in a motherly hug. ‘There, there. It will be all right, I’m sure. Now that he is recovering, it will only be a matter of time before he recalls what you once were to each other.’
‘Of course,’ Justine answered, as though that was not another reason for tears. Felkirk’s total absence of memory was the best news she’d had in ages. He had forgotten the worst of it and she might still escape punishment. One could not be complicit in an attack on a noble family and avoid the gallows. She had known her fate was sealed the day that she had found him on the salon floor in a pool of blood. Even if she had wished him ill, William Felkirk both recovered and amnesiac was a gift straight from God.
Of course, it also meant he could not recall the things she actually wished to know. And that was most vexing. Without that, why had she bothered to save him?
Penny patted her shoulder. ‘As soon as he has recovered his strength, you can return to the old manor. That is his house now and will be yours as well. We will be less than a mile away if you need us. Familiar surroundings will have the memories flooding back in no time.’
A flood of memory was the last thing she needed. Moving to Felkirk’s own home would draw her even deeper into the ruse she had created. They would be alone, with no duke and duchess to help her deflect Lord Felkirk’s endless questions. ‘It will be quite different, being alone with him there,’ she said, trying to keep the resignation from her voice.
‘We will be just down the road,’ Penny replied cheerfully. ‘We can come for visits or for dinner, as soon as you are ready to receive us.’
They would come, and leave again, before bedtime. Justine would be left to manage the nights, alone with a strange man who would expect more than nursing from a beautiful woman who claimed to be his wife. What had he said to her, just now? You are not going to pretend that you are unaware of the effect you have on men.
Montague had said something similar, when he had informed her of what her future would be. Now, it would be happening all over again. When he was unconscious, William Felkirk had been as pale and beautiful as a statue. But awake she could see the virile strength that had been dormant. The blood was returning to his lips and the observant blue eyes turned on her already sparkled with interest. Soon there would be another, very male response to her presence in his bedroom. She could not help herself, she shivered.
Without a word, Penny slipped the shawl from her own shoulders and wrapped it around Justine. ‘You are tired, of course. You have worked so hard to make him well again. And it has not turned out as you expected.’
‘No, it has not,’ Justine admitted. She had assumed, no matter what she did to prevent it, he would die. She would enter the sickroom some morning to find the patient stiff and cold. It had made her search all the harder for evidence of her father, or a sign that he had delivered the jewels he’d been carrying, when he’d died. If she could have got her hands on them, she might have disappeared before anyone discovered her lies.
Then, it had occurred to her that, if William Felkirk died, it might be easier just to stay as she was, allowing the duke and duchess to comfort her in her mourning. Montague would not dare tell his half of the truth, for fear that she would tell hers. In a year, when she’d cast off her black, there might be holidays, and summer, and a Season in London with balls and parties...
And where would that leave Margot? As usual, the thought doused all happiness like cold water. How unfair was it that any thought of her beloved little sister should be wrapped in negatives?
As they walked down the hall and towards the main stairs, Penny continued to chatter on, filling the tense silence with descriptions of a happy future that could never be. ‘Above all, do not worry yourself over his behaviour today. I am sure he loves you. But the truth was quite a shock to him.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘The doctors said there might be changes in his character, because of the accident.’
‘True,’ Justine agreed. How could she tell? She knew nothing of his character, after only one brief meeting. When he had entered the shop, she had thought him handsome and pleasant enough. But his initial smile had faded, when he’d realised who, and what, she was.
Penny sensed her unease and added, ‘He will remember you, in time, I am sure. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘I am sure you are right.’ The words were true, even if the smile that accompanied them was not. He would remember her. She must be long gone before that happened, even if it meant returning to the life with Montague that she had hoped to escape.
They were at the door of her bedroom now and she gave the duchess a light kiss on the cheek to prove that it was, indeed, all right. ‘I think I should like to lie down before dinner.’
‘Of course,’ Penny replied. ‘Now that your husband is better, you must take care of yourself. And you will want to look your best for him, should Will be able to come to down for his meal.’
Justine smiled and nodded, and prayed he would not. It would mean another inquisition, nearly on the heels of the last one. She needed time to plan and create answers for the questions he would ask. She wasted no time, once the door was closed. A moment’s hesitation might cause her to doubt the wisdom of what she had done so far. And that doubt would lead to weakness, and eventual doom. Had not bitter experience taught her that only the strong survived?
She would be strong, even if it meant that she would not be happy. She went to the bedside candle and lit it, carrying it to the little table in front of the window, where she was sure it could be seen from a distance.
It was still burning when she left the room for dinner.
Will was beginning to fear that Penny had been correct in her suggestion that he use a Bath chair. If he lacked the strength to walk across his own room, there was no way he could manage the stairs to the ground floor without help from the servants. If he had to stagger to get down them, it would take all his energy to avoid the indignity of being carried back upstairs after.
As if it was not enough to lose memory and strength, he seemed prone to nerves—he started at the least little thing. He’d lain in bed, straining to hear the conversation in the hall, as Penny assured the mysterious Justine that everything would be fine. As he’d done so, he was overcome with the fear that the family was plotting against him, with the stranger. Even the entrance of his valet, with clean linen and shaving gear, set his heart to pounding. He’d been so sure of himself, before. Perhaps the blow had addled his brain, and the confidence would never return.
He refused to believe it. He would not spend the rest of his life hiding in his room and starting at shadows. If he worked to make it so, his life might be as it once was.
But now, he had a wife.
He did not wish to think of her, either. After he’d composed himself, it was a comfort to see his valet, Stewart. It was good to be clean, shaved and dressed in something other than a nightshirt. But it embarrassed him that he’d had to be helped into a sitting position and moved about like a mannequin when his limbs would not stay steady enough to help with trousers and coat.
His man had made no comment on it, other than to examine his cheek and remark that her ladyship was nearly as good with a razor as he, and might have made an excellent valet, had God blessed her enough to make her male.
‘She shaved me?’ Why did it bother him to imagine that graceful hand holding the
