Was there a family out looking for the lost woman he was currently harbouring? He wondered again if he ought to ask around in the local village or send notes to the grand houses in the area. But while it might reveal who she was, it would also mean that people knew of her existence. And things would be an awful lot simpler if she simply regained her memory and disappeared back to wherever she came from without needing to mention his name to anyone. Then there would be no talk of impropriety, and he could go on with his life as usual. Undisturbed.
When his valet, Timothy, came to remind him that it was time to change for supper, James was pleased that he at least felt he had got some work done.
As the valet helped him pull off his muddy riding boots and change into something more appropriate for supper – something he liked to do even when dining alone, for he did not want the appearance of his station to be let down – he remembered that he was not alone.
The lady, whatever her name was, must surely have been up in her bedchamber for the entirety of the afternoon. Or perhaps she had come out to explore a little, not that he’d seen hide nor hair of her.
"Would you make sure that somebody knocks to tell the lady that supper will soon be served?" James asked as Timothy tied a fresh cravat for him.
"Of course, Your Grace."
She was already waiting for him in the great hall when he arrived, and he wondered if the staff had thought to tell her before he had reminded them. They were very diligent, and it wouldn’t have surprised him. He bowed stiffly, still entirely unaware of the rank of this young lady.
"Good evening. I trust you are well?"
At the opposite end of the table, the young lady nodded her head. "Yes, I am feeling much recovered, thank you."
"Any sign of your memory returning?" he asked her. He presumed she would have mentioned such a thing immediately, but one never knew with women. Their minds worked in very different ways.
"I’m afraid not, Your Grace," she said, as the footman came in and filled their glasses with wine. "Have you had a pleasant day?" she asked.
He didn’t know why, but the question rather surprised him. Perhaps because his sisters never really took an interest inwhat he did with his days. "Oh, a productive one, thank you." He took a sip of his wine and then realised he probably ought to return the question. "I hope yours was as pleasant as it could be?"
"Oh yes. You have a beautiful home, Your Grace. I do love castles and beautiful countryside like this."
"That sounds rather like a memory," James said, and for some reason, the girl blushed. "Hopefully it’s a good sign that the rest will soon return."
"Where exactly are we?" she asked. "I know this is Dunloch Castle, but not precisely where in the country I have ended up…"
"You’re in Scotland," he said. She did not have a Scottish accent, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t reside somewhere in the border between Scotland and England; after all, he had lived here all his life and still retained the English accent of his parents, and of his schooling. "About thirty miles outside of Edinburgh.
She did not ask any more questions as the first course – a hearty soup – was placed before them, and they ate without speaking. But when the plates were cleared away, she asked, "Is the owner of this dress not in residence? I wouldn’t wish to be rude and not thank them in person."
"No. I am the only one in residence at present. If that bothers you, I suppose I could see if any of the other local houses have womenfolk in residence and would be willing to take you in."
She shook her head. "Oh, no. I do appreciate your hospitality. I just wished to thank the lady in question, that’s all."
She really was a strange one. She didn’t seem particularly bothered at all that she was alone in a house with a man she knew nothing about. Of course, he knew that he only ever had good intentions, especially when young women who seemed likethey were probably of good families were concerned. But she didn’t know that. "It belongs to my sister. My eldest, I think – although I must admit I do not pay much attention to their clothing, other than to the amount they charge to our account at the modiste."
"How many sisters do you have?" she asked.
"Three. They are presently all on their way to London, either for the Season or to attend finishing school. You remember the Season, I presume?" he asked, unsure what the boundaries of her memory loss were.
She nodded. "I do believe so. And so there is no…duchess in residence?"
A seed of suspicion began to sow in his mind. She wasn’t trying to fill the position herself, was she? Turning up here out of the blue, with no idea as to her identity… Was she simply seeking a rich, titled husband?
But then he did not think anyone, no matter how conniving, could have feigned the state she was in when he found her in the boat. He had thought her close to death, and had he not found her, who knew how long it would have been before she succumbed to the cold and the water filling her lungs.
And so he answered her and tried to put his mistrust aside, if only to make their interactions easier.
"No. My mother was the last duchess, and she has been gone a long time."
???
So he was not married. She had thought as much, but she had just wanted to be sure. For what was the point in getting to know him, testing his character, if he ended up having some wife away in the country?
And they were in Scotland, as she had suspected. Her little boat had travelled quite some distance in the storm, and she thought once again that she was lucky to have survived such an experience.
