filled the silence with cheerful chatter, regaling her with tales of his recent hunting expedition. Iris nodded at appropriate intervals, but her mind wandered.

As they approached the rose garden, Iris felt a sudden wave of dizziness. She stumbled, and Lord Edgar quickly steadied her.

"My lady! Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched on his handsome face.

Iris closed her eyes, willing the world to stop spinning. For a moment, she could have sworn she heard a different voice—deeper, richer—asking her the same question. But when she opened her eyes, only Lord Edgar's worried gaze met hers.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a bit overwhelmed, I suppose."

Lord Edgar insisted on cutting their walk short and escorting Iris back to the house with solicitous care. As they said their goodbyes, Iris couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.

As Lucy helped her prepare for bed that evening, Iris found herself lost in thought. That day, she had seen many new-yet-familiar faces and places, each promising to unlock her memories. Yet she felt no closer to understanding who she truly was.

"Lucy," she said suddenly, "may I ask you something?"

The maid looked up from where she was arranging Iris's hair. "Of course, My Lady."

"Is there... is there someone else? Someone besides Lord Edgar who's important to me?"

Lucy's hands stilled, her face a mask of uncertainty. "I... I'm not sure what you mean, My Lady."

Iris sighed, frustrated. "I don't know either. It's just a feeling I have. Like there's something—or someone—missing."

For a moment, Lucy looked as though she might say more, but then she shook her head, resuming her tasks. "I'm sure it's just the confusion from your accident, My Lady. Give it time, and I'm certain everything will become clear."

As Iris settled into bed, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being kept in the dark, but without her memories to guide her, she had no choice but to trust in those around her.

She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw flashes of images she couldn't place—stormy, intense eyes, long, elegant fingers moving across piano keys, the glint of moonlight on a lake.

And somewhere, just beyond her reach, a truth waited to be uncovered.