“You know us. We like to live dangerously. Coincidentally, we also had some highly secret missives to deliver in the service of the fatherland.” He made a dismissive wave with his hand. “Now forget I ever told you that.” He leaned forwards and peered at him closely. “Are you certain it isn’t just denial? Protecting yourself behind a mask of guilt? It might be quite convenient to not have to examine one’s feelings too closely.” He studied his fingernails. “I am speaking, of course, from experience.”
“Guilt? Nonsense,” Julius said gruffly.
“I know you took on full responsibility for the accident.”
“Because I was responsible for it.”
“Nonsense. You were in London; she was in Scotland. How could you have been responsible for it?”
“She left me. I—I could have—If I had taken better care of her, she would not have been so lonely, so unhappy. She would have had no reason to leave me.” It suddenly exploded out of him in choppy bursts. “She wouldn’t have had any reason to run away from me. I failed to care for her, to protect her, to love her. I failed asa husband in every way, and it cost her her life. If I had tried but a little harder, she would never have taken that stagecoach to Scotland with a drunk coachman who catapulted the vehicle straight over the bridge. Of course it was all my fault. How can anyone say it wasn’t?” His voice had risen almost to a shout.
“But now it turns out that all that did not really happen,” Lindenstein continued mercilessly. “Yes, there was an accident, but she did not die. She just lost her memory, and you found her again. And now?”
“And now I haven’t the faintest notion who she is, who I am, who we are, or what, in the name of all that's holy, we are meant to be doing.” He breathed heavily. “She is content, has a new family that loves her, and I am the monster who threatens to destroy her life. Again. It would be better for all of us if I left them well alone and disappeared this time.”
“Except you have a son and heir.” Lindenstein refused to relent. “Not something you can easily ignore. You would be an enormous fool not to fight for your woman and your only son.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists. “The truth is, Klemens, that… I am not sure she is still my woman. While biologically mine, I am not heartless or cruel enough to claim only Hector and whisk him off to England. I couldn’t do that to them.”
“Then you must claim them all.” An impish grin sprang across Lindenstein’s face. “You will be the father of four children overnight. Some men have all the luck.”
Julius groaned.
Laughing softly, Lindenstein turned towards hiscarriage, but swung back to him at the last moment. “Have you started to woo her?”
“Woo?”
“Yes, woo.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I am not a native speaker of English, but I believe the definition is commonly known to be ‘to court’ or ‘to win the love of someone’. Have you never done that?”
Julius’ eyebrows knit together.
“Flowers? Chocolates? Poems?” Lindenstein ticked off each item with his fingers. “Written by yourself, of course.”
“Poems?” Julius’ face was a study in horror. “Certainly not. And flowers? That girl, Mona, suggested the same.” He shook his head. “But why should I give her flowers when she has an entire rose garden at Aldingbourne Hall, which she planted herself?”
“Had,” Lindenstein corrected. “She had an entire rose garden. I speak of the present. Nothing at all? Chocolates?”
“I don’t see the point.”
“You’re as romantic as a dry piece of bone. A hopeless case.” Lindenstein shook his head. “Though take it from me, women, all women, no exceptions, like to be wooed. I’d wager all your problems will be solved in a jiffy.” He snapped his fingers. “I ought to follow my own counsel and do the same myself.”
“Stockings,” Julius muttered through gritted teeth.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I gave her stockings.” A blush crept up his neck. “Mind you, I don’t normally buy stockings. Only becauseshe said she wanted them but thought they were too expensive and couldn’t afford them…”
Lindenstein’s teeth flashed as he smiled. “Not such a hopeless case after all. That’s an excellent beginning,mein Freund. Now you must proceed from there. It’s child’s play.” He slapped him on the shoulder and climbed into his carriage.
“Woo her,” Julius repeated as the carriage departed. “Child’s play. How in blazes does one do that?”
ChapterTwenty-Seven
The boxwith the lovely stockings lay on her bed. She took them out of the box and ran her fingers over the fine material.
She had never owned anything so beautiful. They were delicately knitted, so fine one could hardly see the texture of the fabric. The embroidery stitches—twirls and leaves winding themselves up the leg—were the prettiest she’d ever seen.
Not all the memories had come back to her. She remembered with some certainty that he had not given her gifts very often.
