Standing before the carriage was Isolde’s father, and he spoke to an elderly man in a way that suggested he was trying his best to appease him. The elderly man was tall with narrow shoulders; he had no chin to speak of, and his gray hair had receded halfway up his scalp. Even if he had not been dressed in such fine silks, his hard expression and the way he puffed out his chest removed any doubt that he was a man of importance.
“Is this her?” the elderly man asked loudly when his eyes fell on Isolde.
“Oh, yes,” her father said. “This is my daughter. She has been caring for?—”
“Where is His Grace?” The elderly man strode toward Isolde.
Isolde’s knees were shaking, and it was all she could do not to collapse. “He… he…”
“Your father tells me that you have been caring for him.” He stopped in front of her, his stern gaze working her over. “For this, you have my thanks.”
She blinked. “You… are welcome.”
“I might think to ask why we were not sent for immediately,” he continued. “However, even His Grace does not control the weather. But from what we were told, he had an accident, and were it not for your aid, things might have been considerably worse.”
Isolde’s mouth was as dry as a desert. “I… was just… I did as I needed to do.”
“For which, we thank you.” He looked past her, at the cottage. “Well? Where is he? Please tell me that his health is not in jeopardy.”
It was a strange thing, but this man, whoever he was, sounded concerned for the duke’s well-being. Putting aside his rigid posture and ignoring his sharp, no-nonsense tone, Isolde saw worry flash behind his eyes, just as she heard the crack in his voice.
“He is well,” she said. “He took a nasty fall and was unconscious for several hours. But he has since woken up, and I do not doubt that he will recover in due time.”
“Thank God.” The man breathed a sigh of relief, and his shoulders slumped as if a weight had fallen off them. “Forgive me for the theatrics…” He indicated to the carriage and the horses. “We spent all evening in worry, beyond fearful for what might have happened to His Grace. And the message we received this morning…” He clicked his tongue. “It was not nearly so clear as we might have liked.”
“Not at all,” Isolde said with a touch more confidence. “I apologize for not sending word. We wished to, but as you said, the storm…”
He waved her down. “It is done. Now, if you do not mind, we need to be getting His Grace home so his personal physician can attend to him. It has been a long day…” He sighed further. “Best that we put this nasty business behind us.”
Isolde wanted nothing more than to see the back of the duke.
Until he’d woken up last evening, she had wondered if she might be annoyed by this moment when it came. She had given up her bed and helped him so that he would simply leave as if nothing had happened. She had also wondered whether or not she would dare to ask for some type of reward—anything to help her family, given that they so desperately needed to be helped.
Typically, the reality of the situation was not nearly so clean.
Isolde had seen the look in the duke’s eyes this morning. She had sensed the way he felt about her, as if she was his entire world, his fiancée for whom he was eternally grateful. There was no chance that he might forget her now, and there was every chance that he would expect this man to know her just as well.
“I am sorry, but might I ask who you are?” she started as she tried to formulate some sort of plan or excuse.As if there could be one!
“Of course.” The man stepped back and bowed. “My name is Mr. Pembroke, His Grace’s personal steward.”
“Ah…”
“I have served His Grace personally since before he could walk, and if anything were to happen to him…” A grimace. “Let us just be glad this is not the case. Now, if you do not mind…” He looked past her again, towards the cottage.
This was going from bad to worse.
Such a simple lie, told in the moment, and Isolde could see the future now as if she lived in it. The duke would tell Mr. Pembroke what had happened, he would call her his fiancée, and Mr. Pembroke would reveal the lie, the way that Isolde had tried to abuse the situation, damning her and her family beyond repair.
“Mr. Pembroke…” She cleared her throat. “Before you do, there is something you must know.”
“Oh?”
“His Grace…” Her body shook violently. “He hit his head, you see. So, while he appears in good health, his memory is not… he has… There are some things that he does not remember.”
“Such as?”
She swallowed. “Almost everything. His name. His title. He… he is confused, yes. Even the dreams that he had, he mistook them. Last night, as he and I spoke…” Her tongue was thick and heavy as she struggled to form the words that she prayed might save her. “I cared for him, as I was kind to him. And because of that…” She laughed awkwardly. “He might have gotten the false impression that he and I… that we are…”
