Florence lay on her back, staring up at the periwinkle-blue silk canopy above her head. After watching over her like a pair of hawks while she ate a bowl of chicken broth, Dr Pritchard and the nurse had finally tucked her into bed and departed with firm instructions to sleep.
Sleep?
It was the most ridiculous idea she’d ever heard, and not just because of her blocked nose. How could she possibly sleep when she had so much to think about? She was married! To a marquess! And not just any marquess, but the Marquess of Rainton, the sternest, stiffest, most humourless man she’d ever had the misfortune to come across. She remembered their first meeting quite clearly. Lady Wadlow had talked so much about the ‘delightful’ gentleman they’d met at atonpicnic, an event she’d missed due to some task she’d been performing for Amabel, that she’d expected some paragon of male virtue. Instead, he’d stared at her as though she’d had food on her face and then proceeded to ignore her for the rest of the evening, not to mention every evening afterwards. And now he was her husband! Which made her a marchioness!Her!It was utterly preposterous, as though she’d woken up to find the world had tipped upside down, sending her plummeting downwards onto his broad and—given his cold demeanour—surprisingly warm chest. So how on earth had it happened?
She scrunched her face up in frustration. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember anything about a compromising situation, let alone a wedding. All she knew was that there must have been some kind of terrible—no, catastrophic—misunderstanding! And if his clipped tone and stony expression were anything to go by, her so-called ‘husband’ wasn’t particularly happy about the situation, but surely there was no need for him to glower at her quite so severely? It wasn’t as if she was dancing for joy either.
From what she remembered, however, he glowered most of the time, his dark eyes filled with permanent thunderclouds. Most ladies of thetonthought him handsome despite it—there had been a rumour about one debutante actually swooning after he’d danced with her at Almack’s—and she couldn’t deny that his classically sculpted features and perfect bone structure weresomewhatattractive, but personally she preferred a man who didn’t look quite so furious with the world. In fact, now that she thought of it, Amabel had actually commented about his frowns once over breakfast, but her parents had laughed the comment away…
Amabel.The thought of her friend made her heart ache. Amabel should be the one lying here, preferably not with a head injury of course, but as the marchioness. She was perfectly suited to the role: beautiful, elegant and refined, with gleaming sable hair, doe-like brown eyes, a minuscule waist, and an ability to keep her thoughts to herself that Florence sadly lacked.Of coursethe marquess had wanted to marry her. And Amabel had wanted to marry him too, presumably, although she’d been uncharacteristically quiet on the subject, no doubt due to nerves. They would have made a perfect couple, exactly what you’d expect in two peers of the realm, and yet somehowshe, a gentleman farmer’s daughter, a companion and complete outsider to the world of theton, had taken her place!
And what of the Wadlows? They’d never exactly been welcoming to her. In truth, they’d always treated her as a kind of unpaid servant, tolerating her without displaying the slightest interest in her life, but they’d still been generous enough to bring her to London. They’d even had some of Amabel’s old gowns altered so she could accompany them to events without looking entirely out of place. What must they think of her now?
She blew her nose for what felt like the hundredth time and then closed her eyes at the sound of her bedchamber door opening, in case it was the nurse back to check on her. As much as she appreciated the care, another lecture on the restorative benefits of slumber was definitely not what she needed right now…
‘Are you awake?’
She opened her eyes again. That wasn’t the nurse’s voice.
‘Yes.’ She twisted her head sideways to find yet another new face peering at her. This one, however, was eager and friendly-looking, with huge green eyes and wisps of chestnut hair poking out from beneath a maid’s cap.
‘You’re really awake!’ The face broke into a wide smile. ‘Mr Rimmer said so, but you know what he’s like, always has to be the first to know and tell everyone everything. But then your nurse came and confirmed it, so I thought I’d sneak up and see for myself if it was true and it is! I’msorelieved! I’ve been worried out of my mind. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe.’ The woman, whoever she was, held up a brown leather saddlebag. ‘I’ve got your things right here. As soon as I heard that your horse had come back on its own, I raised the alarm, then went straight to the stables, distracted the grooms and whipped it away before anyone could notice. I’ve been hiding it in my room because I knew you wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands, no matter what had happened, but now you’re awake I’ll just pop it in here.’ She went over to the wardrobe,slipped the bag inside and then rubbed her hands together briskly. ‘Now then, how are you feeling?’
‘Um…’ Florence hauled herself up against her pillows, struggling to take in such a large volume of words. Even without a bump on the head, she thought she might have had trouble. Some of them made no sense either. Why would she give two figs about a saddlebag?
Fortunately, her companion didn’t seem to require an answer, coming to perch on the edge of the bed. She looked, Florence thought, about the same age as her, while her informal manner suggested they were on friendly terms.
‘You’re bound to feel delicate for a little while, so I brought you these to cheer you up. I know ginger’s your favourite.’ The woman drew a napkin out of her apron, opening it up to reveal a couple of biscuits. ‘That nurse will have you on broth for the next week, so you’d better hide them if you’re not going to eat them straight away. And make sure not to leave any crumbs or she’ll be on to us.’
‘Thank you.’ Florence took the napkin and slid it under her pillow. ‘That’s very kind, only… I’m sorry to ask, but…’ She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘Who are you?’
‘Who am…? Oh!’ The woman’s friendly expression turned to one of utter horror as she sprang off the bed and dropped into a curtsey so deep, it looked as if she were sitting cross-legged on the floor. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. They said something about you being forgetful downstairs, but I assumed it was just pretend or I would never have spoken so freely.’ She peeked upwards, her face crimson. ‘Please don’t tell Mrs Fitch.’
‘I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise.’ Florence shook her head quickly. ‘And there’s no need to curtsey. The problem is, I seem to have no memory. I remember nothing about the past month, so if you could just remind me who you are…?’
‘Jane, my lady. Your lady’s maid.’
‘Jane.’ Florence repeated, in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘It’s nice to meet you.Again, I suppose.’
‘You too, my lady.’ Jane straightened up slowly.
‘And perhaps you could tell me…are we friends?’
‘Oh, no!’ Jane shook her head so violently, it looked in danger of spinning straight off her shoulders. ‘I would never presume.’
‘But it seemed like we were a few moments ago,’ Florence protested. ‘And I think, if we were—are… I would like that.’
‘You would, my lady?’ Jane’s expression wavered.
‘Yes. And please, call me Florence.’ She smiled encouragingly. She supposed itwassomewhat unconventional for a marchioness to be friends with her lady’s maid—Lady Wadlow would never have permitted a servant to even sit in her presence, let alone on her bed—but then, she didn’t feel much like a marchioness and she definitely wasn’t Lady Wadlow. Besides, at this moment, she had a feeling she needed as many friends as she could get.
Jane scrunched her mouth up for a few seconds before breaking into another smile. ‘All right, then, but I’ll tell you now what I told you before. It’s only for when there’s nobody else about. Mrs Fitch would have a fit if she heard.’
‘Who?’
‘Gracious, you really have lost your memory.’ Jane sounded impressed. ‘She’s the housekeeper here and she’d say that I was being disrespectful.’
‘Understood. In that case, it’ll be our secret.’
