He waited, drumming his fingers on the green leather top of his desk until Sewell finally dragged his feet through the door, before flexing his neck from side to side, straightening his cravat, and reluctantly pushing himself to his feet.
Mounting the great oak staircase, he couldn’t help but wonder what his father would have done in his situation, stuck with the wrong—not to mention, entirely unsuitable—woman for a wife, but it was impossible to imagine his father ever getting himself into such a mess in the first place. He would have known better than to fall into the marriage trap Leo had so blindly and foolishly walked into. None the less, it was a trap he now had to live with, which meant that he also had no choice but to keep on walking. As if this house didn’t feel like enough of a prison already…
‘My lord.’ Dr Pritchard met him in the corridor outside his wife’s bedchamber. ‘Thank you for coming so swiftly.’
‘Doctor.’ Leo inclined his head. ‘How is Her Ladyship?’
‘She has a bad cold, as expected, given the circumstances, but in general she appears to be making an excellent physical recovery.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He took hold of the door handle and frowned. ‘Why is this locked?’
‘That’s what I wished to speak to you about, my lord. It was for her own safety. I’m afraid that Her Ladyship’s behaviour was becoming somewhat hysterical. I thought it best to give her some time alone.’ He glanced nervously at the door, as if he were afraid she might walk straight through it like some kind of phantom. ‘Unfortunately, her accident appears to have had some unusual consequences.’
‘What kind of consequences?’ He held out a hand. ‘The key?’
‘Of course.’ The doctor placed the item in his palm. ‘Amnesia, my lord. It’s not uncommon in the case of head injuries, although in Her Ladyship’s case, the timing is unusually specific.’
‘How so?’
‘She appears to have forgotten the entire past month.’
‘The past…’ Leo paused as he slid the key into the lock. ‘But we were married on the seventeenth of June. That would mean—’
‘I’m afraid so.’ The doctor coughed. ‘She seems to have no recollection of being married, or even engaged. She recognises your name, only she appears to find the idea of marriage somewhat…ah…distressing.’
‘Indeed?’ He arched an eyebrow.She wasn’t the only one.
‘Not the idea of being married to you, I’m certain.’ The doctor backtracked hastily. ‘Presumably just her current predicament. Memory loss can be most disorienting.’
‘I’m sure. Is it likely to be permanent?’
‘Not usually, although each case is different. Her memory may return gradually, or…in some cases…not. It’s impossible to be certain.’
‘I see.’ Leo turned the key finally. ‘Well, I appreciate the warning. Has she had anything to eat or drink since she woke?’
‘Not yet, my lord. As I said, she was becoming hysterical, but it would be a good idea for her to have some nourishment aftersuch a long period of unconsciousness. I’ve already sent the nurse to fetch some soup, after which Her Ladyship really ought to rest. A good night’s sleep can often work wonders. However, if you could set her mind at ease in the meantime, it would be most beneficial.’
‘Quite.’ Leo kept his expression blank with an effort. Given the circumstances, he was quite possibly the last person in the world qualified to set his wife’s mind at ease, but he supposed he ought to try.
Cautiously, he opened the door and stepped into the room, just in time to catch the former Miss Florence Lowrie, now Lady Florence Claridge, preparing to hurl what appeared to be a collection of tied-together sheets out of the window. As escape attempts went, it struck him as disappointingly unoriginal.
‘Florence?’ Her name felt strange in his mouth, but then he hadn’t had a great many occasions to use it. They’d barely spoken since the wedding. Or at leasthe’dbarely spoken toher. She’d spoken to him, or tried to, but he hadn’t been in the mood for listening.
‘You!’ She spun around instantly, her whole body bristling like that of a cornered animal, albeit one with a bright red nose and dressed in a white silk nightgown. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d bared her teeth, shaped her hands into claws and started growling at him. ‘You can’t come in here. It’s my bedchamber!’
‘So it is.’ He felt a pang in his chest as he looked around at the marchioness’s suite. It adjoined his own new set of rooms and yet, aside from three days previously, when he’d come to speak with the doctor, he hadn’t set foot inside it since his mother’s death eighteen years ago. ‘Although it’smyhouse.’
‘It can’t be.’ She shook her head and then flinched as if the movement hurt. ‘I mean, you’re not…we’re not…what he said. It’s impossible.’
Leo picked his way carefully across to the fireplace, stepping over a variety of items on the way: the shattered remnants of a vase, a brush, a jewelled trinket box, a scattering of hairpins… ‘Byit, I presume that you’re referring to our marriage?’
‘Yes!’ She thrust her chin out, one end of her makeshift rope still clutched tightly in her hands. ‘It’s absurd. We’ve barely said more than two words to each other.’
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. If she had no memory of the past month then that was true. He’d been so busy courting Miss Wadlow, he hadn’t spared a great deal of attention for her companion. He certainly hadn’t made any attempts to engage her in conversation; deliberately so, since he’d found himself far too distracted by her on their first meeting. It had been at a musical soiree, a week after he’d first met Miss Wadlow at a picnic, and the captivating brightness of those large blue eyes, combined with a lively wit and down-to-earth manner, so at odds with that of most of theton, had meant he’d listened to the performance without taking in a single note. Instead, he’d sat just two seats away, heart pounding, feeling as if something inside him had shifted.
It had been an altogether discomforting experience, almost enough to put an end to his burgeoning courtship of Miss Wadlow. Since he’d always known what kind of wife he was expected to marry, he’d never permitted himself to consider what kind he might personally prefer, but in the two women, he’d suspected he’d found prime examples of each. Once the music had finished, he’d made an excuse to leave the soiree early, then gone home, plunged into an ice bath, and consigned the image of his intended’s companion firmly to a box at the back of his mind.
It hadn’t been easy. He’d been particularly concerned that Miss Wadlow might want her friend to visit them once they were married, but he’d reassured himself with the knowledge thatCumberland was a substantial distance from Dorset and that he could always absent himself should the occasion arise. And so that had been that. The next time he’d allowed himself to look at Miss Lowrie properly had been on the night of the Wadlows’ ball, otherwise known as the most humiliating night of his life, when he’d become a laughing stock to the whole of theton. Now any attraction he’d once felt was more than outweighed by resentment.
