21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

T he grand halls of Rosewood Manor were buzzing as the first light of dawn crept through the windows. Maids scurried about, their arms laden with flowers and ribbons, while footmen arranged chairs in neat rows in the garden. Amidst the chaos, Lady Iris Rosier stood before her sister's door, her hand poised to knock.

She hesitated, struck by an odd sense of familiarity. Had she done this before? Shaking off the peculiar feeling, Iris rapped gently on the polished wood.

"Come in," Maude's voice called, a tremor of excitement evident even through the thick oak.

Iris entered, her eyes widening at the sight of her sister. Maude stood before the mirror, a vision in ivory lace and silk. Her golden hair was artfully arranged, dotted with tiny pearl-tipped pins that caught the morning light.

"Oh, Maude," Iris breathed, "you look absolutely beautiful."

Maude turned, her face aglow with happiness. "Do you truly think so? I feel as though I might burst from joy. "

Iris crossed the room, taking her sister's hands in her own. "Mr. Hartley won't know what's hit him when he sees you walking down the aisle."

As she helped Maude with the final touches of her ensemble, Iris couldn't shake the persistent feeling of déjà vu. Every movement, every whispered word of encouragement, seemed to echo with half-forgotten memories.

"Iris?" Maude's voice broke through her reverie. "Are you quite alright? You look rather pale."

Iris forced a smile, pushing aside her unsettling thoughts. "I'm perfectly well, just a touch nervous about playing for the ceremony. You know how I detest being the center of attention."

Maude's brow furrowed. "But you've always loved performing. Why, I remember when you played at that ball last season. You were positively radiant."

A flicker of confusion passed across Iris's face. "Did I? I'm afraid I don't recall..."

Before Maude could respond, Lady Rosier strode into the room, smelling of lavender and wearing a purple silk gown. "Girls! We must make haste. The guests are beginning to arrive, and everything must be perfect."

As they made their way downstairs, Iris couldn't help but notice the meaningful glances exchanged between her mother and sister. A tendril of suspicion curled in her stomach, but she pushed it aside. Today was Maude's day, and she would not mar it with her own confused musings.

After the ceremony at the church, everyone came back to Rosewood Manor. The garden was a riot of color and fragrance, roses and lilies mingling with the heady scent of jasmine. Guests milled about, their excited chatter filling the air. Iris made her way to the pianoforte, set up beneath a canopy of wisteria.

As she settled onto the bench, her fingers hovering over the keys, a hush fell over the assembled crowd. Iris took a deep breath, willing away the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach.

The first notes rang out, clear and true. Iris lost herself in the music, her fingers dancing across the keys with a surety that surprised her. As the melody swelled, so too did a tide of emotions she couldn't quite name.

Flashes of memory began to surface, like bubbles rising from the depths of a still pond. Stolen glances across a crowded room. The brush of fingertips against her own as she accepted a coupe of champagne. A deep, rich laugh that sent shivers down her spine.

Iris's brow furrowed as she played, her mind racing to make sense of these fragmented recollections. They felt so real and vivid, yet they couldn't be true. Could they?

As the final notes faded, Iris looked up, her gaze drawn as if by some magnetic force to a figure standing at the back of the crowd. Lord Horatio Ainsworth, Earl of Thornbrook, stood tall and imposing, his grey eyes fixed upon her with an intensity that took her breath away.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Iris felt as though she were teetering on the edge of some great revelation, her heart pounding in her chest.

But then Lord Edgar was at her side, his handsome face lit with admiration. "My dear Lady Iris, that was simply sublime. Might I have the honor of your first dance?"

Iris allowed herself to be led to the dance floor, her mind still reeling from the rush of sensations triggered by the music. As they began to move in time with the lively country dance, she struggled to focus on Lord Edgar's pleasant chatter.

"I must say, Lady Iris, you grow more radiant with each passing day," Lord Edgar said, his blue eyes twinkling. "I count myself the luckiest of men to be in your company."

