Riding with Monty.
Laughing with Monty.
Causing all manner of trouble together.
Skipping balls and suppers to gamble.
Like my own brother. You’re a brother to me, old chap. You are my brother.
Yes, always those same sentiments, those same phrases, the corresponding feeling deep in his chest. But it hadn’t only been Monty telling him that. Torrie had spoken those words as well. Monty had always been like a brother to him, too. He’d felt it then, over the years. He felt it now again.
More memories, small and imprecise, but they were returning.
Slowly, gradually returning.
“Torrie? Are you well, old chap? You look pale.” Monty’s voice sliced through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present with another jolt. “You’re remembering more, aren’t you?”
“I think so,” he admitted, too afraid to hope, uncertain of what it meant. Was it Bess who was responsible for this change in him, for the memories which had been locked away now seemingly being freed?
“This is bloody wonderful news, old chap,” Monty said, striding across the study floor and clapping him on the shoulder as he had done so many times before. “It’s only a matter of time until you remember everything and we have Old Torrie back where he belongs.”
Torrie stared at Monty’s silly flying machine, which, now that he thought on it, resembled nothing more than the carcass of some mythical bird, and wondered if his friend was right. After all, much time had already passed since the accident, and the memories he had regained were few and far between. Would he ever truly remember?
And, more troubling of all, what would happen between himself and Bess if he one day did?
He didn’t want to dwell on any of those unsettling questions just now. He couldn’t for fear of where they would take him.
Instead, he turned to his friend. “A hearty felicitations to you and Hattie on my impending, newest niece or nephew. I’m happy for you both.”
“Thank you, old friend. And you’ve called her Hattie instead of Harriet several times.” Monty was still grinning as if he’d just been told his flying machine would send him soaring through the air like a bird.
“So I have,” he said, bemused and unwilling to think of the matter of his amnesia any longer. “Now, tell me about this latest flying machine of yours.”
“I thought you’d never ask…”
But as Monty explained all the materials he had used for his machine, Torrie couldn’t shake the odd premonition—a feeling in his chest heavy as a boulder—that the past he hadn’t been able to remember for all this time would soon return in full. And that with it would come a whole host of other problems he wasn’t prepared to face.
CHAPTER10
“Bess.”
At the fervent note in her husband’s voice, Elizabeth looked down at the gown she was wearing, one of the new creations from Madame Beaumont, and her heart fell to her slippers. “It’s far too scandalous, isn’t it? I’ll ask Culpepper to lay out a different frock for this evening.”
They were attending a supper being held by some of Torrie’s friends. It was to be her first toe in polite Society waters since everything had changed for her. But the dress was all wrong.
Yes, she had known too much of her breasts were on display. For one thing, it made them look shamefully large. For another, she had never, in all her life, had so much of her skin on shocking display. Well, aside from when she had been naked with her husband, or bathing or dressing, that was. Neither of which she was doing now.
No, indeed. She was standing in her bedchamber, half her breasts open to the wind.
“It’s not scandalous.” He was moving nearer—the sound of his voice told her that he was—but she couldn’t bear to look up and see his expression.
Likely, he was horrified that his wife would dare to wear such an appallingly brazen gown.
“It is worse than scandalous,” she lamented, heaving a sigh that did nothing to lessen the effect her new stays and the cut of her gown were having on her breasts. Heat crept up her neck. “I look like a woman of ill repute.”
“Bess,” he repeated her name, stopping before her and gently placing his forefinger under her chin, tipping it up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “It is a beautiful gown, and it looks lovely on you. But more importantly,youare beautiful. You look like a viscountess, not a woman of ill repute. You look likemine, and I couldn’t be prouder to have you at my side in this dress.”
His words had an instant effect on her, chasing all her worries. Making her feel as if she were as beautiful as he suggested she was.
