“One more can’t hurt,” Jack commented.
“As for your memory …” The doctor scrunched his time-weathered face into a thoughtful frown and pulled on his chin with short, blunt-tipped fingers.
“I’m sure it will return,” said Jack, sitting up in bed with the sheet pushed down to his waist in order for the doctor to listen to his heart and lungs. He caught Miss Darlington staring at his chest and winked at her when she looked up. She pressed her lips together, jerked her chin up, and immediately shifted her gaze to the doctor.
“I think it will, too, my lord,” the doctor agreed, “but I couldn’t even begin to guess when that happy event might occur.”
Jack watched the effect this vague pronouncement had on Miss Darlington’s composure. She squeezed her hands together and held them at bosom-level, as if she were imploring or even praying, then stepped closer to the doctor. “You do think his memory will return
soon
, don’t you, doctor?”
Jack suppressed a grin. The chit couldn’t wait to get rid of him, but he had no place to go and was as happy as a fat cat to stay exactly where he was—with Miss Darlington.
“As I said, m’dear,” said the doctor, stuffing his instruments into his leather bag, “I haven’t the slightest idea when he’ll regain his memory. It could happen today, it could happen tomorrow, or it might not come back for a month or more. ’Tis impossible to predict. And in the meantime, be aware that your husband might have occasional bouts of confusion. He’s very lucid at the moment, but one never knows with these head injuries.”
Miss Darlington’s frustration was obvious. The doctor noticed, too, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fret about it, m’dear,” he advised. “Take an example from your husband, here.” He gestured toward the bed, and Miss Darlington lifted her forlorn gaze to Jack’s face. “His lordship is handling this unfortunate situation very well …
very
well, indeed. He knows, as I do, that his memory can’t be forced but will return naturally as he is reintroduced into his everyday life.”
“You mean when I get back to my home in—” Jack turned to Amanda and widened his eyes in a pose of innocent inquiry. “Where
do
we live, my darling?”
Jack could almost see the cogs and wheels turning in Miss Darlington’s brain as she scrambled for an answer. “Why, in Yorkshire, dear,” she answered with a guilty twitch of her upper lip. He could tell she wasn’t a seasoned liar, and Jack gave her credit for thinking of a county far enough away that no one would be familiar with the landed gentry who resided in that area.
“There, you see,” said the doctor in a satisfied tone. “All will be well. You are extremely lucky, my lord, that you were traveling with your excellent wife when this accident befell you. She’s been a wonderful nurse. And I shudder to think what would have happened to you had you been off by yourself, so far from home, and with no one and nothing to connect you to your true identity.”
“Yes, that
would
be a rather desperate situation,” Jack agreed gravely. “In such a case, one would be entirely at the mercy of strangers.”
He slid a pathetic look toward Miss Darlington. He watched as her small aristocratic nostrils flared and her jaw tightened in an effort to keep from making an unwise retort in front of the doctor. She doubtless understood that Jack was implying that it would be a heartless desertion if she left him behind with Mrs. Beane.
But if she thought he was going to try to delay her departure, she was wrong. Despite the doctor’s advice to the contrary, Jack was going to insist that Miss Darlington resume her journey first thing in the morning … taking him with her.
“You are indeed far from home,” said the doctor, moving toward the door. His eyes skimmed Miss Darlington’s black dress, and he made an observation that Jack should have made hours ago. “You’re in mourning, m’dear?”
Miss Darlington looked startled at first, then gave a slight nod, as if she did not wish to speak any further on the subject. But the well-meaning doctor did not take the hint. “Could you be on your way to a funeral, then?”
“Why, yes,” said Miss Darlington. Her cheeks pinkened suspiciously, and Jack was sure she was lying again. “That’s why we’re so far from home, Doctor Bledsoe.”
“No one hereabouts died, did they?” asked the doctor with a look of professional interest. “I doctor them as far west as Shopwyke.”
“No, the funeral’s in quite another county,” Miss Darlington briskly assured him. “Thank you for coming by, doctor. We shan’t trouble you again unless my husband takes a turn for the worse. But as I intend to follow your instructions to the last detail, there’s no fear of that.”
