Page 19 of A Duke to Restore her Memory
All she knew was that she had once been at a ball and was riding the black horse along the cliffs that day and had seen a bird when she had fallen. She hadn’t recovered any more memories since the day the duke had brought her back there.
The door opened. Mrs Sollock, the housekeeper, came into the room carrying some fresh linen. The woman stopped abruptly, gazing at Christina.
“Why are you crying?” she asked, tilting her head to the side and examining her closely. “Why are you upset?”
Christina wiped away the last of her tears, turning to the housekeeper. Her heart was beating hard.
“Do you think I am making it up?” she said, her voice catching. “Do you think I am pretending not to remember anything about my life?”
The woman was silent as she contemplated the question. Christina’s heart skipped a beat. Mrs Sollock was a woman of few words, but she was kind in her own way and very efficient at her job. Christina liked her.
“I must admit I was sceptical of you at first,” said the housekeeper eventually, in an even voice. “There was never any doubt that you hit your head badly, but I thought you might be hamming up the memory loss to stay here in the lap of luxury.” She paused. “But I believe you now. I can tell you are genuine. I feel sorry for you … it cannot be easy being adrift in the world with no kin or friends.”
“Thank you,” stammered Christina, feeling overwhelmed. “Lady Lydia thinks I am a fraud. She does not believe that I am genuine …”
“She is just being protective of the duke,” said Mrs Sollock firmly. “He is her younger brother. She feels as if it is her job to watch out for him. Take no notice of her. If the duke says you are welcome to stay, then that is all you need. Lady Lydia cannot throw you out, you know. This house belongs to the duke – not to her.”
Christina nodded slowly, but she still felt uneasy. The housekeeper spoke the truth, of course, but that didn’t mean that Lady Lydia couldn’t make her time here a misery, even if she weren’t the official mistress of the house.
She sighed deeply. The bitter truth was she had nowhere else to go for the moment. She was stuck here, like a fly in amber. She would just have to work out a way to deal with Lady Lydia and her unpleasantness. Her heart twisted with distress.
Please, Lord, give me back my memory. Give me back my life. I implore you.
Chapter 10
“Watch your step,” cautioned Sebastian, taking Georgina’s hand as she stepped down from the carriage. “There are broken stones, and the road is uneven here.”
She nodded, smiling at him, jumping carefully over the broken stones. He let go of her hand, gazing around the village.
On impulse, he had sought her out this morning, suggesting she accompany him to the nearest local village to see if it might jog her memory, even though he truly didn’t think she was a local anymore.
He turned his gaze back to her. He would lie to himself if he insisted that was the only reason he had asked her to come here. He felt drawn to her like a bee towards a flower.
He didn’t see her very often at Newquay Hall, but she was often on his mind.
When he was breaking his fast in the morning or having luncheon with his sister and Lady Frances, he thought about Georgina, wondering what she was doing … and wishing he could ask her to have her meals with them in the main dining room.
He noticed the gash on her head was healing well and that her colour was better. She wasn’t as pale anymore. Her cheeks were pink with health, and her green eyes were clear and sparkling.
His eyes slid over her plain grey gown, noting how it complemented her slender figure. She was a beautiful woman … even in a plain, coarse gown.
“Does anything ring a bell for you?” he asked abruptly. “Do you recognize anything?”
Georgina gulped, gazing around the village at the quaint stores and cobblestoned main road. It was a pretty village built in the Tudor style with overhanging eaves, thatched roofs, and a large central square.
A few villagers were walking along the road, doing their daily shopping, carrying wicker baskets, heading from the butcher to the baker and every other store in between. In the distance, he heard a pack of dogs barking excitedly; otherwise, it was as quiet as the grave.
“Not yet,” she replied hesitantly, looking disappointed. “I am sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize, Georgina,” he said. “We will go for a short walk. You never know – someone might recognize you.” He paused. “And then we might take luncheon at the local inn. They serve a good Cornish pasty … and the local ale is delicious.”
Her eyes brightened. “That sounds wonderful.”
They started walking down the road, passing people, who all greeted him deferentially. He was well known in this village, of course – he had been coming here since he was a small child.
But while they gazed at Georgina curiously, there was no flicker of recognition on their faces. It was patently obvious that no one knew who she was.
Eventually, they reached the end of the road where the Thistledown Inn was located. He opened the heavy door, letting her enter first. It was cozy and warm inside, with only a few locals scattered around.
