‘But I found them.’ Florence’s voice sounded distant, as if she were speaking from a long way away. ‘I came across them a couple of days after I woke from my accident. I had no idea who they were from, but I thought I must have been corresponding with another man.’ She pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘I felt so guilty about it. I thought that I was a wicked person.’
‘You thought you were corresponding with another man?’ Leo felt an ache in his chest at the idea. ‘Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘Because it seemed like you already hated me enough.’ She grimaced, though she didn’t look at him. ‘Besides, I didn’t know the truth. I didn’t see how it was possible, but… I couldn’t be sure of anything.’
‘You’re not wicked.’ Amabel came to crouch on the floor in front of her. ‘You’re the best, most loyal friend a person could ever ask for.’
‘Or the stupidest.’ Florence rose slowly to her feet. ‘You used me.’
‘No! That is…yes, but I never meant to. I was desperate.’
‘You used me,’ Florence repeated. ‘You let me take the blame for somethingyouarranged and then you swore me to secrecy about it. You let me be condemned and insulted, not just by other people, but by myself too. This whole time I’ve been so worried about how much you must hate me and now it turns out I was innocent all along.’
‘But that’s why I came back!’ Amabel jumped up too. ‘Once I received Mama’s letter, I knew I had no choice. I wanted to put things right.’
‘How good of you.’
‘My lady,’ Major Vaughan spoke this time, standing up as Florence walked away, ‘I know it sounds bad, but I assure you, Amabel has been distraught over the whole situation. And this is as much my fault as it is hers. When she told me what had happened at the ball, I knew we should step forward and tell the truth, but I was too much in love and this was the only way for us to be together.’ His gaze softened. ‘Anything we did, we did for love.’
‘So the ends justify the means?’ Florence stopped by the door, her voice distant again.
There was a brief pause before he shook his head. ‘No, but I’m grateful none the less.’
‘I’m so sorry, Florence.’ Tears were rolling steadily down Amabel’s cheeks now, turning her beautiful face blotchy. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
‘I know, but I need to be alone for a while.’ Florence turned away. ‘I’m going to my room. Please don’t follow me.’
Leo clenched his jaw as she closed the door behind her. He had a strong suspicion those last words had been aimed at him. It also occurred to him that for the past ten minutes his wife hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction. Worst of all, his gut was telling him that he deserved it.
Florence kicked her heels against her horse’s flanks, pelting headlong across the lawns on the eastern side of the house towards the woodland that divided the estate and the village. She’d walked out of the drawing room with every intention of going upstairs to her room, only once she’d stepped into the hallway, her feet had taken her in a different direction entirely, through a door at the back of the house and on to the stables. Aside from a few boys playing football in the courtyard, the whole place had been deserted, allowing her to saddle a horse on her own and then ride out with no idea where she was going until she was halfway there and then…then it seemed so obvious… Of course she knew where she was going. She was going back.
Because she’d remembered.
Her whole body had gone completely numb while Amabel had been talking, as if she’d been armouring herself against the words. She hadn’t wanted them to be true, even though they’d made sense. A horrible, shocking, hurtful kind of sense, in which her best, closest and oldest friend had persuaded her to do her dirty work for her, and then, when things had gone wrong, walked away. No wonder she’d lost her memory. She’d probably wanted to forget. She’d been used, abandoned and then married off to a man who’d blamed her for all of it!
Images had crowded into her head, images so real she’d known they couldn’t be anything but memories, unspooling so fast she could barely keep up, as if Amabel’s arrival had been all that she’d needed to push through the fog in her mind: the way her friend had clutched her hand in Hyde Park, begging her to speak to Leo on her behalf, the way she’d thrown her arms around her when she’d reluctantly agreed, swayed by sympathy and a sense of indebtedness, then the gasps of thepeople entering the library that night, the sea of shocked faces, followed by Leo’s expression, a combination of horror and anger, swiftly hidden behind an aristocratic mask of disdain. He hadn’t paused for a second before assuming the worst of her. He’d simply walked away, leaving her at the mercy of the Wadlows, then sent a curt message the next day, stating that he was arranging a special licence and would collect her at the end of the week. There had been no proposal, no conversation, no attempt to get to know her, just a short ceremony followed by a long carriage ride to Dorset and then almost three weeks of angry silence and pretending she didn’t exist.
