Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

It was a clear, sharp vision of colour, sight, and smell.

She'd just stepped out of a shop into a busy street, when a voice suddenly exclaimed from behind her. "Oh look, quickly, my lady, there's your betrothed." Was it her maid? Was her name Martha?

Her heart began to pound and her breath quickened in anticipation. She craned her neck and tiptoed forwards to get a glimpse of him, her very first glimpse, and then she saw him pulling up in a curricle, which was immediately surrounded by several other gentlemen. He stood up and pulled out his pocket-watch.

"A quarter to the hour," he said, "to the minute. That means I was one and a half minutes faster than Garford. I have won the wager."

Several pedestrians paused and murmured amongst themselves. "The Marquess of Drayton. Son of the Duke of Aldingbourne. Ten thousand pounds per annum and two estates, and he's not even a Duke yet. They say he is a rising star in Parliament, remarkable for his young age. Mark my words, he's on the path to greatness."

She'd felt a surge of pride that this was the man she would one day marry. How fine he looked, how tall and handsome! He was immaculately dressed in a dark blue coat and trousers, his beaver hat perched rakishly on his head, the flaps of his greatcoat swinging back as he stepped down from the curricle with a light foot.

He swept past her, not knowing who she was, for their betrothal had only been informally agreed upon by their parents, and they had not yet been formally introduced. Had he noticed her, he would have seen an awkward, pale fourteen-year-old girl in a brown pelisse and a bonnet that covered most of her face. She could have touched him if she had stretched out her hand, but he never noticed her. He disappeared in a house, followed by his friends.

She craned her neck to catch a last glimpse of him before the door closed.

"A most distinguished young lord," Martha said. "And so very handsome! How fortunate you are, my lady."

"Yes, I am very fortunate indeed," she said, pressing her hand to her chest as a wave of happiness swept through her. She would still have to wait three years for their formal engagement.

Lena blinked, disoriented, as if awakening from a dream and stared at him, noting that his face was now older, manlier. "The Marquess of Drayton?"

He looked at her sharply. "The courtesy title I had when my father was still alive." His eyes paused on Hector. "He is the Marquess of Drayton now," the Duke said softly.

Lena covered her mouth with one hand as the realisation sank in that Hector, her Hecki, was, in fact, a lord. A marquess.

Oh dear.

"Is that all you remember?" the Duke pressed.

She gave a brief account of her memory, avoiding any mention of the emotions she had felt during the scene.

"It makes no sense at all. Being one and a half minutes faster than Garford? Who is Garford? And why were you faster? Whatever for?"

He rubbed his forehead. "Garford was a friend. It was a bit of a sport for us to race from our townhouse to White's, with others placing wagers on who would be faster. How peculiar, though." He knitted his brows together. "How could you have witnessed this? It must have been on Bond Street. What were you doing there? And if it involved Garford, it must have been decades ago, since he has long since moved to Ireland." He paused to calculate. "Hector. Help me with a basic mathematical problem to solve this conundrum."

The boy looked up, interested. "How?"

"If I ceased to be the Marquess of Drayton at the age of twenty-six, and your mother is nine years younger than me, how old was she then?"

"Twenty-six minus nine?" Hector stuck out the corner of his tongue as he calculated. "That is, er, sixteen."

"Seventeen. Your mother was at most seventeen years old during this event. Yet she mentions Garford, who moved to Ireland at twenty-four. He's my age. To narrow it down further, we can conclude this must have happened before he left for Ireland. How old would your mother have been then?"

Hector looked at him with incomprehension. "How should I know?"

"At most fifteen. Probably closer to fourteen." He turned to Lena. "That's a very early memory, indeed."

"Yes. Strange." She blinked at him, puzzled. "Why is it that I can seem to remember early memories and not later ones?" Her eyes widened as she suddenly understood. "Oh! It must have been my very first memory of you. The first time I saw you." She made a movement imitating him as he pulled out his pocket-watch. "This is why it made such an impression on me."

He knit his brows together. "While I remember the event of racing against Garford, I do not recall seeing you there."

"Well. I know somewhat more about young men by now. Would you have noticed a green girl standing in the middle of the road? We hadn't been introduced. I was one of many. I could have been anyone. I daresay you thought the same. You were with your friends and your mind was elsewhere." She knew immediately that it was true.

He was silent.

Hector scrambled out of his chair and ran out, hollering. "Theo, Les, Mona! Mama remembers him!"

The approaching footsteps heralded the children arriving in the room.

"How? What? "

"Do you remember anything else?" the Duke asked.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Nothing." Not a single memory of their marriage. Try as she might, it would not come.

That troubled her.

"Never fear. I'll invent a device to make you remember," Les said. "Something to wear on your head that will stimulate your brain."

"Maybe you should see a doctor," Theo suggested. "A phrenologist even. Though I'm not entirely sure that field isn't a bag of moonshine. I don't think Papa thought highly of phrenologists."

"What does a phrenologist do?" asked Mona.

"He reads the shape of the skull and relates the bumps on the brain to mental abilities. It's not entirely scientific, but maybe he might have some suggestions on how to regain lost memories." Theo turned to the Duke. "Though I dare say you will play the most important role in prodding her memory. Do you have any objects that she might recognise?"

Once more he nodded. "I have already shown your mother a locket she gave me. It did not help her remember."

"Maybe you could recreate certain situations that might spur her memory on," Mona suggested. "They would have to be moments of significance. I don't know. Like a proposal? Or the wedding itself?"

"I'm certain that's not necessary," Lena intervened hastily. The last thing she wanted was to reenact their wedding to trigger her memory. How awkward would that be ?

"I'll think of something," the Duke said.

Mona looked thoughtful. "Since it was the Duke's gestures which helped you to remember before, it is likely that the same might happen again. The best course of action is that Mama and the Duke spend as much time together as possible and repeat many of those things you did when you courted her, yes? This is the only way to jog your memory."

The Duke cleared his throat, his eyes flickering to Lena.

A blush crept up her neck. "Yes. I suppose you might be right." Not knowing where to look, she rubbed her neck and got up. "Well, there is much to do today. I have to meet Emma, and I must go to the market for flour. And eggs. And sugar. Though maybe not, I think there might still be some left in the pantry. Either way, I must see Emma." She realised she was rambling. "Children, make yourselves useful for the remaining afternoon." Without waiting for a response, she hurried from the room.

"Shouldn't he be going with you?" Theo called after her, but she'd already gone. "Strange, I thought we'd just agreed that you two ought to spend as much time together as possible." Then he shrugged. "Come boys, let's go see the military parade in the Prater. I hear the King of Prussia, the King of Denmark, Tsar Alexander, and our entire imperial family will be there."

" Famos !" The boys jumped up and scrambled out of the room.

Mona remained behind, sitting across from the Duke. Her eyes shone with determination as she leaned in closer. "Have you tried flowers yet?"