18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

I ris awoke to the gentle rustling of curtains being drawn back. Lucy, her maid, moved about the room with practiced efficiency, laying out Iris's morning attire. The familiar routine brought a measure of comfort, even as Iris's mind grappled with the persistent fog of her lost memories.

"Good morning, My Lady," Lucy said, her voice soft. "How did you sleep?"

Iris sat up, pushing aside the covers. "Well enough, I suppose. Though I had the strangest dream…"

She trailed off, the details slipping away like sand through her fingers. Something about music and a pair of grey eyes seemed to see right through her, but as she tried to grasp the fading images, they dissolved into nothingness.

Lucy helped Iris into a pale lavender morning gown, her fingers deftly lacing up the back. "Perhaps it's a good sign, My Lady. They say dreams can help unlock memories. "

Iris nodded absently and thought that music could also help her remember. She thought of the pianoforte waiting for her in the music room. "I think I'll try practicing again today," she said, more to herself than to Lucy.

The maid's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their work. "Of course, My Lady. Though perhaps it's best not to push yourself too hard. These things take time, after all."

Breakfast was a subdued affair, with Lady Rosier dominating the conversation with plans for an upcoming tea party. Iris found her attention wandering, her eyes drawn to the gardens beyond the windows. Something about how the light played on the roses stirred a memory just out of reach.

"Iris? Are you listening, dear?"

She was startled, turning back to her mother. "I beg your pardon, Mama. My mind was elsewhere."

Lady Rosier's brow furrowed with concern. "Perhaps you should rest this morning. We wouldn't want you to overtax yourself."

"I'm quite well, I assure you," Iris insisted, pushing back her chair. "I thought I might take a turn about the gardens. The fresh air will do me good."

Before her mother could object, Iris made her escape. The gardens welcomed her with a riot of color and fragrance, the gravel paths crunching softly beneath her feet. As she walked, Iris was drawn to a secluded corner, where the arbor she had stumbled upon with her mother yesterday stood half-hidden by climbing roses.

She paused at the entrance, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her. Lady Rosier had said she liked this spot. Iris closed her eyes, willing the memories to surface. For a moment, she could almost hear something and smell the faint scent of sandalwood.

"My Lady? "

Iris's eyes flew open. Lucy stood a few paces away, a basket of flowers in her arms. "I didn't mean to startle you," the maid said apologetically. "Your mother sent me to fetch you. Lord Edgar has arrived for a visit."

Iris sighed, glancing at the rose arbor before allowing Lucy to lead her back to the house. As they walked, she asked, "Lucy, was this arbor a special place for me? Before my accident, I mean."

Lucy's steps faltered for a moment. "I... I'm not sure, My Lady. Perhaps you enjoyed sitting there on occasion?"

There was something in Lucy's tone that gave Iris pause, but before she could pursue the matter, they had reached the house. Lord Edgar awaited her in the drawing room, his golden hair gleaming in the morning light.

"Lady Iris," he said, bowing over her hand. "You look positively radiant this morning."

Iris smiled, accepting the compliment with practiced grace. "You're too kind, Lord Edgar. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

As Lord Edgar launched into an explanation of his latest philanthropic endeavors, Iris found her mind wandering once more. There was something about his manner, his way of speaking, that felt... rehearsed. It was as if he were playing a part he had long since memorized.

"I thought perhaps," Lord Edgar said, "we might take a turn about the grounds? The weather is quite fine, and your gardens are so charming. They offer a splendid view of the countryside. And afterward, we may go for a ride."

Iris felt a flicker of... something. Apprehension? Excitement? She couldn't quite name the emotion. "That sounds lovely," she heard herself say. "Though I'm afraid I don't recall how to ride. My memory, you see..."

Lord Edgar's expression softened with sympathy. "Of course, my dear. How thoughtless of me. Perhaps we might simply walk the main paths? I wouldn't want to overwhelm you."

As they strolled arm in arm through the gardens, Iris found herself studying Lord Edgar from the corner of her eye. He was everything a young lady could want in a suitor—handsome, wealthy, and unfailingly polite. And yet...

"Is something troubling you, Lady Iris?" Lord Edgar asked, his brow creasing with concern.

Iris shook her head, forcing a smile. "Not at all. I was simply... lost in thought, I suppose. Tell me, Lord Edgar, how long have we known each other?"

If the question surprised him, Lord Edgar didn't show it. "Oh, for quite some time now. If I recall correctly, we were introduced at Lady Ashworth's ball last season. You were wearing the most becoming gown of pale blue silk."

The details were precise, and yet Iris felt no spark of recognition. She nodded, murmuring some vague agreement while wondering why her heart remained unmoved by this man who was supposedly courting her.

As they rounded a corner, Iris caught sight of two maids huddled near the kitchen entrance, their heads bent close in conversation. She wouldn't have paid them any mind, but a fragment of their whispered exchange reached her ears.

"...Lord Thornbrook, they say..."

"Hush! You know we're not to speak of him..."

Iris's steps faltered, a strange tightness gripping her chest. Lord Thornbrook. The name stirred something within her, a fluttering sensation she couldn't quite place .

"My Lady?" Lord Edgar's voice seemed to come from a great distance. "Are you quite well?"