Then, before the doctor could respond, Miss Darlington pulled out her purse, shook out a very fair amount of coin, and handed it to him. The doctor was sufficiently distracted to finally drop the subject of the funeral and forget any further repetitions of the instructions for Jack’s care. She then adroitly maneuvered him out the door.
“A nice fellow,” opined Jack as Miss Darlington shut the door behind the doctor and turned with a frosty look.
“I thought you disliked doctors,” she answered in an equally frosty tone. She was apparently still angry with him for bringing up the war wound. “Not more than an hour ago I distinctly heard you say they were all quacks.”
Jack shrugged. “I must admit that I don’t remember any past experiences with doctors that would lead me to have such a low opinion of their abilities, but I have a feeling that compared to the others I’ve doubtless known, this fellow is superior. Dr. Bledsoe is blunt, practical, and experienced. I like him.”
Miss Darlington’s icy attitude seemed to thaw a little as she answered, “I like him, too.”
Jack raised a brow. “I hope you don’t like him so well that you are determined to—as you said just now—‘follow his instructions to the last detail’?”
Miss Darlington crossed her arms and stood at the end of the bed. “What detail are you concerned about, John?”
“The detail about not allowing me to travel tomorrow.”
Miss Darlington sighed and looked down, her arms falling to her sides.
Jack cocked his head and tried to peer up into her downcast face. “He’s wrong, you know,” he stated firmly. “I know you’re itching to be off, and I wouldn’t dream of delaying you another moment.”
She lifted her head and asked cautiously, “You mean you’re offering to stay here?”
“No,” he answered firmly. “You’ve known my feelings all along about that. I mean to go with you.”
“But you’re not well enough,” she argued, looking distressed.
“The alternative is to leave me in the care of Mrs. Beane till I recover my strength or my memory, whichever comes first. Could you do that in good conscience, Miss Darlington?” he demanded to know. “And how will you explain running off and leaving your husband in such a way?”
“I could tell the
truth
!” Miss Darlington crossed her arms again and took an agitated turn on the rug. “ ’Tis a unique idea, I grant you, but it could be done! I
hate
lies. I’ve always hated lies, and most recently have had reason to hate them even more. But here I am spinning one whisker after another! I should be able to tell Mrs. Beane the truth, then go about my business as before without a single regret. You’ve got plenty of money to pay for your keep!”
“But your conscience won’t let you go without me, Miss Darlington. Anything could happen if you left me here.
Anything,”
he stressed.
Amanda stopped pacing and took her position at the end of the bed again. “Now you’re being melodramatic,” she accused. “But it would worry me if I left you here, though I wonder if being rattled to pieces in a carriage will do you more harm than a little hard nursing by Mrs. Beane.”
“What if I prove I’m up to snuff, Miss Darlington?” said Jack, pushing up in the bed and shifting one leg to the edge of the mattress as if he were about to stand up.
Miss Darlington blanched and lifted both splayed hands in front of her. “Don’t you
dare
get out of bed without your clothes, sir, or I shall scream!”
Having sincerely forgotten that he was naked, Jack resettled in bed and pulled the sheet up to his Adam’s apple. “And an odd notion Mrs. Beane and the entire population of this inn should have about our marriage if you
screamed
, Miss Darlington. But I do beg your pardon! It’s just that I’ve been sitting around like this for so long, and am so comfortable doing so, I forgot I was not”—he paused, fishing for the right words—”properly outfitted for presentation,” he finished wryly.
“Your clothes should be ready by now,” said Miss Darlington, unknowingly showing her maidenly agitation by fussing with the buttons that marched up the entire front of her bodice to her chin. “I’ll speak to the chambermaid.” She turned and moved to the door.
“I won’t put my clothes on, you know, until I—”
Miss Darlington turned swiftly, her slim white hands, which he distinctly remembered being so cool and soft, curled into fists. Or had he just dreamed about her hands? “Until you
what
?” she said with ominous calm, as though her patience was at the end of its tether.
Jack gave her a look that implied that the answer was self-evident. “Until I get my bath, of course.”
“Oh.” She was clearly disconcerted. “I hadn’t thought of that. I imagine you do rather—” She waved one hand ineffectually.
“Yes, I do rather
need
one,” he finished for her.