So she’d run away.
She pulled on her reins, slowing her mare to a trot as she entered the woodland, following the path for a little way before stopping in the middle of a grove. There were so many trees here, slender hazels as well as massive oaks and horse chestnuts, their canopies all tangled together as they pushed their way up towards the sunlight. Without a breath of wind to stir them, they were still and silent today, but there were signs of recent storm damage, fallen leaves and scattered branches scattered over the ground. She remembered this place. She’d been riding through it when she’d heard a noise like a groan, as though one of the trees had been calling out a warning to her, followed by a loud crack, before a dark shadow had swung into the corner of her vision, knocking her off her horse and onto the ground, taking her memory with it. Until now.
She slid down from her saddle and crouched beside a fallen branch, smoothing her hand over the rough surface of the bark. Running away…Of courseshe’d been running away. Both from her husband and her marriage, planning to catch the stagecoach from the village to London, where she’d intended to find another to Cumberland. That was why she’d risked riding out in a storm, why she’d had her clothes and keepsakes with hertoo,andthe letters, because despite everything she’d still been keeping them safe for Amabel.
That was it, the whole story, the truth about her marriage and her husband. She’d thought he was cold and aloof the first time they’d met, but she hadn’t appreciated justhowcold he could be until after their wedding. And even though she could understand why he’d behaved that way, even though he’d apologised for it since, it turned out that knowing what he’d done and feeling it were two very different things. Because now she remembered the way she’d felt during those first three weeks of her marriage, the pervasive, almost overwhelming sense of misery and emptiness and entrapment. He might not have physically mistreated her, or insulted her outright, but his chilly silences, combined with an excessive civility whenever hehadbeen forced into speaking, had made it abundantly clear that he’d wanted nothing to do with her. He’d been as cold as a snake—a lizard—a shark! And she’d loathed him! She’d thought if she ran away he would have some grounds for an annulment or a divorce, anything he’d wanted, because that way she’d never have had to see him again. She’d never wanted to see him again. If her plans hadn’t been thwarted by a knock on the head, she could have happily lived out the rest of her life withouteverseeing him again!
Only he wasn’t cruel now. Another memory rushed in on her, from that morning when she’d woken up in his arms, when she’d felt cosy and happy and content. Over the past few weeks his coldness had melted away, turning him into a completely different person, the kind of husband she might once have wanted…
A warm nose prodded her shoulder. The mare was nuzzling her, just as she’d probably done the last time they were here. Florence tilted her head sideways, grateful for the comfort, wishing she could go back to that morning. If she could onlyforget everything again andnotknow the truth about Leo, maybe she could still be happy…
But there was no way back. Her heart felt heavy at the realisation, as if there were some kind of weight attached, dragging it down to the very pit of her stomach. But at least she knew who she was again. She was the person she’d thought she was when she’d woken up in confusion almost a month ago, the person she’d hoped she was all along. And now that she had her answers, she had some accusations to make of her own.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Can I come in?’ Leo knocked gently on the door to Florence’s bedchamber. He’d respected her wishes by not following her out of the drawing room, staying to say an awkward goodbye to the Vaughans instead, but after a couple of hours spent pacing his study, he hadn’t been able to restrain himself any longer. After everything they’d learned that afternoon, he knew she must be in shock and he needed to comfort her. And, when he’d done that, he needed to apologise.
The longer Amabel had spoken, the more he’d become aware of a heavy, guilty feeling building in his chest. Because Florence had been innocent. Every time she’d told him that the circumstances of their marriage weren’t what he thought, that she hadn’t set out to trap him, that she wasn’t a fortune hunter, she’d been telling the truth. And he’d dismissed her.
‘Florence?’ He tapped again when there was no answer, then twisted the handle, but the room was empty.
