His hand dragged across his puckered forehead as he viewed our surroundings with a bleary expression. “This is the rose garden at Pemberley estate, is it not?”
“It is indeed.”
“You must excuse me, but as odd as this must sound, I have no conception of how I came to be here, none at all. Is that not strange?”
“Yes, I should say so.”
“My last recollection is resting upon a bed at Mr. Cooper’s surgical office in Lambton.” Mr. Oakley rubbed his eyes. “My parents had planned to attend the party today, so they must be out on the grounds. I had stopped at the cobbler’s shop to pick up my shoes. Whilst there, I fell ill with fever, and someone fetched Mr. Cooper for me.” His hand inched in cautious movements along his left shoulder and upper arm. His mouth fell open, and he extended his hand in a wider range, pressing with increased force. “This is extraordinary. I feel no pain whatsoever. My wound has vanished completely!”
Mr. Oakley’s facial muscles contracted and relaxed. “Several weeks ago, I sustained a gash on my shoulder when my horse threw me. I did not tend to the wound as I ought to have done, and it festered. My mother urged me to see Mr. Cooper several times, but to my regret, I procrastinated.” He winced. “Mr. Cooper grew so grave when he observed the wound that I became unnerved. He said I had a terrible infection. By then, the pain had become severe. He gave me a tincture to drink and bade me to rest upon a bed. I had grown so weak that I feared falling asleep lest I may never awaken. But despite my efforts to avoid slumber, I succumbed to my fatigue. When I regained consciousness, I found myself at the entrance to this rose garden. No one stood anywhere near me, and yet a voice commanded me to find Mr. Graham.”
I turned at the sound of the door from the house—a maid entered the garden with a tea tray. I drew my palms together. “Ah, Nancy, your timing is perfect.”
She smiled and blushed. “Is everthin ’ere to your liking, sir? If there’s aught you need, I’d be ’appy to fetch it for you.”
“No, thank you. This will do quite well.”
Nancy curtsied and left, taking one long backwards look.
I fixed a plate of meat, cheese, bread, and slices of cake for Mr. Oakley. “You could do with a bit of sustenance, and the food here is excellent. How do you like your tea?” Pursuant to the man’s request, I handed him the plate of food and a cup of tea with milk, no sugar.
Sarah Mead
A tall footman emerged from the crowd and strode in my direction. “Excuse me, madam. Are you Mrs. Mead?”
I blinked at him. Why would he seek me out? “Yes, I am.”
“Very good, madam.” He handed me a note and departed. I opened the sealed paper and Graham’s signature drew my notice.Mercy, what did he want with me now? In a distinctive, ornate style of penmanship, he requested my immediate presence in the rose garden.How dare he summon me like this?My chest muscles cramped, and I crumpled the note into a tiny ball.
We had already said our goodbyes last night. Although I did not love Graham and had agreed to his terms of a temporary association, the loss of his companionship would leave a distinct void in my life.
Ever since Nicholas had been taken from me, a desolate sadness marked my existence, and a certain elusive quality in Graham’s voice had reminded me of him. The nights spent with Graham had, for a time, suspended the loneliness that otherwise consumed me.
The best course would be to disregard the note. After all, what could he say that I should wish to hear? Yet my growing curiosity plagued me and soon overruled my pride. Upon entering the rose garden, I took purposeful steps towards Graham, who occupied a bench with another gentleman.Fie, the rogue did not even have the courtesy to ensure our conversation would be private! Both men set down their tea cups and stood at my approach.
I maintained an austere mien. With another person present, I should be denied the satisfaction of venting my annoyance with him. So, I attempted to present a semblance of steadiness. “Mr. Graham, would you be kind enough to tell me why you sent for me?”
He bowed. “Mrs. Mead, how delightful to see you.” He swept his hand towards his companion. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Andrew Oakley?”
Andrew Oakley.With a glance at the other gentleman, my entire body stiffened. “We have met.” Why would Graham be in company with him, of all people? In the small and unvarying community around Lambton, I could not avoid crossing paths with the conceited, odious man at times. If possible, I should shun him. He had declared a romantic interest in me not even six months after Nicholas’s death. I had been swift and direct in my discouragement. Since then, thank goodness, he had not sought my company again.
Mr. Oakley gave me a deep, though artless and awkward, bow. “Mrs. Mead, it is an honour to make your acquaintance. I hope you will forgive my impertinence for contradicting so beautiful a lady as yourself, but I do not believe we have met before. If we had, I should certainly remember.”
At this outlandish statement, I studied the detestable man. He touched his temple, peering at me. What sort of game did he attempt to play? His distinct features eliminated any doubt of his identity, and yet he seemed altogether…different. His face revealed no trace of the loathsome smirk he often sported. And on this occasion, he employed none of the mannerisms I associated with him—the haughty bearing, piercing gaze, and coarse, grating speech.
At that moment, a peculiar, evanescent quality in Mr. Oakley’s blue irises caught my attention, and the tilt of his head as he gazed at me seemed familiar yet unsettling. His voice had not altered, but he employed it in a new way, generating a pleasing sound that lacked his usual arrogant inflexion.
My face and neck suffused with heat at the realization we had been gazing at each other. I coughed and forced myself to glance away from him. “In fact, we have met several times.”
“More than once, do you say?” Mr. Oakley’s penetrating stare remained upon me. Lines marred his forehead, and his weight shifted.
Graham raised his hand to obtain my notice. “Pray excuse Mr. Oakley if his remembrances are imperfect at the present time. He is recovering from a serious illness.”
“Oh, I see.” But that alone could not explain the alteration in him, could it? I faced Mr. Oakley anew. “Yes, we often see one another at church. Your parents and I are well acquainted, and you knew my late husband, Mr. Nicholas Mead, as well. Nicholas used to play cribbage with your father at the Hound and Hare once or twice a month.” My husband had been fond of the elder Mr. Oakley, a kind and gentle soul. Nicholas had remarked on the injustice of Andrew Oakley having inherited his father’s looks and stature, but not his disposition.
Mr. Oakley’s shoulders slumped. “For the life of me, Mrs. Mead, I…I cannot recall even a hint of what you have described.”
“Take heart, my good man.” Graham patted Mr. Oakley’s arm. “Soon enough, you will regain your former vitality, if not all your memory. Your personality, though, has undergone a severe andpermanentalteration.” Graham beheld me in a significant look.
