Page 6 of A Duke to Restore her Memory
She noted the fineness of his features, and her eyes widened. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes, a strong jawline, and a straight, commanding nose. He had black, curling hair, which was tousled. He frowned as he gazed at her.
He had a very commanding presence and was well-dressed in tan britches and long black boots. An ermine-lined black cape wrapped around him, moving slightly in the wind.
She realized, quite suddenly, that she was lying on sand and that the vast blue behind the handsome, kind man was the sea.
She was on the beach. How on earth had she got here? What had happened?
And who was she?
Another wave of terror swept over her as the physician dressed her head wound. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t remember.
She didn’t even know her own name. It was all a complete blank, as if her mind was a slate, and had been wiped clean entirely.
After the physician had attended her, checking for other injuries and finding that she was in generally good condition despite the head injury, with no broken bones or the like, he stepped back, gazing at her thoughtfully.
“And who are you, young woman?” he asked slowly. “Can you tell me where you live?”
“I do not know,” cried Christina, her voice filled with anguish. “I cannot remember a single thing. I do not know why I am here or how I fell down the shaft … and nor can I even remember my name or any details of who I am and my life.” She gazed at him, her eyes stricken. “What is wrong with me?”
The physician sighed heavily, shaking his head in sorrow. “I was afraid this might happen,” he said tersely. “You hit your head quite badly, and sometimes, memory loss accompanies such an injury.”
“She cannot remember who she is?” The handsome man’s voice was filled with incredulity. “How is that possible, Dr Watson?”
The physician sighed again. “We do not know how or why it happens,” he replied slowly. “But it does. If the blow to the head is sufficient, then memory loss can occur, ranging from minor details being lost … to full-blown loss of memory of the person’s entire life leading up to the accident. It appears that this is what has happened to this young woman.”
“I will never know who I am?” Christina’s mouth went dry from terror. “I will never recover details of my life or know my own name?”
The physician gave a bark of laughter. “You must be a local, young woman, and so someone will be bound to recognize you around here,” he replied dryly. “But in any case, the memory loss usually does not last forever. It may take some time, but you have an excellent chance of full recovery.”
“But what are we to do with her?” asked the handsome man, kneeling beside her, his brow furrowed. “Not one of the men who assisted in pulling her from the shaft knows who she is. None of them have ever seen her before.”
“That is a concern,” admitted the physician, frowning. “She must be looked after. She has suffered a major injury to her head and cannot even recall her own name. She cannot be simply allowed to walk away.”
Christina blinked, her mind whirring again at the enormity of what the physician was saying. She had no home to go to … because she couldn’t remember her own home. She was utterly adrift in the world, like a ship without an anchor. It was a truly terrifying feeling.
Who am I? Where do I live? What is my name?
“I will take responsibility for her,” said the handsome man abruptly. “I will care for her at Newquay Hall. She can stay with me until she recovers her memory or someone recognizes her and takes her to her home.” He hesitated, his face contorting. “I feel responsible. I own that abandoned mine shaft, and somehow, it was unsafe. It should have been boarded up properly. The accident would never have happened if proper procedures were in place.”
Christina gaped at him. “Thank you,” she stammered, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. The gentleman was kind as well as staggeringly handsome and commanding. “May I ask … who are you?”
The physician snorted with laughter. “You are addressing his grace, the Duke of Newquay, young woman,” he said in a dry voice. “You are on his land. His grace owns over one hundred acres of this coastline.”
Christina’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh,” she said slowly. She knew a duke was a noble figure, almost as high as a prince. “I am very sorry, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect …”
“I am not offended,” said the duke with a slight smile. “There is no need to apologize at all. You are injured, and this is no place to think about correct protocol.” His smile widened. “You are willing to accept sanctuary at my home, then?”
“Of course,” said Christina, overcome. “I accept with gratitude.”
“I wish I knew your name at least,” said the duke, gazing at her steadily. “What can I call you?”
“How about we call her Georgina for now,” suggested the physician, shrugging his shoulders, “for the sake of King George. Would that be acceptable?”
“Perfectly,” said the duke, looking amused. “As long as it is acceptable to the young woman. Do you like the name?”
“I suppose,” said Christina, having no particular opinion on the name. “It is as good as any name … until I remember my own.”
A wave of sorrow swept over her. It felt enormous. The loss was so great that her mind reeled again. She couldn’t even remember her own name. It was the most basic thing anchoring her to her life and who she was.