Iris smiled automatically, the response ingrained by weeks of careful coaching from her mother. "You are too kind, Lord Edgar. I assure you, the pleasure is mine."

As they twirled about the garden, Iris couldn't help but feel terribly bored. Finally, the dance ended, and Lord Edgar bowed low over her hand.

"Until our next turn, My Lady," he said, his voice warm with affection.

As Lord Edgar moved away, Iris found herself face to face with Lord Thornbrook. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met.

"Lady Iris," he said, his deep voice sending an inexplicable frisson of excitement down her spine. "Might I have the honor of the next dance?"

Before she could respond, her mother appeared as if conjured by some protective instinct. "I'm afraid Lady Iris is quite fatigued, Lord Thornbrook. Perhaps another time."

But Iris, driven by a curiosity she couldn't explain, said, "Nonsense, Mama. I'm perfectly well. I would be delighted, Lord Thornbrook."

As they took their places for the waltz, Iris was acutely aware of the warmth of Lord Thornbrook's hand at her waist. The familiar strains of the music began, and they moved as one, their steps perfectly synchronized.

"You played beautifully earlier, My Lady," Lord Thornbrook murmured, his dark eyes searching her face. "You've always played very well. I recall being particularly moved by your rendition of Mozart's Requiem. It has always been a favorite of mine. "

Iris's brow furrowed. "I... I'm not sure I know that piece, My Lord. At least, I don't recall learning it."

A flicker of something—pain? Frustration?—passed across Lord Thornbrook's face. "Indeed? And yet you played it with such passion, such... understanding."

As they continued dancing, Iris felt like she was balancing on the edge of a precipice. Every turn, every fleeting touch of Lord Thornbrook's hand, seemed to awaken something within her. Fragments of memory teased at the edges of her consciousness—the scent of sandalwood and old books, the sound of a piano being played in the dead of night.

"Lady Iris," Lord Thornbrook said, his voice low and urgent, "I must speak with you. There are things you need to know, things that have been kept from you—"

But before he could continue, the music came to an end. Iris stepped back, her head spinning with confusion and a strange, inexplicable longing.

"I... I need some air," she muttered, barely registering the concern on Lord Thornbrook's face as she turned and fled.

Iris found herself in a quiet corner of the garden, her chest heaving as she struggled to make sense of the maelstrom of emotions swirling within her. She closed her eyes, willing her racing heart to slow.

"What is happening to me?" she whispered to the roses that nodded sympathetically in the gentle breeze.

As she stood there, trying to gather her scattered thoughts, Iris became aware of raised voices nearby. Curiosity overcoming her desire for solitude, she crept closer, concealing herself behind a large topiary.

"You had no right to approach her, Thornbrook," her mother's voice rang out, tight with barely suppressed anger. "Iris is under Lord Edgar's protection now."

Lord Thornbrook's response was cool, but Iris could hear the undercurrent of passion in his words. "Under his protection? Or his thrall? Does it not strike you as odd that she remembers nothing of her life before the accident? Of her true feelings?"

"Her true feelings?" Lady Rosier scoffed. "You speak of things you cannot possibly understand. Iris and Lord Edgar are perfectly suited. Once they are married—"

"Married?" Lord Thornbrook interrupted, his voice sharp with disbelief. "You would bind your daughter to Edgar when she is not in full possession of her faculties? When she cannot possibly make an informed decision?"

Iris's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Married? To Lord Edgar? Surely, she would remember such a significant development in her life.

Lady Rosier's following words were cold, calculated. "I would tread carefully if I were you, Lord Thornbrook. I have made it quite clear that your presence here is barely tolerated. One word from me, and you'll find yourself persona non grata at Rosewood Manor."

There was a moment of tense silence before Lord Thornbrook spoke again, his voice low and dangerous. "You may have Iris fooled, Lady Rosier, but I see you for what you truly are. And I swear I will not rest until Iris knows the truth."

