James stood in his study, feeling irritated. Once again, his plans had been thrown off-kilter by a woman. One who didn't seem to remember her own name – and one who had been foolish enough to go sailing in a storm.
Who was she? She was dressed like a lady of quality. But he certainly did not recognise her, although he supposed there was no reason necessarily for him to. He wasn't one to attend balls regularly, and he had not frequented the London Season in quite some time. There was far more chance of his sisters recognising the lady, but of course, they were gone.
Just when he'd thought that he finally had Dunloch Castle to himself, that he could enjoy the peace and quiet, and get on with all the tasks that needed attending to.
Now he had this woman to take care of. It wasn't as though he could have just left her in the boat, could he? And although it wasn't really appropriate to have her in his home, with no one else present, there wasn't much he could do about it. What was he to do, throw her out to figure out where she came from and who she was? Ride around every town he could feasibly reach on horseback in order to see if anyone recognised the chit?
No, the best course of action – indeed, the only course of action – seemed to be to make sure she was warm and fed, and hope her memory returned very swiftly.
No one visited Dunloch Castle, especially when his sisters were not present. So there would be no real gossip around her appearance. He trusted his staff not to spread rumours about their employer; they'd all been with him since he was a young boy, and he could not imagine any of them wishing to bring shame on Dunloch Castle.
He just had to hope that it was not long before she regained her memory. And that she did not expect him to spend his time trying to help her recover it.
He was an important man, and he had important things to do.
Chapter Six
James was poring over the plans to tear down a crumbling farmhouse and build three cottages in its place when there was a knock on his study door.
"Enter," he called, not looking up from the parchment on his desk.
"I'm sorry for interrupting, Your Grace," the soft voice of young Albert, a footman, said. The lad had been terrified of his own shadow when he started working, but as the son of their former cook, James had given him a chance – and he was certainly growing into the role.
"Yes, Albert?" James said, finally tearing his eyes away from the document.
"I just wished to tell you that the lady has finished her food and is in dry clothes in the library."
James nodded. "I don't suppose she has remembered who she is, has she?"
"She has not shared that information with me, Your Grace," Albert said with a bow of his head before departing from the room.
James tutted to himself. He supposed Albert was trying to remind him of the girl's existence. Indeed, he probably had been in danger of forgetting her. But he could have done with finishing signing off on the plans first. For now he felt obligatedto go and see if she was well and whether she was any closer to knowing who she was and where she belonged.
Because she certainly did not belong at Dunloch Castle.
With a weary sigh, he pushed the documents aside and stood, walking the short distance from his study to the library. He knocked before entering, because even though it was his house, he did not wish to risk interrupting her in a state of undress.
"Come in," her feminine voice called, and he entered to find a far more put-together woman than the one he had left. Cecily's green frock seemed to fit her just fine, and she had obviously availed herself of a hairbrush, for the curls that had been escaping pins were now loose but looking rather more tamed.
She stood as he entered and curtsied. "Your Grace. Thank you so much for rescuing me, and for the clothes and the food."
So one of the staff had obviously informed her of who he was. If only he knew whoshewas.
"It was no trouble," he said, although her presence was rather troubling. He didn't like anything to interrupt his most important duties – those of being the Duke of Dunloch.
"On the beach, I felt I might never be warm again. But I'm pleased to say I was wrong," she said with a small smile.
"I'm glad to hear it. Although, whoever you are, it was mighty foolish to go out on the ocean with a storm like that brewing."
She nodded and bowed her head in contrition. "Indeed. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you."
He wasn't used to a woman agreeing with him and not arguing back. But then he supposed that was the challenge of having three younger sisters. They never did as they were told.
"Have you remembered your name? Or where you hail from, at least?" he asked. Once he knew that, he could put her in a carriage and send her on her way, his duty done.
She gave a sad shake of her head. "I'm afraid not, Your Grace. I remember going out on the boat, noticing the clouds…the waves hitting and then…nothing." She gave a shrug.
James could not help sighing slightly. "Well, I shall have a guest chamber prepared for you tonight. Hopefully, after a good night's sleep, your memory will be restored, and you can be on your way back to your family. You must have parents, or perhaps a husband? Someone who will be wondering where you are."
