Intertwine (10 page)

Georgiana managed a weak smile. “Perhaps, James. Though you have given me such a fright tonight. To wonder why you would not trust me,” she swallowed. “It was horrid.”

She paused suddenly and then noticeably brightened. “But who is this mystery woman then? How intriguing!”

James watched his sister’s eyes light up. Georgie loved nothing so much as a good mystery. Some puzzle to unwind. She devoured gothic novels at an alarming pace, reading them again and again.

“Incredible! You find a strange woman lying by the side of our lane in the middle of a terrible storm. And then she just happens to have a locket of a man who looks astonishingly like you around her neck. Oooooh! How romantic! I cannot wait to hear her story!”

She was grinning from ear to ear now. For the briefest moment, her illness fell away, and James saw the young woman she had been a year ago. Vibrant, curious, bouncing with life. But then a cough intruded. Deeper, persistent.

“Georgie, you must go to bed,” James urged, his voice all concern. He placed a hand under her elbow to help her rise. “Your patient is resting easily. And as you said, there is no fever as of yet. I will have Fanny look in on her once before morning. She can let us know if anything is amiss.” Georgiana nodded in acceptance and rose to her feet.

The mysterious woman stirred in the bed beside them. She moaned and tossed her head back and forth, her lips moving soundlessly, eyelids fluttering. James released Georgiana’s arm and, picking up a candle from the bedside table, leaned over their guest.

He swept her face with its light, surveying the smooth porcelain of her complexion. It was nearly unnatural, as if she had never known the mark of illness. She looked so young, younger than Georgiana. Almost absently, he noted the lack of a wedding band on her left hand.

“Madam?” James said, gently shaking her shoulder. “Madam, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

She moaned again and then slowly, blearily opened her eyes, blinking into the dim candlelight. She struggled to focus on James’ face, drawing her head back into the pillow. Narrowing her eyes, she gazed at him. An emotion flickered within her. Not quite recognition but . . . something. As if seeing him were important somehow. Pursing her lips, she scrunched her forehead, shifted her gaze to Georgiana beyond his shoulder, blinked and then brought her eyes back to James.

“Welcome,” James said. “I am Mr. James Knight and this is my sister, Miss Georgiana Knight. You are in our care at Haldon Manor. You seem to have had an eventful night. May I ask your name?”

Their guest looked puzzled and lowered her eyes slightly, darting them back and forth as if deeply pondering his question. Her lips moved in agitation, and then she lifted her gaze.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, eyes wild and terrified. “I don’t know who I am.”

Chapter 9

E
mme couldn’t breathe. Blood pounded in her ears and her lungs fought to fill with air. Anxiety overwhelmed her.

You’re having a panic attack.
A quiet part of her mind helpfully labeled the sensation for her. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm her racing heart.

This was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Emme closed her eyes and mentally hunted again. This was absurd. Of course she knew who she was. But the harder she tried to capture the information, the more it skittered just out of reach.

Nothing. She remembered nothing.

She didn’t know her name, her family, her history. She had no memory of anything before this moment. No sense of how she had ended up in this bed with strangers bending over her. As if a heavy fog had rolled in over her mind, smothering every effort to reach through it. Emme breathed in slowly and deeply, trying to contain the fluttering hysteria pressing in.

Opening her eyes, Emme grimaced at the pulsing pain against her skull. Dizziness assaulted her as the room tilted on a crazy axis. Wincing, she focused on the couple leaning over her in the dim light and, with effort, brought them into coherent shapes. Slowly their forms stopped moving for a moment, allowing Emme to see them clearly.

The woman was thin and frail-looking, though pretty with her heart-shaped face and wide-set large eyes. She had a fey, otherworldly quality.

But it was the man who demanded her attention. His blond hair and sculpted face seemed . . . familiar. Familiar and yet not at the same time.

For some reason, seeing him felt momentous. Important. Significant.

Her mind associated his cultured accent with rose perfume, blue hair and the clink of fine-boned china.

Emme drew in a shallow, stuttering breath, trying desperately to control her panic. “Do I know you?” she asked the man, low and wispy, instinctively matching the cadence of her voice to his.

She groaned as the throbbing pounding inside her head increased. Emme fought against the blackness skittering in, determined to claim her.

“I’m sorry, madam,” the man said quietly, his voice farther away and tinny. “We have never met before tonight.”

She closed her eyes and licked her lips, letting a gasp escape. Her back arched slightly. The pain and crushing anxiety dragging her under.

“Heavens, James!” The woman’s voice sounded from far away. “What a mystery. But she is in such pain. I have some of my laudanum. That should help.”

Dimly through the growing fog, gentle hands lifted Emme up. She swallowed the bitter liquid pressed against her lips.

And then allowed oblivion to claim her.

