19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

L ord Horatio Ainsworth paced the length of his study at Thornbrook Manor, his agitation palpable at every step. He paused before the grand pianoforte, his fingers ghosting over the ivory keys.

"Confound it all," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. "There must be a way to reach her."

For days, he had attempted to gain an audience with Lady Iris, only to be thwarted by the formidable Lady Camilla Rosier at every turn. The thought of Iris being lost in a fog of amnesia and believing she was in love with his insipid cousin Edgar was enough to drive him crazy.

Horatio's gaze fell upon the sheet music scattered across the instrument. Among the pages of Bach and Mozart lay a composition of his own creation—a piece he had written for Iris, inspired by the light in her eyes when she played and the music of her laughter.

A spark of inspiration ignited in his mind. If he could not speak to Iris directly, perhaps he could reach her through the language they both understood best—music .

And so, Horatio gathered the sheets of his composition and strode from the study. He went through the manor's winding corridors, his footsteps echoing off the marble floors. As he passed the library, he caught sight of his reflection in a gilded mirror.

The man who stared back at him bore little resemblance to the carefree rake he had once been. Love, it seemed, had transformed him as surely as it had bewitched him.

Outside, the gardens of Thornbrook Manor were a riot of color and fragrance. Horatio paid little heed to the beauty surrounding him; his mind focused solely on his task. He settled himself at the ornate gazebo that overlooked the boundary between Thornbrook and Rosewood, positioning the pianoforte so the music would carry across the grounds.

Taking a deep breath, Horatio began to play.

***

At Rosewood Manor, Lady Iris Rosier wandered the manicured gardens, her mind adrift in a veritable sea of uncertainty. Though nearly a fortnight had passed since her accident, her memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

She paused before a bed of roses, their heady scent tickling her senses with a familiarity she couldn't quite place.

"My Lady?" Lucy's voice broke through her reverie. "Is everything alright?"

Iris turned to her maid, offering a wan smile. "Yes, Lucy. I was just..." She trailed off, unsure how to articulate the strange melancholy that had taken hold of her .

Before Lucy could respond, the first notes of a piano melody drifted across the garden. Iris froze, her breath catching in her throat. The music was hauntingly beautiful, stirring something deep within her that she couldn't name.

Without conscious thought, Iris moved towards the sound, drawn as surely as a moth to a flame. Her heart raced, though she couldn't fathom why a simple melody should affect her so profoundly.

"Lady Iris!" Lucy called, hurrying after her mistress. "Perhaps we should return to the house. Your mother—"

But Iris paid her no heed, her entire being focused on the music that seemed to call to her very soul.

As she neared the edge of the Rosewood grounds, a figure came into view. A man sat at a pianoforte in a distant gazebo, his dark head bent over the keys as his fingers danced passionately across them.

Iris's steps faltered, a wave of dizziness washing over her. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw herself seated beside the man, their hands moving in perfect harmony across the keys, but as quickly as the vision had come, it vanished, leaving her more confused than ever.

"Iris!" Lady Rosier's sharp voice cut through the air like a knife. "What on earth are you doing out here?"

Iris turned to find her mother hurrying towards her, Lucy trailing behind with an apologetic expression.

"I was just..." Iris began, gesturing vaguely towards the source of the music. But as she looked back, she found the gazebo empty, the melody fading away like a half-remembered dream.

Lady Rosier's lips thinned as she took in her daughter's flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "Come along, dear," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "Lord Edgar will be joining us for luncheon, and you must change."

Iris couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had just slipped through her fingers. She hummed a few bars of the melody under her breath, trying to hold onto the emotions it had stirred within her.

Iris allowed herself to be led back to the house, her mind still swirling with the haunting melody. As they entered, Lady Rosier's grip on her arm loosened slightly.

"Now then, darling," her mother said, her voice overly bright, "let's get you changed for luncheon. Lord Edgar will arrive shortly, and we want you to look your best."

Iris nodded absently, following her mother up the stairs. As Lucy helped her into a pale yellow gown, Iris hummed snatches of the mysterious tune.

"What's that you're humming, My Lady?" Lucy asked, her hands stilling as she arranged Iris's hair.

Iris blinked, realizing she'd been lost in thought. "Oh, just the melody I heard in the garden. It seemed... familiar somehow."

Lucy's eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she quickly looked away. "I'm sure it's nothing, My Lady. Perhaps a tune you heard before your accident?"

Before Iris could press further, a knock at the door announced Lady Rosier's return. "Come along, Iris. Lord Edgar has arrived, and it wouldn't do to keep him waiting."

As they descended the stairs, Iris caught sight of Lord Edgar in the entrance hall. He cut a fine figure in his well-tailored coat, his golden hair gleaming in the afternoon light. At the sight of Iris, his face lit up with an undeniably charming smile.

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

Iris mustered a smile in return, though she couldn't help but feel that his compliment lacked... something. A depth of feeling, perhaps? She pushed the thought aside, chiding herself for such fanciful notions.

"Thank you, Lord Edgar. You're too kind."

Lord Edgar offered his arm as they approached the dining room. Iris took it, acutely aware of her mother's approving gaze. The touch of his hand on hers was pleasant enough, but it stirred none of the emotions she had felt upon hearing the piano music in the garden.

