Page 3 of A Duke to Restore her Memory
I am only twenty years old. My whole life was ahead of me. And now, I feel as if I am about to be enshrouded in a tomb. As if I am about to be buried alive.
“Papa may change his mind with time,” she said faintly, her heart beating erratically. “If he loses me for a short while, he might realize how much my happiness means to him and that I will never compromise it.”
Harriet stared at her. “What do you mean, milady?”
Christina took a deep breath. A plan was starting to formulate in her mind. A plan so daring, so wild, that she was shocking herself even as it was crystallizing.
“My dear friend Lady Penelope Duvall lives in Edinburgh,” she said breathlessly. “I know that ships leave for Edinburgh from Plymouth … if I can get to Plymouth and get on a ship that sails to Edinburgh, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Penelope’s family will give me sanctuary …”
“Oh, no,” Harriet said, shaking her head vigorously. “You are contemplating running away? It is so dangerous, milady! Thieves could beset you, highwaymen, cutthroats – you might never even make the ship, or if you do, be ravished upon it!”
“No one will notice me,” interrupted Christina breathlessly, staring at her maid. “Not if I look like you, Harriet … and not myself at all.” She hesitated. “If I journey as a maid, not a lady, no one will look twice at me. It will be the perfect disguise to aid my passage.”
Harriet’s face blanched. She looked shocked.
“You must help me, my friend,” continued Christina faintly. “You must give me one of your gowns to wear.” She turned, gazing out the window at the wild blue sea beyond. “There is no time to tarry. From this moment, Lady Christina Whitford no longer exists … at least, not for a while.”
Chapter 2
“Just a little while longer, Romulus,” said Christina wearily, leaning to whisper into the horse’s ear. “Not too much further, boy.”
The horse whinnied, his ears flicking at the sound of her voice. Christina could feel the tremble in the horse’s limbs and the sweat permeating his body.
They had been riding for over two hours, hugging the cliffs along the coastline, galloping like the wind. She had headed out at first light, clutching a small bag, trying to get to the stables before the stable hands roused for the day and set off the alarm.
Her heart gave an almighty throb. She was really doing this. She was heading towards Plymouth to set sail on one of the tall ships heading north to Scotland. She was running away from home and marriage to the Earl of Cheltenham.
It is just as well that I acted before contemplating further. I may have lost the courage entirely to do this.
She had watched the sun rise slowly over the sea, casting burnt orange and yellow flames on the water. If she hadn’t been riding for her liberty, she might have stopped to admire its breathtaking beauty.
Now, grey mist had descended over the sea, giving the landscape an otherworldly, ethereal quality. But it also made it difficult to see anything and the path more perilous.
She didn’t have time to acknowledge what was around her, anyway. Draycott Manor would be aware by now – or very soon – that she was missing, and she didn’t have time to spare, even though Harriet had promised to delay the inevitable as long as she could, telling her parents and the other servants that she was feeling sick and would be lying in her bed longer than normal.
Christina sighed heavily, pulling in the reins and stopping the horse abruptly. Romulus needed a short break, and so did she – she knew she was getting closer to Plymouth and her destination.
Her mouth was dry from thirst. Quickly, she dismounted, talking soothingly to the horse for a moment, before wandering towards the cliff edge, gazing out over the sea.
A slight breeze lifted the ribbons of the old bonnet she was wearing, courtesy of Harriet, as she opened the water canteen, drinking thirstily.
She glanced down at the faded gown she was wearing. It was pale grey and coarse, rubbing and scratching against her skin. She had no idea what she looked like – she hadn’t even bothered to glance at herself in the mirror before she fled Draycott Manor.
But she knew she didn’t look like herself. If any of her acquaintances happened to be out riding this morning, they wouldn’t recognize Lady Christina Whitford, the only daughter of Viscount Draycott. They would assume she was a maid or another kind of servant in this plain garb.
She sighed again, her heart contorting wildly, as the enormity of what she was doing hit her with the force of a brick in the face. Uncertainty swept over her. Was she acting prematurely? Should she return home and keep trying to convince Papa to change his mind? Would it work?
You know it will not work. At least not now. Papa is adamant. The only way he might be persuaded to change his mind is if he faces losing me. And if he never changes his mind, then I must forge my own path, estranged from my family forever.
She took two little steps towards the cliff’s edge, lost in her thoughts. What if Penelope’s family refused her sanctuary?
She knew her dear friend would advocate for her to be allowed to stay, but what if her family resisted the entreaty? What would she do then? She didn’t have much money in her purse. She would be forced to try to find work to support herself – something she had never contemplated in her life and was ill-equipped to do. She had been born and raised a noble lady. She couldn’t be anything else …
Suddenly, she heard a faint squawk emanating from below. She peered down, leaning over the edge of the cliff, spellbound.
There was a bird’s nest perched on some craggy rock – she could clearly see it, with three shiny large eggs nestled in the twigs and branches and a large bird hovering over it, staring at her suspiciously with black beady eyes.
“Oh, you are magnificent!” she cried, the wind catching her voice. “Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm …”
