The Accidental Countess. Michelle Willingham

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СКАЧАТЬ across the stone, her fingers cool within his palm.

      ‘I don’t remember the marriage ceremony at all. I don’t even remember giving you this ring. For all I know, you stole it.’

      She glared at him. ‘Do you want it back?’

      ‘Possibly.’ He stared at the ring, trying to piece the memory together. Emily struggled to pull her hand away, but he held it fast.

      ‘Tell me about our wedding.’

      ‘It snowed that day,’ she whispered. The look upon her face was of a woman lost.

      ‘Did we have feelings for one another?’ he asked quietly.

      At that, Emily choked. She covered it with a laugh, but he could see the shadow of hurt behind her eyes. ‘You adored me. We married on impulse.’

      ‘I mean the real reason, Emily.’

      She studied her breakfast again. ‘I don’t suppose I truly know the answer. I thought you cared for me.’ Pain silhouetted her words. ‘I was wrong.’

      ‘Did I compromise you?’ he asked, running his thumb over the edge of her hand. Her palms were rough, like a servant’s.

      Emily jerked her hand away. ‘No. And I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’

      ‘Why did you marry me?’ What was this sadness in her eyes? She kept up such strong defences, he couldn’t see past the anger to understand it.

      Emily set her plate aside, ignoring the remainder of the food. ‘I had my reasons.’ Upon her face he saw veiled embarrassment. She had spoken of feelings between them. Had he ever claimed to love her?

      She was pretty, as she’d always been. Outspoken, with a tongue like a razor. And if she’d married him on such a sudden whim, her impulsive behaviour hadn’t changed.

      ‘I must return to London,’ he said, changing the subject. He kept detailed ledgers in his study. If there were answers to be had, he would find them there. ‘As soon as I am healed, you will journey with me.’

      ‘No!’ She caught herself and amended, ‘That is, I’d rather not.’

      The alarm in her voice alerted his suspicions. ‘Why are you so afraid of London?’

      ‘Your father won’t want to see us. And the children need me here.’ She fumbled with her hands as though searching for a stronger excuse.

      ‘I will hire a nursemaid. In fact, I have already ordered Farnsworth to procure several for you to interview. I cannot believe the man has not already done so.’

      ‘I hired a wet nurse for the baby. Anna takes care of both Victoria and Royce.’

      ‘Royce needs a tutor, as well as a nursemaid.’ When she made no reply, he switched his tactics. ‘Don’t you think my family will wonder why I haven’t brought my wife with me?’

      Her cheeks turned scarlet. Her reluctance had to mean they weren’t married. He was sure of it.

      But she startled him by lifting her chin. ‘I don’t care what they think. I won’t go to London with you. Not now. Not ever.’ She rose to her feet and strode from the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

      She was afraid. And unless he was very much mistaken, Stephen had a grave feeling that his wife knew far more about the night he had disappeared than he’d suspected. It did not bode well for their future together.

       Chapter Three

       Cakes served at tea time must always be light and delectable. A hostess should smile and greet her guests with a gracious heart.

      —Emily Barrow’s Cook Book

      Later that morning, Dr Parsons checked the bandages and nodded his approval. ‘Your wife has done well caring for you,’ he remarked. ‘The wounds are clean, and your bruises are healing nicely. I should think you will be back on your feet within days.’

      ‘I intend to go to London,’ Stephen remarked. ‘Three days from now, if possible.’

      ‘My lord, I would advise against undue haste. If I may, I’d ask you to wait another week before you go.’

      ‘I do not recall anything of the accident,’ Stephen admitted. ‘Nor what happened to me during the past three months.’

      ‘Memory loss can occur with an accident.’ The doctor replaced the bandage, tying it off. ‘I have seen it in many patients, particularly those with traumatic incidents. Often a man’s mind will overshadow the event it does not wish to remember.’

      ‘When will the rest of my memories return?’ Stephen demanded.

      ‘To be frank, they might not. In cases such as yours, it is difficult to say. Your head wound and contusions are recent, but I doubt if they had anything to do with your memory loss.’ The doctor added, ‘I suspect that you were the victim of violence several months ago, judging from the knife wound. It may be that you won’t want to remember it. But I can say with all confidence, your headaches and pain should be gone within a few days more.’

      Pain was the least of his concern. He was tempted to ask the doctor about the strange tattoo he’d found on the back of his neck, but decided against it. For all he knew, he had done something rash.

      Like marry a woman he hadn’t seen in ten years.

      After Dr Parsons departed, Stephen thought about his earlier conversation with Emily. He had not questioned her caring for the children, but her claim that he was now responsible for their welfare troubled him.

      He decided to speak with the boy. If he could not obtain the answers from his wife, he would get them elsewhere. He summoned Farnsworth and ordered him to fetch the boy. Minutes passed, and no one came.

      He waited longer, pacing across the carpet. Someone should teach the boy discipline and how to be prompt. It was never too early to learn good manners. When five more minutes passed, he opened the door to the hallway.

      ‘Come now.’ Farnsworth leaned down, holding out a sugar biscuit as bait. A sullen-faced lad gave the butler a defiant glare, but he took a single step forward. ‘It’s all right. Come here, please,’ the butler crooned.

      ‘Good God, Farnsworth. The boy isn’t a dog. Cease treating him like one.’ Stephen’s patience had reached its limit.

      ‘My lord, he won’t listen.’ The butler straightened, and predictably the boy disappeared behind a door.

      ‘I shall handle this.’ Stephen strode towards the bedchamber. When he tried the door handle, it was locked.

      ‘The key, if you please, Farnsworth.’

      ‘My lord, I am terribly sorry. I shall have to fetch it.’ The butler scrambled off, grateful to escape.

      For a moment, Stephen listened outside the door while pondering his next move. Treating the boy like a child would not work. Instead, he knocked.

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