Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The box with the lovely stockings lay on her bed. She took them out of the box and ran her fingers over the fine material.

She had never owned anything so beautiful. They were delicately knitted, so fine one could hardly see the texture of the fabric. The embroidery stitches—twirls and leaves winding themselves up the leg—were the prettiest she'd ever seen.

Not all the memories had come back to her. She remembered with some certainty that he had not given her gifts very often.

A very long time ago, he'd given her a family heirloom, a wedding ring. She jolted upright. Her ring! She'd always worn a ring, hadn't she? Yet her hands were bare. When she'd awoken in the hospital in Abbotsford, there had been nothing at all on her body aside from a simple shift. She wondered what had happened to the ring. Someone must have stolen it, along with her clothes. Simon had never mentioned a ring. The lack of any personal belongings on her was the reason why it had been impossible to identify her.

Lena rubbed her forehead.

A heaviness settled on her heart.

He had known the truth all along, of course. He'd lied when she'd asked him whether they'd been in love. Maybe he simply hadn't known what else to say. It explained his sudden aloofness and why he'd pulled away when she'd told him she remembered her love for him.

Memories were deceptive, he had said. How right he had been!

While she had adored him as only a child could, an adoration that had later blossomed into love—he had not loved her back.

She rubbed the empty space where her wedding band had been.

Yes, she had loved him. Of that she was certain, but she'd also feared him.

It hadn't been a good marriage.

He'd returned to London soon after the wedding, leaving his young wife behind in the magnificent country house that was a glittering palace filled with gilded mirrors and marbled halls.

She'd been so lonely.

He'd always been polite to her. Courteous, as one was to a stranger. She'd tried so hard to please him, but it was difficult to please someone whom one hardly knew. He'd intimidated her, and in her eagerness to please him, she'd begun to fear him. Fear of seeing the look of impatience in his eyes. They'd been in different worlds. He, so much older, so far above her, and she, barely out of the schoolroom with no idea of the ways of the world…

It was the music that had kept her company. Alone in the hall, she'd spent hour after hour playing the piano. It had almost become an obsession. There was nothing else that gave her pleasure. She'd practised and practised for hours, honing and sharpening her skills as a pianist. The only people who had ever listened to her were the butler, the housekeeper, and the other servants.

Up to that point, the memories were clear. Then everything was jumbled together like scattered pieces of a broken mosaic, refusing to fit into any coherent pattern. There were so many visions, scenes, disconnected fragments that seemed to make no sense. All these faces.

Good heavens, her parents!

She jumped up, wringing her hands.

Her mother, pale and tired, and her father, boisterous and loud and cheerful. Had Aldingbourne informed them that she was alive? They needed to be informed.

She probably ought to tell him, too, that most of her memories had returned.

Lena rubbed the back of her head as it began to ache.

Most, but not all of them.

She still had so many questions. Why Scotland? Why had she gone there? Why couldn't she recall why she had left? Was it because she'd discovered he had a mistress?

She clasped a hand over her mouth. Good heavens. Of course. She must have run away. Didn't she have a great-aunt living in Scotland? She must have run away to stay with her.

Her head thumped and ached and refused to retrieve any more memories. Instead, there was the same empty void that had previously engulfed her entire mind.

She pulled on the new stockings, tied them with a matching pink ribbon and admired them.

Her first real present from him.

It must mean something, must it not?

She furrowed her brow in consternation.

But what, exactly, did it mean?

When they met in the hallway some time later, he did not meet her gaze. He tugged on his neckcloth with an impatient move, as if it suffocated him. Then he strode away to his room without a word.

Lena hurried after him before he could close the door. "I wanted to thank you again for the stockings."

He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There is nothing to be thankful for. Harmonia has been thanking me repeatedly for the last half hour, and I must say it is getting tiresome. There is no need to repeat what is not worth mentioning."

"Well." She swallowed. He was certainly in a mood, wasn't he? Best to address the elephant in the room. "Are you still cross about me spying on you?"

His face darkened. "Cross? This is beyond mere annoyance, Lena."

"I assure you; it is really quite harmless. I am not stupid. It would never occur to me to pass on information that is really important."

"That is certainly to be hoped," he replied coolly .

"If all things fail, I could tell them about your kite excursion with the boys and how you got stuck in the tree. Les told me all about it." A corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "I'm certain Metternich will enjoy hearing about that."

"Is this all a game to you, madam?" His voice was tight. "Let me assure you, this is neither amusing nor a game. I do not appreciate being the object of scrutiny, my every move and word weighed and judged. I have gone through great pains to purge my household of potential spies and have prided myself on being quite successful, only to find my own wife at the epicentre, hired by Metternich himself." He blew out his nostrils in indignation.

"When I first took the job," she countered, her voice surprisingly steady, "I had no inkling of who you were or that we were even vaguely related. It meant nothing to me, so why on earth should I not do this?" She threw up her arms. "I needed the income. I have to feed my children somehow. Why not like this?"

He stared. "By Jove. I'd forgotten what it was like."

"What?"

"To have a wife."

Ice-cold heat rushed through her veins. She took a sharp intake of breath. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "Someone who needs constant care and protection, someone to think about all the time, someone with a mind and a will of her own, someone—" His voice trailed off.

"Who is a burden and a millstone around your neck." She had no idea where that had come from, but there it was.

Their eyes locked. A flicker of something—sadness? pain?—passed through his eyes before they darted away. "This is…absurd," he said, a moment too late.

But the seed of doubt had been planted in her heart.

Maybe he wasn't really that delighted to have her back. Perhaps he had been content as a widower. He must have led a jolly life, not tied down to anyone all these years.

Maybe all he needed was his son and heir, but not her, the unwanted, unloved wife.

He had a mistress, after all. Didn't he?

Maybe it was all a mistake and she should have stayed dead.

She forced a stiff smile. "Why did you never marry again?"

He opened and closed his mouth several times, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. It was strange to watch, almost as if he were struggling for air.

After what seemed to her an eternity, he replied curtly, "I simply preferred not to." Then he turned and stalked back to his room, leaving Lena in the corridor, staring at the closed door in confusion.