The luncheon was a delicate affair of cold meats, fresh bread, and summer fruits. Lord Edgar regaled them with tales of his latest hunting expedition as they ate. Iris found her attention wandering, her gaze drawn to the windows that overlooked the gardens.

"I say, Lady Iris," Lord Edgar said, drawing her focus back to the table, "I've acquired a new hunter I'm keen to show you. Perhaps we might ride tomorrow if you're feeling up to it?"

Before Iris could respond, Lady Rosier interjected with enthusiasm. "What a splendid idea! Iris has always adored riding, haven't you, dear?"

Iris nodded automatically, though she had no recollection of any particular fondness for the sport. "That sounds lovely, Lord Edgar," she said, mustering a smile.

As the meal progressed, Iris studied Lord Edgar more closely, willing herself to feel something for him. Anything. He was very handsome, so she must have felt something for him before her memory loss. And yet...

"Is everything to your liking, Lady Iris?" Lord Edgar asked, noticing her distraction. "You've barely touched your fruit tart. I remember it used to be your favorite."

Iris looked down at her plate, surprised to find she had indeed been neglecting her dessert. "Oh, yes, it's delicious," she said quickly, taking a small bite. The flavors burst on her tongue—sweet, tart, and utterly familiar. For a moment, she was transported to another time, another place. A picnic by a lake, perhaps? But as quickly as the image had come, it vanished, leaving her more confused than ever.

"Are you quite well, my dear?" Lady Rosier asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "You look a bit pale."

Iris forced a smile. "I'm fine, Mama. Just a bit... overwhelmed, I suppose."

Lord Edgar reached across the table, patting her hand gently. "Perfectly understandable, my dear. You've been through quite an ordeal. Perhaps we should postpone our ride until you're feeling more yourself?"

His concern was genuine; Iris could see that. And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off. It was as if she were playing a part in a play where everyone else knew the script but her.

As the meal drew to a close, Iris found herself growing restless. The melody from the garden continued to play in her mind, a tantalizingly familiar refrain that she couldn't quite place.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, rising from the table, "I believe I'll retire to the music room for a while."

Lady Rosier's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded her assent. "Of course, dear. But don't overtire yourself. Remember what the doctor said about rest being essential to your recovery."

Iris made her way to the music room, her fingers itching to touch the keys of the pianoforte. As she settled onto the bench, she closed her eyes, allowing the melody she had heard in the garden to fill her mind .

Her hands moved of their own accord, picking out the notes with a surety that surprised her. As she played, images flashed behind her closed eyelids—a pair of intense grey eyes, the brush of fingers against her own, the glint of moonlight on water.

So lost was she in the music that she didn't hear the door open behind her.

"I say," Lord Edgar's voice broke through her reverie, "that's a rather melancholy tune, isn't it?"

Iris's eyes flew open, her fingers stilling on the keys. "Oh! Lord Edgar, I didn't hear you come in."

He smiled, moving to stand beside the pianoforte. "I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just, well, I don't believe I've ever heard that piece before. Is it your own composition?"

Iris frowned, realizing she had no idea where the music had come from. "I... I'm not sure," she admitted. "It just came to me, I suppose."

Lord Edgar's brow furrowed in concern. "Perhaps it's best not to push yourself too hard, my dear. You used to be quite the accomplished pianist, but given your current condition..."

His words, though kindly meant, stung Iris more than she cared to admit. She rose from the bench, forcing a smile. "You're quite right, of course. I'm feeling a bit fatigued. If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll lie down for a while."

As she made her way to her chambers, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly amiss. The music she played felt more natural and right than anything else since her accident. Yet everyone around her seemed determined to keep her from exploring these flashes of... what? Memory? Imagination?

She sank onto her bed, her mind whirling with confusion and doubt. As she drifted off into a fitful sleep, the melody from the garden wove its way through her dreams.

In her dream, Iris was seated at a grand pianoforte, her fingers flying across the keys in perfect harmony with those of the man beside her. Though she couldn't see his face clearly, she felt a profound sense of rightness in his presence.

As the final notes of their duet faded away, the man turned to her, his stormy eyes intense with an emotion she couldn't name. "Iris," he said, his voice low and rich, "remember..."

Iris awoke with a start, her heart pounding. The dream clung to her like cobwebs, leaving her with a longing she couldn't explain. She hummed a few bars of the melody, surprised by how clearly she remembered it.

A soft knock at the door preceded Lucy's entrance. "My Lady? Are you alright? I heard you cry out."

Iris sat up, pushing her tousled hair from her face. "I'm fine, Lucy. Just a dream."

The maid approached, concern evident in her kind face. "Was it a nightmare, My Lady?"

"No," Iris said slowly, "not a nightmare. It was... I'm not sure what it was." She looked up at Lucy, a sudden thought striking her. "Lucy, do you know if I've ever played a duet with anyone? On the pianoforte, I mean."

Lucy's eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she schooled her features into a neutral expression. "I couldn't say, My Lady. Perhaps you might ask your mother or father?"

Iris sighed, recognizing the evasion for what it was. "Never mind, Lucy. It's not important."

As Lucy busied herself to tidy the room, Iris rose and moved to the window. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the grounds of Rosewood Manor. In the distance, she could just make out the outline of a garden on the neighboring property .

A memory tugged at the edges of her mind—the man from her dream, seated at a pianoforte in that very garden, but as she tried to focus on the image, it slipped away like sand through her fingers.