“I mean,” she continued, her mind feverish with possibility, “I do not even know if my fall was an accident or not. Was it? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me it was? Can you convince me ofthat, at least?”
She had no reason to believe that itwasanything but an accident, aside from the fact that no one seemed to be able to tell her the truth of it. The maids had not known. Her supposed husband claimed not to know.Shecould not remember. Yet, something felt so intensely… wrong about the entire thing.
Instead of saying something to ease her racing mind, Henry simply turned, an almost appalled look upon his face, and muttered, “I will not entertain this. Goodnight, Thalia.”
A moment later, he was gone, out of the door, leaving with the speed and silence of someone whodefinitelyhad something to hide.
CHAPTER 5
“And how are we feeling this morning, Your Grace?” a young maid, with anxious green eyes and the most beautiful red hair peeking out from beneath a lace cap, asked.
Thalia did not reply immediately, as she sat by the fireplace, warming her cold toes. She had not returned to bed after Henry had departed in such a strange rush last night; rather, she had taken to pacing back and forth as if the steady rhythm might somehow knock some memories back into place. And when she had grown too tired and frustrated to pace anymore, she had ransacked the room for information about herself.
But it was as if her ‘own’ bedchamber had been rinsed clean of who she was; there was not even a single letter in her writing desk drawers to ease the mystery.
“You must be feeling a little better, seeing as you’re up and about,” the maid continued regardless, setting down a trayon the low table before Thalia. “I brought your favorite for breakfast.”
With a hopeful smile, the maid lifted a silver cloche to reveal… porridge. Swirls of honey tinged it golden, while a small saucer of vivid red jam sat beside the bowl, tempting in its rich color.
Thalia looked up at the maid, frowning. “I eat this often?”
“When it’s colder.” The maid nodded. “You’ve always said it helps your fortitude, for when you take your long walks. In the summer, you like all the fresh things, Your Grace: fruits and boiled eggs and the fish that the gamekeeper brings right in from the stream.”
Remembering something that Henry had mentioned last night, Thalia squinted at the maid, searching the young woman’s face for some hint of familiarity. Perhaps, therewasa twinge of recognition, or perhaps it was just the fact that the maid had such a lovely, friendly face.
“The duke told me that I employed all of the maids myself,” Thalia said, as she ignored the porridge and reached for the teapot to pour herself a cup.
She did not yet have an appetite for anything more.
“That’s right, Your Grace,” the maid replied. “Chose us all personally, and we’re ever-so grateful. I doubt any of us would ever want to work for anyone else, ever again.”
Holding the cup in her hands to warm her palms, Thalia blew off the steam. “And what is your name?”
“Rowena Hartley, Your Grace,” the maid replied, her voice strange, as if she could not quite believe that Thalia had no memory of her.
Rowena? Rowena? Rowena Hartley?Thalia repeated the name over and over in her mind in an attempt to spark something, but the impenetrable darkness of the last four years remained impervious, giving her nothing.
“Rowena, once I have finished my tea, I think I should like to see the rest of the manor,” she said. “Would you be so kind as to be my guide?”
She hoped that seeing more of the house might stir up some of the foggy past, though there was one place in particular that she was eager to visit: the North tower. The place where she had mysteriously fallen. The place that, according to Henry, she had had no reason to be near.
The maid brightened, and then her face fell. “Oh, well, it would be my honor, Your Grace, but Mrs. Fisher ought to do that, really.” She paused. “Not that I’m defying your request; if you want it to be me, I’ll gladly be your guide.”
“Mrs. Fisher?”
“Of course! I’m so very sorry.” The poor maid smacked her forehead. “I keep forgetting that you…”
“Also keep forgetting?” Thalia said with a wry smile.
Rowena allowed herself a nervous chuckle. “Yes, exactly. Mrs. Fisher is the housekeeper. She was here yesterday when you woke up.”
“The older lady?”
Rowena nodded. “Aye, Your Grace, that’s her.”
“Well, you can both show me around this manor,” Thalia insisted. “While I finish this cup of tea and maybe have a bite or two of that porridge, perhaps you could be so kind as to fetch her up here?”
After all, she was already dressed for the day, considering she had not taken off the clothes she had meant to escape in. And someone had clearly been tending to her well during the days she had been unconscious, for her hair had been painstakingly brushed and braided, so that it would not tangle.
