Dorothea looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “My father had just passed, and I confided in you about my brother. How I was afraid to return to live with him. You were so kind… so understanding.I think the doctors believed you had only days to live. You said you wanted to do something good before the end. That you wanted to help me.”
His brow furrowed deeper. “I askedyouto marry me?”
“You did,” she said. “At first, I refused. I didn’t want anyone thinking I took advantage of a dying man. But you were insistent. You even said that you hoped it would bring you peace.”
Dominic sat back, stunned. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
“I disagree,” she said. “You were always so gentle. I found myself looking forward to every moment we spent together.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then why can’t I remember? None of this… it’s like someone else lived that life.”
“It could have been the fever,” she offered. “You were delirious for days at a time. There were moments when you didn’t even know where you were.”
“Perhaps I proposed in a fever dream,” he muttered.
“I assure you that you were more than lucid during our wedding. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.” Dorothea tilted her head. “Are you upset… that you married me?”
He looked at her sharply, his jaw tightening. “It was a shock,” he said. “To discover I was married to someone I couldn’t remember… it’s disorienting.”
Her chest tightened painfully, and she lowered her gaze to her lap. Of course. He regretted it. All of it. And here she was,foolishly prattling on about how he had saved her—how he had been her hero.
But he had forgotten her.
The silence that followed was heavy. Neither of them spoke again until the coach rolled to a stop in front of a grand red-brick townhouse, its tall windows gleaming beneath the overcast sky.
Dominic stepped out first and turned to assist her. She placed her hand in his, the touch warm and fleeting, and quickly withdrew it the moment her feet touched the ground.
They entered the house, where a white-haired butler stood waiting with quiet dignity. His face bore the calm of a man who had seen much but judged little.
“Wright,” Dominic said, gesturing towards her, “this is the mistress of the house. My wife… Lady Warwicke.”
There was the briefest pause, as if he had tripped over the wordwife,but the butler seemed to ignore it.
“My lady,” Wright said with a respectful bow.
Dorothea inclined her head in response.
“Please send for the dressmaker,” Dominic instructed. “Lady Warwicke will require a whole new wardrobe.”
“Yes, my lord.” Wright disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps echoing into the distance.
Now alone in the entry hall, Dorothea bit her lower lip to keep from nervously filling the silence. She wanted to make a good impression, to be a proper wife—even if Dominic wasn’t sure he wanted her in that role.
Dominic turned to her, his expression solemn. “I have work to attend to. I trust you’ll find something to occupy your time.”
“Yes, of course. You needn’t worry about me.”
He gave a short nod. “I’ll be in my study.”
Before she could respond, he turned and strode away, his boots clicking against the marble floor until they faded into the quiet of the house.
Dorothea stood alone, her eyes drifting up to the grand chandelier suspended above. The house was beautiful. Elegant. But she had never felt more unsure of her place.
Just as she began to wonder what she should do next, a warm voice called out from the corridor. “What a pretty thing you are, my lady.”
Dorothea turned to see a plump woman with dark hair and keen, friendly eyes approaching.
The woman offered a pleasant smile. “I’m Mrs. Cameron, the housekeeper. Where are your trunks?”
