She shook her head. “Just Louisa.”
Mrs. Smythe rose from the bed, wringing her hands against her middle as she switched her gaze from the door to Louisa. The older woman’s amber eyes widened. “I need to inform His Grace about this unexpected turn of events. I think we should have the doctor return posthaste.”
As the servant hurried out of the room, moving as if snakes were snapping at her heels, Louisa’s fragile composure shattered. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, each drop heavy with the fear and confusion that overwhelmed her. The older woman had been her only source of comfort, gently soothing her rising panic with soft words and kind gestures. But now, even that small reassurance was gone.
Louisa’s chest tightened painfully, a new ache blooming beneath her ribs. This time, she was certain the pain had nothing to do with the accident—it came from something deeper, an unbearable weight of isolation and helplessness. The tears kept falling, and with them, the terrifying realization that she was truly alone in this strange, unfamiliar world, with no memory of who she was or how she had gotten there.
Within minutes, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, each thud growing louder, until suddenly, a large figure filled the doorway. Louisa’s breath caught in her throat. The man’stowering height stunned her, but even more striking was the concern etched across his chiseled, handsome face.
As he approached the bed with purposeful strides, the fabric of his crisp white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, highlighting his lean, powerful frame. His black trousers hugged muscular legs, making him appear every bit as imposing as he was graceful.
She had never seen anything—or anyone—so captivating in her life. Then again, maybe she had, but she simply couldn’t remember. Even so, something deep in her heart whispered that she wasn’t accustomed to looking at men like this one—men who exuded such strength, confidence, and quiet intensity.
Her pulse quickened, not just from his imposing presence but from the unsettling realization that she had no idea how to feel about him.
He stood above her, and she sank into the pillows, staring at him. “Your Grace?”
He nodded. “Mrs. Smythe tells me your name is Louisa.”
“It is.”
He pulled a wooden chair next to the bed and sat. Slowly, he stretched his arm out to touch her, then—as if changing his mind—quickly withdrew. “Louisa, please do not be frightened. We will take care of you.”
She managed a small nod.
“Mrs. Smythe also tells me you cannot remember anything.”
“All I can remember, Your Grace, is my first name… and that I don’t believe I have been in a room as grand as this or worn a gown so expensive.”
The lines around his mouth softened. “Be that as it may, the doctor told me you had a goose egg on your head. I can only surmise that is the reason for your unclear memory.”
Cautiously, she lifted her fingers to her scalp and brushed them across her head until she found the lump. She winced. “I trust the doctor knows what he’s talking about.”
“Yes,” he said. “I would not put my care in the hands of anyone else. Doctor Bryers is very good.”
She licked her dry lips and lowered her hands. His stare calmed her, and a warming blanket of comfort surrounded her. Strangely enough, the emotion seemed foreign. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He smiled, but somehow it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Until your health and memory have been fully restored, I think you should stay here and let us take care of you. Mrs. Smythe will have some delicious soup brought up. I assume you are hungry, correct?”
She nodded. “Famished. I think I could eat a horse… or two.”
Chuckling, he stood and motioned for the older servant to draw near. “Please keep me informed of her progress.”
“I certainly will, Your Grace.”
Just then, another maid walked into the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of milk.
His gaze switched back to Louisa. “Please rest until you are feeling better.”
“I shall. I thank you for your hospitality.”
He nodded, turned, and walked out the door.
Louisa’s heart softened, warmth spreading through her chest. What a fine man. A man who didn’t just help strangers—he went out of his way for them, without hesitation or expectation. But beneath that generosity, she sensed something more, something that tugged at her curiosity. He seemed to carry a quiet vulnerability, a hesitance that went beyond mere politeness. He’d avoided touching her, which she first attributed to gentlemanly restraint, but there was an unspoken depth toit. An invisible barrier, like he was holding back, guarding something within himself that she couldn’t quite grasp.
“Now, let’s sit you up a little more so you can eat.” Mrs. Smythe helped Louisa with lifting herself up until she could have the food tray placed on her lap.
“This smells wonderful.” She smiled, fairly salivating over the bowl of soup.