Iris blinked, realizing she had come to a complete stop. "I... yes, of course. I apologize; I seem to have lost my train of thought."

Lord Edgar patted her hand reassuringly. "No need for apologies, my dear. Perhaps we should return to the house? You mustn't overtax yourself."

As they made their way back, Iris's mind whirled with questions. Who was Lord Thornbrook? And why did the mere mention of his name affect her so?

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of polite conversation and thinly veiled concern from her family. Iris grew increasingly frustrated with their hovering, their constant reminders of her fragile state.

After luncheon, she retreated to the music room, determined to make some progress with the pianoforte. Her fingers moved hesitantly over the keys, picking out a simple melody she had been told was one of her favorites.

But as she played, something felt... off. The notes were correct, but they lacked emotion—the passion she sensed should be there. Iris closed her eyes, willing her muscle memory to take over.

And then, without conscious thought, her hands began to move of their own accord. The melody shifted, becoming something darker and more complex. Iris's eyes flew open in surprise, but she didn't stop playing. The music poured from her fingers, filling the room with a haunting refrain that stirred something deep within her.

"Iris!"

Her mother's sharp voice cut through the music, startling Iris so severely that she nearly toppled from the bench. Lady Rosier stood in the doorway, her face pale.

"What on earth are you playing?" she demanded.

Iris blinked, looking down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. "I... I'm not sure. It just came to me."

Lady Rosier's lips thinned. "Well, it's not at all appropriate. Perhaps we should move the pianoforte to another room until you fully recover. We wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

As her mother bustled about, issuing orders to the servants, Iris remained seated at the instrument, her fingers ghosting over the keys. The melody still echoed in her mind, along with a sense of... loss? Longing? She couldn't quite name the emotion, but it left her feeling hollow.

As she forced smiles and had careful conversations for the rest of the afternoon, Iris watched her family closely, noting how they exchanged glances when they thought she wasn't looking and how specific topics were carefully avoided.

As evening approached, Lucy arrived to help Iris dress for dinner. As the maid worked, Iris gathered her courage to ask the question that had been burning in her mind all day.

"Lucy," she began, striving for a casual tone, "I couldn't help but overhear some other servants talking earlier. They mentioned someone called Lord Thornbrook. Do you know who that is?"

Lucy's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their work. "I... I'm not sure, My Lady. Perhaps one of your father's acquaintances?"

But there was something in Lucy's voice, a hesitation that spoke volumes. Iris turned, catching the maid's gaze in the mirror. "Lucy, please. If you know something…"

Lucy bit her lip, clearly torn. "It's not my place to say, My Lady. Perhaps you should ask your mother?"

Iris sighed, recognizing the futility of pressing further. "Of course. Thank you, Lucy."

As she made her way downstairs for dinner, Iris's mind was overwhelmed with questions and half-formed suspicions. She was so lost in thought that she nearly collided with a tall figure at the foot of the stairs.

"Oh! I beg your pardon, I wasn't..." Iris's voice trailed off as she looked up into a pair of piercing, intense eyes.

The man before her was a stranger, yet something about him sent a jolt of recognition through her. He was tall and lean, with stormy grey eyes and a face that seemed carved from marble. But his gaze held her captive—a gaze that seemed to see right through her carefully constructed facade.

"Lady Iris," he said, his voice deep and rich. "Forgive me; I didn't mean to startle you."

Iris blinked, realizing she had been staring. "No, the fault was mine. I'm afraid I was lost in thought."

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "A dangerous pastime, to be sure. One never knows where such wanderings might lead."

There was something in his tone, a hint of... what? Irony? Regret? Before Iris could puzzle it out, her mother's voice rang out from the drawing room.

"Iris? Is that you, dear? Do come in." Her mother turned to the stranger, and her voice had an edge as she spoke. "I trust you will leave now? You have accomplished what you came here for."

Iris tore her gaze away from the stranger, suddenly aware of how improper it was to be standing alone with him. "I... I should go. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"

"Lord Thornbrook," he supplied, his eyes never leaving hers. "Lord Horatio Ainsworth, Earl of Thornbrook, at your service. "

Iris felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath her feet. Lord Thornbrook. The man whose very name had stirred such a reaction in her. And now, face to face with him, she felt... what? Recognition? Longing? Fear?

"I..." she began but found herself at a loss for words. Her mother was shooting daggers at Lord Thornbrook with her eyes.

Lord Thornbrook's expression softened, a hint of something like pain flickering in his eyes. "It's alright, Lady Iris. I understand. Perhaps we'll have a chance to speak later."

With a bow, he turned and made his way to the drawing room, leaving Iris standing at the foot of the stairs, her heart racing and her mind in turmoil.

As her mother followed him into the room, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that she was on the brink of uncovering something momentous. Something that would change everything she thought she knew about herself, her family, and the life she had been told was hers.

Finally, she entered the dining room and took her seat. Lord Thornbrook was already gone by the time she arrived. Everyone at the table looked tense, but no one said anything. Iris plastered on a polite smile, but inside, she felt hollow.

Iris knew the truth would not come easily, but she resolved to uncover it, no matter the cost.

In that brief moment of connection with Lord Thornbrook, she had glimpsed a version of herself she hardly recognized—a woman of passion and depth, music and mystery.

A woman she desperately wanted to know.