“How long have I been in bed?” he asked.
“It has been five days. Shall I fetch Mr. Hutchins? Perhaps he can better explain what occurred. You arrived here in such a poorly state, we weren’t certain you would live!” Aamina suggested, clutching at her chest dramatically.
“Where are the Townsends? Is anyone in residence?”
Aamina shook her head.
Surely there was someone else living here.
Perry frowned in confusion, certain he could recollect a soft voice, a pleasing touch that seemed unlikely to come from this maid. Perhaps he had imagined the entire encounter. He had been delirious with fever, after all.
“We are but a few staff maintaining the estate for the baron while the family spends their time in the city. I cannot say how long it will be before they return. The baron and baroness have been informed and were naturally quite alarmed.”
Perry nodded, unsatisfied. “Thank you for caring for me. I will ensure Baron Percy is made aware of his competent and caring servants. I owe you all my life.”
Aamina’s eyes grew wide at the praise. Though she seemed uncomfortable with it, she gave a small smile. The silence stretched between them as she waited for him to speak.
Perry was disturbed by the missing pieces in his memory and longed for more information. His fascination with the mystery woman bordered on obsession. Perhaps he had seen a ghost afterall. In his feverish state, his heart and mind had shown him that which he desired most. His deepest, most hidden thoughts came to the surface to torture him or give him the will to live. He wasn’t sure which.
“Please fetch Hutchins for me, Aamina.”
With a quick nod, she left the room, and the maid disappeared into the hallway.
A male servant entered the room after a few moments of silence during which Peregrine’s mind was a jumble of thoughts. His heart raced, remembering the haunting touch of the maiden, the way her fingers lingered over his skin. There was a mystery at Fermoy, and in his drug-induced haze, he was incapable of putting the pieces together.
“Good day, my lord,” the servant greeted, his bushy gray brows raising as he spoke. “We are ever so pleased to see you awake. Are you feeling well?”
“As well as a man can feel after he has been shot. It is as though I have been trampled by a team of horses.”
“Oh, dear, perhaps I will have Mrs. Higgins give you more laudanum. The doctor left some with us to help keep you comfortable.”
Perry winced, not liking the idea of being drugged again. “I wonder if you might help me. Is there another woman who tended to me? One that is not a servant, perhaps?” Perry asked, studying the older man with a keen eye. The butler’s fingers drew together before him, and the man cleared his throat.
“Pardon me, my lord. I cannot think of another. You were very ill. Perhaps it was the effects of the laudanum. It can be very discombobulating.”
“Yes, yes, you must be right.” Perry nodded, unconvinced. The servants, while helpful and caring, were…holding back. Perry would have to rely on his own abilities to discover the truth. Fermoy was hiding a secret. His senses were alerted, the desire to seek answers throbbed within him.
“The doctor recommended you take some nourishment as soon as you are able to eat. Perhaps I will send more food to your room, my lord?” Hutchins suggested.
Perry nodded absently, his thoughts engaged in uncovering the deception. “Has the doctor been summoned? I am eager to quit this bed and be on my way.”
“Of course, my lord. He is on his way. You are looking much better. When your brother arrives, we can arrange for your transport to Bodmin. I’m sure you are eager to be in your own home.”
Dismissing Hutchins to seek out more food, Perry mulled over the butler’s words. His dreams had seemed so real that it gave him the creeping sensation that something was amiss.
Sinking back into the pillows, Perry resolved to use his legs and increase his strength. Being confined to this bed was doing nothing to progress his recovery. Taking advantage of his moment of solitude, his gaze was drawn to the bright light coming from outside.
Pushing up on his good arm, he swung his legs over the bed, eager to test his muscles. The same dizziness that had assaulted him last time he attempted to stand seemed to have abated, and he clung to the bed post as he pushed to standing. His heart stuttered loudly in his chest with the effort. After a few unsteady movements, Perry stood. Keeping a hand on the bed, he made his way around the room, taking a few wobbly steps toward the window. Opening the latch, he closed his eyes as the warm air filled his lungs. The fragrance of lush flowers scattered across the grounds unleashed a flood of memories, times he spent in the same gardens with Charlotte. His Lottie.
It was too much.
It was no wonder he was distraught. The familiar scents and places triggered a powerful longing that would never subside. The house wasn’t haunted. Perry was haunted. Blinking away the tears threatening, he reminded himself that recovery had to be his priority. Not the possible existence of a woman he missed with all his heart.
He was alive.
Charlotte Townsend—his Lottie—was dead.
Why were his fevered recollections so vivid? Had he truly imagined her touch, her voice, her delicate fragrance? It was the only logical conclusion he could draw. Huffing a laugh at his own folly, Perry pushed away from the window.
