Chapter Fifteen

W hen he called for more brandy that evening, sitting in his study long after his guest had gone to bed, he did not expect Mrs Simmons to bring it.

"Surely this is not one of your duties, Mrs Simmons," he commented as she filled his glass from the fresh decanter.

"Not since I was a maid, Your Grace," she said with a smile. "But I just wanted to thank you again, for everything. And to tell you…" She swallowed and avoided his eyeline. "Mr Richards has informed me of what he has found out, and passed on to you. And I am very grateful to you for not dismissing me."

"It was a long time ago, Mrs Simmons," he said, leaning back in his chair, pleased that there seemed to be no tears this time. "As far as I am concerned, the matter is over."

She paused, as though there was something else she wanted to say, and then reached for the empty decanter. "Thank you, Your Grace. You’re a good man."

Never comfortable with compliments, James took a sip of his brandy and waited for the moment to pass. It was late, and he would soon head to bed, but he just wanted to finish the last few pages of the book he was reading. With the arrival of his mystery guest, his free time of an evening had diminished, and it had taken him longer to read the last few chapters than it normally would. It was a riveting account of the battle tactics of the Roman Empire, and he had been hooked by it before her arrival.

"Is there any progress with the young lady’s memory?" Mrs Simmons asked, her hand already on the door handle.

"Not as of yet," James said with a sigh. "But I am sure she will remember something shortly."

Mrs Simmons nodded and then glanced back at him. "Yes, I’m sure she will. But her presence has been pleasant, has it not? Brings some warmth back to the castle. Whoever she is, she seems like a nice young lady, who knows how to behave and how to treat people."

"Indeed. Good night, Mrs Simmons."

Had she known that her words would stick with him, and distract him from finishing the rest of his book? He doubted it; she was probably just making conversation. But nonetheless, he did not shake them off for the rest of the evening, nor when he lay in bed, struggling to sleep.

Because her presence had been nice. He had to agree. But it wasn’t meant to be. She didn’t belong here – and the longer she stayed, the more comfortable he would feel with her being there, and the stranger it would feel when she left.

She needed to go. There was no doubting it. Mrs Simmons’s comment that her presence was nice, and even worse, James’s instinct to agree with her, had made that abundantly clear. Besides, it had been five days – if her memory had not returned yet, perhaps it never would.

And he was not going to take care of her for the rest of her days, with no idea of who she was. There were some inconsistencies too, which did not always make sense – things that she remembered and then seemingly backtracked on. Was there something she wasn’t telling him? Or was that his inherently suspicious nature playing tricks on him?

It was a grey and cloudy morning when they sat down to breakfast, and he made his announcement.

"I believe we must call for the doctor tomorrow."

His mystery woman’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed an O.

"Why, Your Grace?"

The Duke sighed. Surely it was obvious?

"You have been here for five days, and you seem no closer to remembering who you are or from whence you came. I am happy to do my Christian duty and provide a port in the storm, so to speak. But we have no idea now whether your memory will ever return, and you cannot remain indefinitely."

He didn’t know if he was mistaken in thinking she looked disappointed.

"I understand, Your Grace. And I have trespassed on your hospitality for far too long. I really thought that by now…"

"I realise you are not doing it on purpose. But there may well be people looking for you, and the last thing we would want would be rumours swirling about your time here, about the nature of this situation."

"No, of course not," she insisted quickly.

While James believed that she did not want negative repercussions from this sojourn, he realised that, as unusual as it was for him, he really had not thought things through. His staff, he was fairly sure, he could trust. But she’d been to the village…had she told people where she was staying? If anyone found out he’d had an unchaperoned miss – especially if she turned out to be a lady of any consequence, which he rather thought she might be – in his home for almost a week, well then, he’d have no choice but to marry her.

He knew one day he would marry; it was inevitable, rather like taxes and death. But he certainly never planned to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap unwittingly. No, when he did marry, it would be well thought out – an advantageous match that would suit his lifestyle and his ambitions.

Not some unknown lady, no matter how beautiful she was, or how much she smiled, or how warm she made his home seem.

"We are agreed, then," James said, reaching for a segment of orange. "Tomorrow, I shall call for the doctor. And if he cannot help you regain your memory or advise when it might return, then we shall have to enquire around the local towns and villages to see if anyone of your description has been reported missing."

◆◆◆

Panic was making it impossible for Penelope to continue the conversation. Of course, she should have known this was coming. She’d only intended to stay a couple of days herself – and now they were approaching a week, and she had not brought the ruse to an end.

Her parents were surely worried sick. And now the Duke had decided he had put up with her for long enough, and he wanted to call in a doctor.

But she could not allow that to happen. She was sure, somehow, that a doctor would know she had not lost any memories whatsoever. And then she would be exposed, and the Duke would hate her. She had just been having so much fun getting to know him, playing the role of someone else for a short period of time.

Perhaps, if she miraculously regained her memories, she could simply go home as if nothing had happened. He wouldn’t need to know that he’d been tricked. And maybe…maybe she could contrive to invite him to Amblewood. If he felt anything for her after this week together, perhaps he would propose marriage without her needing to reveal anything…

"Are you quite well?" the Duke was asking, and she realised she had been staring into space, unable to focus as she thought through her possible next steps.

She nodded and broke into a bread roll in order to have something to do. "Quite well, thank you."

She had discovered from the staff, after some discreet questioning, just how far they were from Amblewood. They weren’t so far over the border, but since she had travelled by sea and not by land, the distance on a map looked much greater. If the Duke were to ask around, how far would he go? And would he travel by horse or think about where it was feasible for her to have hailed from, considering she had been washed up on his shores in a boat?

She tried to imagine her parents’ reactions to her arrival at home as the footman cleared away the plates. She was sure they’d be pleased at her safe return, although if they found out she had been alone with the Duke of Dunloch for several nights, she rather thought they might also be pushing for marriage.

And they might be rather surprised to find that she was not against such a marriage – but she did not want the Duke to be forced into it. No, just as she had wanted a man to be interested in her for her personality and not her title or dowry, she also did not want to be wed without the groom having any choice at all.

And so her initial plan still seemed a sound one: when she ‘regained’ her memories, she would return home and be vague about the details of where she had been. She could surely pretend not to remember, or at least simply state that the Duke had helped her on her way, rather than housing her and feeding her and making her feel things she had never felt before…

She had certainly woven a tangled web of lies when she had decided not to be honest with the Duke of Dunloch about her identity.

Since it was to be her last day at the castle, with the Duke, she intended to make the most of it. She knocked on his study door and interrupted his work – something she had tried to avoid doing for the rest of the week.

"Since I am to be leaving you soon," she began. "I mean, here," she corrected, hoping he had not noticed her slip of the tongue, "I thought I might take a ride through the woods."

"Are you sure that is wise?" the Duke said, a frown on his face.

"I will ride very carefully," she promised. "And I intend to ask the groom for a more stable mount."

"A sensible plan," the Duke agreed.

"But I thought, since you spend so much time working, perhaps you might like a break. To join me."

"I have rather a lot of work to complete, you see, and–"

"I know you are very busy," she interrupted him. "But I think sometimes it’s good to remember that there are other things in life than work and duty." She smiled at him, hoping it took some of the sting out of her words, which she realised sounded rather like a rebuke. Well, she supposed they were – she did not believe he was living life to the fullest. It wasn’t entirely his fault; it was how he had been raised.

But she thought, before she left, that she should show him it was not the only way to live.