Elizabeth Mansfield (15 page)

He didn't notice her approach, for his eyes were fixed on the thin volume he held in his hands. At this moment, he was reading:

"Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee—and then my state Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings That then I—"

"—then I scorn to change my state with kings."
It was she who finished the line for him. She said it slowly, almost dreamily, a little smile turning up her mouth.

Her voice, so close to his ear, startled him. He had not expected to see her right there in front of him. With him in this position, her head was just a bit above his own, her lips just at the level of his eyes. It seemed as natural as breathing to reach up and pull her to him.

To be held in his arms was perfectly natural to her, too. The mood of the poem had completely enveloped her. "I do so love that line," she murmured, lifting a hand to his cheek.

"Yes, I, too," he said, tightening his hold. The book fell to the floor unheeded as he drew her head down until her lips met his.

They kissed for a long moment, she so dizzy with the joy of it that she clung to him with a passionate intensity. And he, too, was carried away by it, at least for a moment. His pulse raced and his heart pounded. He'd yearned for this, dreamed of it, since that first night he'd seen her. But even now, in the midst of this heady bliss, he felt guilty for taking advantage of her innocence. And, in addition, something new was nagging at him, an alarm of some kind, a warning instinct like a bell ringing away at the back of his mind and interfering with his concentration.

Suddenly the reason for this disturbance burst upon him. He lifted his head and stared at her.
"What
did you just say?"

She gazed up at him in a dreamlike trance. "Hmmm?"

He held her off. "I'd just said, 'For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings.' And then you said—"

The dreamy look in her eyes died away. " 'That then I scorn to change my state with kings.' Is something amiss?"

"Didn't you tell me you'd not yet read the sonnets?" he reminded her, staring at her in shock.

"I haven't looked at them."

He dropped his hold on her and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Don't you see? You must have
remembered
it!"

She gasped. "Good heavens! I
did!"

 
He shut his eyes as if in pain. "I think, my dear, that you may be starting to recover your memory."

"Oh, dear!" She put a trembling hand to her forehead. "If I am," she said, her voice shaking, "I'm not at all sure that I'm happy about it."

He pulled her back in his arms and, praying fervently that she'd still remember this moment when her other memories returned, leaned his cheek against her hair. "Neither am I."

Chapter 19

Cassie went slowly to her bedroom, feeling frightened and confused. There was much she didn't understand. She didn't understand why, after that unforgettable embrace, Lord Lucas had made an unaccountably abrupt departure from the turret room. She didn't understand why she remembered the last line of the sonnet without even realizing that she was remembering it. And she didn't understand what the effect would be of other changes of memory. What would it be like to remember her past? How would her present life be changed by those memories? There was a great deal to be frightened of.

She was thankful that her bedroom was deserted. Fearfully she sat down at her dressing table and stared at herself in the mirror. Yes, just as she had feared, the face in the glass was a bit different from the one she'd seen this morning. The discoloration of her left cheek, which she knew she'd seen this morning, nevertheless surprised her. She was remembering her
other face
at last—the face she'd known before the accident! She studied it with some dismay. What had she
done
to herself these past weeks? Why had she let herself be seen looking so pale and unkempt, with that bruise disfiguring her face and her hair hanging limply down in the informal simplicity of this careless single braid?
How could I have let Lord Lucas see me like this?
she asked herself in horror.

She covered her face with her hands for a moment, to try to accustom herself to this new-old face. When she looked again, someone else was in the mirror, standing behind her. It was Mrs. Upsom, who'd been tending to her needs all these weeks. Cassie knew her perfectly well, but somehow, at this moment, her face seemed much more familiar.
"Annie!
"
she gasped, jumping to her feet and whirling about. "It's my own Annie!" she cried, holding out her arms.

Mrs. Upsom, after a moment of astonishment, took her into a tearful embrace. "Oh, ma'am," she cried, "I never thought to hear you calling my name like that again!"

After a while, Cassie held her off and peered at the gray-eyed, full-cheeked face. "Oh, Annie, how could I have looked at you every day this past month and not seen that it was
you?
"

Mrs. Upsom brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. "It doesn't matter, ma'am, so long as you 'member me now."

Memories crowded in: Annie bringing up clean laundry... Annie in the kitchen, arguing with Cook about the dinner menu... Annie pinning up a hem for her. So many impressions, so many pictures crowding in on her mind. It was overwhelming. She had to sit down and shut her eyes.

Later, when she was calmer, and Annie was helping her dress for dinner, she looked over at her housekeeper with mock severity. "What on earth's been wrong with you, Annie, since you've been here? How could you have let me go downstairs with my hair like this?"

"You wouldn't let me dress it, ma'am. You didn't seem to care about it."

"Well, I care now. Let's see what we can do to make me a bit more presentable."

Nothing could have pleased Mrs. Upsom more. For the next hour she brushed her ladyship's hair to a glowing shine, twisted it into a tight curl and pinned it in a neat bun at the nape of Cassie's neck. Then she covered the bruised cheek with face powder and applied a touch of blacking to her lashes. They chose the lilac silk dinner dress, Cassie suddenly remembering that it had been one of her favorites. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was blessedly familiar. And though she'd seen her looking better, the sight was less upsetting than it had been earlier.

She went down to dinner with nervous steps, not knowing how this strange "awakening" was going to proceed. How different would tonight's gathering be? Would she be struck with many more memories? And if she were, could she
bear
it?

Cicely, Eva and the two gentlemen were in the drawing room waiting for her, and they all gasped with delight at her improved appearance. She could see, however, that Lord Lucas was regarding her a bit nervously.
He's wondering if I've remembered anything else,
she realized. But she was too beset with new memories to be able to speak to him or relieve his mind. As she looked at each face, she was so overwhelmed with strange familiarity that she could not speak. Smiling politely, trying her best to keep from showing that anything had changed, she let her host, Lord Inglesby, lead her into the dining room.