The breakfast room

Haldon Manor

Three days later

May 3, 1812

The weather had finally lifted. In the days since returning home, rain and wind had lashed Haldon Manor relentlessly. But this morning, a bleary sun gingerly peeked out from loose clouds.

James glanced appraisingly at the still dripping world as he descended to the breakfast room. His muscles twitched to be outside and doing something. Anything. He had been grateful that Ethan Fletcher had braved the storm, showing up in his study dripping water and a wicked grin, anxious for trouble. They had fenced until their muscles collapsed into a rubbery mass. But that restless energy was back again today. It never left him for too long.

James had just checked on their mystery guest. She lay asleep and motionless in the bed, her breaths deep and slow. She had drifted in and out of consciousness over the last two days, but each time she woke, her memory had not returned.

He had forced himself not to linger beside her quiet sleeping form. Forced himself not to think about the pull he felt toward her. Decidedly did not trace the graceful curve of her jaw with his eyes.

He most certainly was not going to ponder upon what drew him to her. They knew nothing about her. And there was the man in the locket who most likely had an emotional, if not legal, bond to her.

The doctor had come and gone earlier, finding a large bump on the back of the young lady’s skull, and pronouncing that she most likely suffered a concussed head. This also explained her memory loss. The doctor could give them no assurances as to when or if her memory would return. Only time would tell. Other than the blow to her head, however, he had found nothing else wrong with her. She seemed strong and healthy with no sign of fever or other injury. But he recommended that she remain in bed for several more days.

What they were to do with her after that remained to be seen. The good doctor had volunteered to help them find her identity, her people, asking during the course of his visits if anyone knew of her. James was confident that, with the storm now passed, the word would spread quickly. Someone surely would come soon to claim her.

And until then, who knew? Perhaps this latest bit of gossip would finally eclipse the incident involving Miss Croft and the vicar’s wandering heifer. James still recalled hearing the gunshot and running to see Miss Croft, righting her mobcap on her graying hair, as she glared angrily at the vicar, smoking gun in her hand. The poor vicar had stared at his dead cow, lying in the remains of Miss Croft’s prized vegetable garden, which it had disturbed for the last time.

The incident still held first place with the local gossip mill, even four years later. Ample proof, yet again, that nothing exciting ever happened in Marfield.

James entered the breakfast room to find his brother and sister already there. Georgiana sat while Arthur filled a plate for her from the dishes along the sideboard. Her color was improved, though her soft blue morning dress hung loosely on her bony shoulders. He felt again the stab of pure anguish, that desolate confirmation that he would lose her. The disease would slowly eat her until only a shell was left. James exhaled slowly. He would find a way, something that would save her.

James nodded a greeting as Arthur turned toward the table, handing Georgiana her plate. Arthur sat and James strode over to the waiting chafing dishes.

“I thought Ethan would be over again this morning for another fencing bout,” Arthur commented as James piled his plate with coddled eggs and crisp sausage. “Your boundless energy is ever a source of annoyance.”

“True, brother,” James agreed, glancing at the filtered light streaming through the north facing window, “though you must know by now I only live to be an irritation to you. Of course, all would be solved if you would agree to join me in a match or two. We could even use quarterstaffs.” James finished filling his plate and sat himself at the head of the small table.

“Ha! As if I would engage in something so decidedly common. Sticks have never been a nobleman’s weapon.” Arthur waived his hand dismissively, turning his brown head back to his food. “Swords are all a gentleman needs. ”

James snorted and cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “Really? Is that truly the reason? Or are you just not in the mood for another of my humblings?”

As a general rule, Arthur did not engage in activities he could not win.

“I promise to let you win,” James continued disingenuously. “Well, at least once . . . maybe.” He threw a wink at Georgiana.

“Oh, James, don’t bait poor Arthur.” Georgiana smiled a tight little grin that said she loved him but did not quite approve.

Arthur grunted in agreement, not looking up.

James grinned, his wide mouth crinkling his cheeks. “Please, brother-baiting is a time honored tradition.”

Georgiana shook her head, turning back to move her eggs around her plate.

Arthur cleared his throat and changed the topic, raising his gray eyes to James. “And how fares our guest this morning? I overheard the doctor as he left.”

“She is well. Still unconscious, so we will just wait until she wakes. Fanny is with her and will alert us.” James waited patiently, watching the cogs turn in Arthur’s head. Understanding his brother as he did, James knew exactly where this conversation was heading. Arthur was nothing if not predictable.

Arthur paused, grimacing. Down went his knife and fork.

Ah, here it came.

“Truly James, this whole situation is most unusual. She really should not be allowed to remain here.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, Arthur? I am not in the habit of tossing unconscious young women out of my house.”

“You know that is not what I meant.”

“Really? Then what do you mean?”

Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “This whole situation is dashed improper, particularly with Georgie in the house. I am sure the vicar and his wife would take her in until she is recovered enough to return from whence she came. Or until someone comes to fetch her. What will others say about this situation?”