The sound of retreating footsteps told Iris that the confrontation had ended. She sagged against the topiary, her mind reeling from what she had overheard.

What truth was Lord Thornbrook speaking of? What was her mother hiding? And why did the thought of marrying Lord Edgar fill her with such inexplicable dread?

As she returned to the wedding celebration, Iris's mind whirled with questions. The music, the memories, and the heated words exchanged between Lord Thornbrook and her mother.

She observed the guests, searching for clues in their expressions and conversations. Lord Edgar hovered near her, his attentiveness now tinged with an air of possessiveness that set her teeth on edge. His hand at her elbow, guiding her from one group to another, felt less like a gesture of affection and more like a subtle assertion of control.

As she exchanged pleasantries with the assembled nobility, Iris became acutely aware of the undercurrents beneath society's polite veneer. She caught snatches of whispered conversations that ceased abruptly at her approach and noticed the pointed glances and raised eyebrows that followed Lord Thornbrook as he moved through the crowd.

Lady Rosier flitted about, a constant presence at the edges of Iris's vision. Her mother's smile never wavered, but Iris sensed a nervousness in her quick, birdlike movements and the way her eyes darted between her daughter and Lord Edgar.

The music that had once brought Iris such joy now seemed to mock her, each familiar melody a reminder of the vast swaths of her life that remained frustratingly out of reach. She found herself analyzing every note, every chord progression, searching for some hidden meaning or forgotten memory.

Iris longed for solitude, for a moment to breathe and sort through the tumult of her thoughts, but each time she attempted to slip away, someone invariably appeared at her side—Lord Edgar with his solicitous inquiries, her mother with some trivial task that required her immediate attention, or one of the countless guests eager to bask in the reflected glow of the bride's sister .

It was during one such moment, trapped in a conversation with an elderly duchess whose name escaped her, that Iris's gaze locked with Lord Thornbrook's across the room. In that instant, a jolt of recognition surged through her, so powerful it nearly took her breath away.

The duchess's voice faded to a distant hum as Iris struggled to maintain her composure. Her heart raced, her palms grew damp, and she felt she might shatter into a thousand pieces if she didn't unravel the mystery that enveloped her.

As the last dessert plates were cleared away and the guests began to make their farewells, Iris found herself again at the pianoforte.

Her fingers moved of their own accord, coaxing a hauntingly beautiful melody from the keys. It was a piece she had never heard before, yet it felt as familiar as her heartbeat.

As the last notes faded away, Iris looked up to find Lord Thornbrook standing before her, his stormy eyes filled with a mixture of hope and anguish.

"You remember," he said softly, more a statement than a question.

Iris shook her head, frustration evident in the set of her shoulders. "I don't... not entirely. But something is there, just out of reach. My Lord, I beg of you, tell me what's happening? What is this truth you spoke of to Mother?"

Lord Thornbrook glanced around, ensuring they were alone. "It is not my place to force your memories, Lady Iris. But know this—what you feel, what your heart is trying to tell you, is real. Trust in that, if nothing else."

As he turned to leave, Iris reached out, her fingers grazing his sleeve. "Wait," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That piece I just played... did you recognize it? "

A sad smile touched Lord Thornbrook's lips. "Indeed I did, My Lady. It was…a composition of my own."

With those words, he was gone, leaving Iris alone with her tumultuous thoughts and the lingering notes of a forgotten melody.

As night fell and the last wedding guests departed, Iris retired to her chambers. She sat at her vanity, mechanically removing the pins from her hair as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

The woman who gazed back at her was a stranger. Her unfamiliar features were arranged in an expression of confusion and longing that Iris scarcely recognized.

Iris climbed into bed, her body weary but her mind far too active for sleep. She lay there in the darkness, Lord Thornbrook's words echoing in her ears.

Trust in that, if nothing else…