As they took their places and settled into the routine of dining, she sat in her place and let the new sensations wash over her. She was feeling faint. A floodgate had opened in her mind, and she was drowning in memories. Opposite her sat her beloved daughter, whom she hadn't recognized for over a month. She wanted to cry out in love and agony. How could this dear child, who'd filled her life and heart for eighteen years, have disappeared from her consciousness for even a moment, much less a month? The pain was almost insupportable. And there was Eva—dear to her for a lifetime—suddenly recognizable as her sister again. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, struggling to keep from weeping.

She turned her eyes to Lord Inglesby at the head of the table. He was contentedly eating his braised goose and carrying on a spirited argument with Eva about the wine, stoutly defending the dry white Bordeaux they were drinking, while Eva claimed that a rich red Burgundy was more appropriate for goose. Cassie, feeling a wave of dislike for him, suddenly recollected why she'd come to this house. It was to keep him from renewing his courtship of her daughter. What, she wondered, had been going on in that regard during these weeks? Had he been using this enforced association to pursue his suit? All at once the weight of her old problems and old responsibilities bore down on her. Was this the price of recovery?

Slowly, as if she'd purposely kept him for last, she turned her eyes to Lord Lucas. The sight of his lean face and unruly hair gave her heart a lift. His eyes were fixed on hers as if he had a sense of what she was going through, and, moreover, as if he were fearful that she'd changed.
Don't worry, my love,
she wanted to say to him,
you are the only one here who has not changed in my eyes.

"If the wine were more suitable," Eva was saying to her host, "even Cicely would find the goose edible."

"No, I wouldn't, Aunt Eva," the girl put in. "I wouldn't like goose no matter what the wine."

Cassie lifted her head. "Even as a child, Cicely wouldn't touch goose," she said softly, trying to keep her voice quite ordinary. "She once had a goose for a pet, you see."

For a second or two, everyone seemed to proceed as though nothing extraordinary had been said. Then Eva gasped. The gasp stirred Cicely's consciousness.
"Mama!"
she cried, her eyes widening. "Did you
remember—?"

"Yes, my darling," Cassie whispered, holding out a trembling hand across the table, her eyes filling with tears, "you have your mother back again."

Chapter 20

The three women held an ecstatic, if tearful, reunion. Later, seated in the drawing room in an easy chair, with her daughter perched on an ottoman at her feet and the others close by, Cassie tried to catch her breath. She was emotionally exhausted, but the faces around her looked too happy to permit her to bring the evening to an end. All were chattering excitedly, all were smiling, all were asking her questions about her recollections... all except her Lord Lucas, who stood at the window, more a watcher than a participant in the celebration.

He'd suggested to their host, a little while earlier, that the occasion required champagne, but it was not until Hickham had brought the tray and passed out the glasses that Cassie found an opportunity to speak to him privately. After the toasts, as the others merrily sipped the effervescent wine, she got up and joined him at the window. "You don't seem glad for me, my lord," she said in gentle reproof

"You know better than that," he said bluntly.

'Then why are you not celebrating?"

"For several reasons. First, because I see in your eyes that
you're
not celebrating."

She shook her head in amazement. "It's truly remarkable how well you understand me!"

He took her hand in his. "What troubles you, my dear? You should be overjoyed."

"I am, in truth. It's only ..." She lowered her head and sighed. "There's a benefit to being without one's memory, strange to say. When one has no past, one has no problems. There's a certain—how shall I describe it?—
lightness
in not having a past to carry on one's shoulders. Now that I remember the problems, I feel suddenly weighted down with them."
 

"Any problem in particular?"

"Cicely's romance with your friend is one of them." She looked over her shoulder at the man she believed to be Inglesby. "I thought I knew what to do about him before... but now I'm too confused to be sure."

"I see. I wish I..." He glanced over at his friend and then shrugged helplessly. "At least I can promise that it will all work out in time. You needn't solve all your problems at once, you know."

"Yes, I know. I told you I'm far from unhappy. But what did you mean when you said you had
several
reasons for not celebrating? What other reasons do you have?"

For a moment he seemed unwilling to answer, but after meeting her earnest gaze, he tried. "You're so rapidly going , back to becoming the woman you were that I'm afraid..." He hesitated, dropped her hand and shook his head, reluctant to proceed.

"Afraid of what?" she prodded.

He eyed her askance, resorting to the gesture he always used when he felt helpless—running his fingers through the hair that constantly fell over his forehead. "You're so preoccupied with remembering your past that I may disappear from your mind."

To her, that possibility was ridiculous. "Oh, pooh! That could never be!"

"I fear it can. Do you remember
me
from that past?"

"Only a bit. I don't believe I knew you very well."

"You didn't know me at all. You only met me for a moment, right before your accident."

"Yes, I seem to recall that." She wrinkled her brow thoughtfully, trying to conjure up the scene. "You came into the room—the morning room, wasn't it?—just as I was leaving. You asked me about the paint smudge on my cheek."

"Yes, that's right. The entire substance of our meeting."

She heard the rasp of irony in his voice but did not understand it. "Does it matter that we were not well acquainted?"

He peered down at her intently. "I don't know. Does it?"

"Not to me."

"But you thought, when you began your recovery, that I'd been your best friend."

"I was evidently mistaken. But you are my best friend now."

He seemed disappointed by that answer. "And I’ll always remain so, if that's what you wish," he said, turning away from her puzzled scrutiny.

"Of course it's what I wish." She laid her hand gently on his arm. "Did you believe I would not?"