Page 23 of Romancing the Scot
Her vague memory of him did nothing to prepare her for when he turned. High, firm cheekbones. A strong, chiseled jaw. Intensity and confidence were written in every line of his face, in the stride as he walked toward the house. He was a dangerously handsome man.
Alert to being watched, he directed his eyes upward to the window. He stopped, and she was stunned by the sudden heat rushing through her. For a moment, she remained locked in place by his gaze. Then, coming to her senses, she backed away from the window.
His sister was standing by the unlit hearth. Grace sat again on the cushioned bench.
“I can’t imagine that you’re a person who’s accustomed to being ill,” Jo said, taking the seat next to her.
She wasn’t. Grace never had time to be sick, especially in recent years. Her increasingly infirm father relied on her wherever they went. She was not only Colonel Ware’s daughter and nurse, she served as his secretary—arranging his travels, coordinating his schedules, managing his correspondence. In short, doing what needed to be done. She could never afford to be ill.
“Do you have any recollection of ever being sick?”
Jo was obviously trying to elicit some response regarding the time before her journey from Antwerp, and Grace knew she’d be constantly tested for as long as she stayed here. She shook her head.
“I feel no change in what I remember. I still don’t know who I am or what I’m doing here. I just asked Anna the date before you came in. I have no idea why I am here.”
This was, in part, the truth. She really didn’t know why they’d been attacked in Antwerp with such cruel violence.
“Dr. Namby has suggested that seeing something from your past might perhaps stimulate your memory.”
Jo went into the bedchamber and returned a moment later carrying Grace’s deep green traveling dress.
“You were wearing this when you arrived.” She laid it on the bench. “The skirt and the bodice are ruined, but I wanted you to see it.”
When she ran down to the carriage at the harbor inn, Grace hadn’t taken the matching pelisse coat or hat, her gloves or reticule. She thought she would be returning immediately to their rooms to finish preparing for the final leg of their travels. She ran her fingers over the torn, stained hem of the skirt.
“I don’t know. This seems like any other dress.”
“But a fine one,” Jo corrected. “Look at the quality of the taffeta. The high, padded waistline and the embroidery. A great many hours must have gone into making it.”
It was, indeed, a fine travel dress. This garment and the clothing packed in the lost trunks had cost a great deal. But in their travels through the courts of Europe, it was required that Grace dress and act and speak in a manner consistent with the haut ton.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could remember.”
Disappointment registered on Jo’s face as she took the dress and laid it over the back of a chair.
“There’s more that I want you to see.” Jo picked up a beaded reticule from the table and returned to the bench and sat. She held out a number of coins.
“My brother found these in the bottom of the gondola.”
Grace stared at the American coins. Copper pennies and a few half dimes. She took them from Jo’s hand, pretending to study them.
“They’re American. Perhaps I was there,” she said, trying to sound hopeful. “But perhaps they belong to someone else, and they somehow fell into the crate.”
Trying to use this money to send a letter to Brussels would be futile. How many people around here would take American coins in a transaction? Her secret would be discovered immediately. No, these coins were of no use to her. She shook her head, returning them.
“I do wish I could remember.”
“We have to keep faith that it will happen.” Jo patted her hand gently. “I’ll have Anna take the dress away, if you have no more need of it.”
“I think it’s only good for rags now. It’s far too badly ruined for anyone to wear.”
“Then be agreeable when the seamstress comes in,” Jo ordered good naturedly. “My brother insists that you have a selection of clothes while you’re with us.”
Hugh Pennington. Grace squirmed at the thought of having to spend time in his company, now that she knew his profession. She tried not to think of him as the fiercely handsome man she’d just seen outside.
“But there’s more,” Jo said. “The secret pocket we found in the dress.”
“A secret pocket?” It was her dress, and Grace knew there was nothing unusual about it. Certainly, there was no secret pocket.
