He reached back and released the stone. It skipped along the water seven times before it sank and Millie jumped up and down with joy. A flash of memory overtook him. He was a boy at the lake with another boy in the evening, a sunset budding before them, skipping stones one after another until finally an older woman came out, beckoning them to come inside for supper.
‘I wager your pudding you can’t beat me, Brother,’ he challenged, tossing a rock into the air and catching it.
‘I will take the wager and double it. Two days of desserts I can beat you,’ his brother quipped, smiling. ‘I can all but taste my victory now.’ He rolled up his shirt sleeves, preparing for the throw.
‘Agreed. And what you taste is the sourness of disappointment when I best you,’ he countered, rolling up his sleeves as well.
The sun burnt a bright gold red before them, setting along the ridgeline of the valley. A breeze ruffled their hair and made the early wildflowers sway, sending a sweet smell to tickle his nose.
‘My boys,’ their mother called from behind them at the Manor, ‘come in and get washed.’
‘One more throw, Mother. Whoever wins gets two days of desserts.’
‘If you don’t hurry, I will eat all of your desserts,’ she quipped, a smile evident in her voice.
‘You would not do such to your sons,’ his brother challenged.
‘I just might,’ she countered, gave a wry smile and turned for the house.
He and his brother dropped the stones from their hands and jogged back to the Manor until they caught up with their mother. Each of them pressed a kiss to her cheeks and bounded into the house like the hounds barking behind them, eager to come in.
William felt the warmth of the memory deep in his bones and he almost laughed aloud with his younger self before the memory faded away and thrust him back into the present moment.
‘William?’
Startled, he turned to see Penelope watching him with concern knitting a fine furrow between her shapely eyebrows. He shook his head and smiled. ‘I just remembered something.’
Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. ‘What?’ she asked, as her gaze slid away to Millie who clutched his pant leg.
‘When I was a boy skipping rocks in this exact spot. With my brother and mother.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ she replied in a rush, releasing a breath.
He reached down and ran his palm along his daughter’s dark curls. Had her hair always been so soft? The weight of her tiny body pressed against his leg such a balm? While he couldn’t remember the answer, he knew it had to have been a resounding yes. She was his daughter and what would ever have been more important to him than her? He looked down at her and smiled, and she wrapped her arms around his knee. While he wished he could remember her, rememberingsomethingwas a start.
‘Perhaps this means you shall remember all in time?’ Penelope said.
There was a pull of hesitation in her voice that he couldn’t work out, but he was too pleased over remembering something to explore it. ‘I hope so. I would like to remember more joyful times like that one.’
While he knew both his parents and brother were dead, as he had probed in the early days of his amnesia for such answers, he felt the loss more keenly now that he had remembered them and felt the love at that first memory. No doubt he would remember more of his losses and grieve them a second time. He shoved the thought aside. There were more pressing issues, like his daughter, the upkeep of the Manor and his upcoming nuptials…
‘Have we set a date?’ he asked, reaching for her hand and enjoying how it slipped into his so easily, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He smiled. Most likely he had, even if he couldn’t remember.
Blast.
Hattie’s stomach curdled.
Just tell him.
He tightened his hold on her hand, and she sucked in a breath as the sensation buzzed through her again. Would it be like this every time he reached for her? Kissed her? The blissful agony and the easing ache after she breathed through the initial contact were becoming addictive. She didn’t wish to tell him the truth. Ever.
And if he fell in love with her now as her then it counted, did it not? She wouldn’t have to tell him who she was.
She frowned. Even she couldn’t pass such lies on as truths to herself.
‘Penelope?’
She wasn’t being herself, was she? She waspretendingto be a lady. One with an esteemed standing in society and fine clothes. She was not Hattie Potts who’d arrived mud-splattered with three gowns to her name in a rather worn portmanteau.