“Yes … er … yes, well, I’ll arrange for the water to be heated at once,” she said, turning to go.
“I’ll need assistance,” he reminded her as she was halfway out the door.
She turned back, and he could see by her angry and implacable expression that he’d irked her into forgetting her embarrassment. “No matter what argument you put forth, sir,” she said with steely calm, “I will not assist you in a bath. I am
not
your wife, nor am I Gretta, of whose charms and talents I’ve no doubt you will someday again fondly remember.
I
, however, will never be a fond memory of yours, John, nor will my name
ever
be murmured by you whilst in the throes of a delirium.”
“Perhaps the chambermaid would be willing to lend me a hand,” he suggested demurely. He was immensely amused by Miss Darlington’s conversation and couldn’t seem to stop himself from egging her on.
“One of my men can assist you,” she said with finality. She stopped, pondered for a minute, then smiled maliciously. “I should think Theo would do nicely, since he’s the largest of the lot and dislikes you the most.”
“But I’ll need a shave, too, Miss Darlington,” Jack objected, laughing. “And by the looks Theo gives me, I must confess I’d fear for my life if he took a razor to my throat!”
“Then behave yourself, sir,” Miss Darlington advised him with a triumphant sniff. “Behave yourself and do not vex me, or I’ll tell Theo I wouldn’t mind it very much if his hand slipped a
little
while he shaved you.”
And with that last warning, she left.
The smile remained on Jack’s face for several moments after Miss Darlington left the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so well entertained … but then he couldn’t remember much of anything, could he?
Jack ran his hand over his raspy jaw, and his smile faded. He certainly hoped Theo had steady hands and no taste for murder. Then it occurred to him that he
could
shave himself. That the idea hadn’t occurred to him before indicated that he wasn’t accustomed to doing his own toilette and normally enjoyed the services of a valet.
Jack sighed and acknowledged to himself that there might be some advantages to getting back his memory, one of those advantages being the services of a valet, and another advantage being the chance of becoming reacquainted with the commendable Gretta. After all, Jack thought philosophically, there wasn’t a friendlier thing a female could do for a fellow than
bathe
him.
He sank into his pillows, imagining mounds of frothy soap floating in a tub of steaming water. And there, so clear to his mind’s eye as she bent near him, was Miss Darlington … lovingly wielding a sponge.
Amanda was amazed at the progress John made in the next few hours. The fellow seemed absolutely dead set on proving he was travel-worthy. With Theo’s help he took his first unsteady steps to the tub placed in front of the fireplace and had a bath. Amanda was not present, of course, but later as she and Theo met in the hall, he reported that the stranger refused to be helped with the bathing and once or twice made an obscure and bitter remark about some woman named Gretta.
“I only bring up the female’s name, miss,” Theo said with a shamefaced look, “in the hopes that it’d help ye find the bloke’s kin. Do ye reckon she’s ‘is sister?”
“I have already discussed the woman known as Gretta with the gentleman,” Amanda replied calmly, but with secret amusement. “Indeed, Theo, she is
not
his sister, nor anyone even remotely related to him.”
Theo accepted this explanation with a sober nod and a faint blush. “Well, least ways he’s clean now and tucked into bed again. He wouldn’t let me touch ’im, so he shaved hisself whilst sittin’ in the tub.”
This revelation brought such a vivid picture to Amanda’s mind—John’s chest dotted with lather, his strong brown knees jutting out of the water like volcanic islands in a frothy sea, his lean fingers deftly carving away the stubble of a black pirate’s beard—that she had to shake her head to clear it.
“What about his clothes, Theo?” she prompted, anxious to be assured that she wouldn’t have to spend another night in a room with a naked man. Last night he was unconscious and sick; tonight he was conscious and gaining strength by the minute.
“Mrs. Beane found ’im a shirt to sleep in, seein’ as how he wanted to keep ’is fancy togs neat fer tomorrow.” Theo bent a wary gaze on Amanda. “We’re not takin’ ‘im with us, are we, miss?”
“I can’t leave him with Mrs. Beane, Theo,” said Amanda with a sigh. “The doctor said he could have bouts of confusion before his memory returns, so he definitely needs to be watched over carefully until he can be reunited with friends or family.”