Another flash of memory. Trunks and valises strapped in the rear seat. “Yes...” she murmured.
“It won’t be long. In a few days you’ll be up and about and wearing your pretty things.” The housekeeper lifted the bodice of a gown of blue satin. “Oh, I like this one. Looks brand-new.”
Was it? It must be, for she could not remember seeing it before.
“And here is a lovely day dress.” She shook out a serviceable muslin and squinted at its fastenings. “It’s missing a button. I’m not terribly skilled with a needle, but I can manage that.”
The day dress, in a pale wash of rose pink, did look familiar. She recognized it with relief. She hadn’t completely lost her memory.
Lifting a hand to push a stray hair from her face, she stilled, captured by the sight of a ring on her finger. She stared at the hand aloft above her, as though it were a separate entity—someone else’s hand. On it shone a gold band, with amethyst and purple sapphires. She recognized the ring at once and sighed gratefully. Things were starting to come back to her.
But then again that heavy shadow fell over her. That naggingfear. Things might be coming back, but she was still forgetting something. Something far more important than a dress or ring.
The cheerful doctor stopped in that morning and found her still staring at the ring.
“Almost lost that,” he said. “Found it clasped in your hand and slid it back on your finger myself.”
She hesitated. “Oh. I ... Th-thank you.”
He studied her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Confused.”
“And no wonder, my lady. What a shock you’ve had. The concussion you suffered could very well muddle your mind for some days to come.”
Perhaps that explained her jumbled thoughts and elusive memories. His calm assurance eased her fear. She looked around the sunny room and asked, “Where am I?”
“Clifton House, between Countisbury and Lynmouth, in Devonshire.”
Devonshire? Had she known they’d meant to go so far? The name “Clifton” meant nothing to her. She asked, “Is this your house?”
“Good heavens, no. It’s yours. Been in your husband’s family for ages, though he’s never lived here before. My son has been taking care of the place since the former tenants left last year.”
“I ... see,” she murmured, although she didn’t see, really.
“Don’t worry, my lady. It will all come back in time.” He rubbed his hands together and beamed at her. “Well. I imagine you want to see your husband.”
The smile of reply that lifted her mouth faltered, then fell. No, she did not want to see him. In fact, the thought filled her with misgiving. She hedged, “I ... don’t know.”
“I understand. But he doesn’t look too bad. Bruises and cuts on his face, head, and hands, but most of his injuries are internal.”
Was she only reluctant to see his injuries, or was it somethingmore? Sir John had never hurt her, had he? Then why was she afraid?
The doctor took her good arm and helped her rise. The room swam and tilted, and she leaned against him for support.
“Dizzy?”
“Yes,” she panted.
Mrs. Turrill came in with her sewing basket and drew up short. “Tut-tut, George. She is not ready to be up and about yet.”
“So I see. I was only going to take her across the corridor to see Sir John. But I think we shall wait a day or two.”
“I should say so. Besides, I’ll want to brush her hair and dress her proper before she visits him.”
“I’m afraid he shan’t notice at the moment.”
“Perhaps not,” the housekeeper said. “Even so, a woman likes to feel pretty when she sees the man she loves.”
