A Duke Never Forgets (The Duke Hunters Club, #3) Page 10
“No, no. This is important. There is a midwife in this region who can assist you. Mrs. Dudley. She also does laundry for some homes. Perhaps you’ve met her?”
“No,” Genevieve said awkwardly. “But I—er—do not require her services.”
“My dear woman. Bringing a child into the world is hardly a task I would venture for you to do on your own. Even with Mrs. Dudley’s assistance, there are still a great many deaths.”
Genevieve suddenly felt ill.
“It’s not about that,” Genevieve said. “I’m not—er—expecting.”
“But how can you be certain?”
“I’m certain,” Genevieve said crossly. Speaking with the doctor was already sufficiently trying without accidentally entering a whole new discussion. “I’m absolutely certain.”
The doctor sighed, perhaps disappointed at his inability to diagnose her.
“I wanted to speak about my—er—husband.”
“Ah.” The doctor straightened his shoulders somewhat, as if he’d been bracing for her to declare an unnoticed stomach affliction. “I see. Wifely concern and all that. Yes, yes. Quite understandable.”
“Good.”
“But entirely unwarranted,” he rushed to add. “I’m a busy man. Most of my time is spent on a horse.”
“Would you like to sit down, Mr. Dudley?” Genevieve asked.
For a moment, the doctor looked forlornly at an armchair, but then he straightened. “Er—better not. I should be leaving soon. But you must not worry, Mrs. Seagull. Your husband is in the best care.”
“So, you’ve worked with patients who’ve had amnesia before?”
“Well—” Mr. Dudley sighed. “Not me, personally.”
Genevieve was silent.
“It is, you must admit, a rather odd affliction.”
“But you’re still aware of it,” she said hopefully.
“Er—yes.”
She tilted her head. “Perhaps you’ve read about it in a journal?”
“Well—er—not precisely that. I don’t read journals. Rubbish stuff. All quite dull. Don’t like dull things much. Find them boring.” He coughed noisily, then cleared his throat with equal auditory projection.
Genevieve decided she would muse over this information later. “Perhaps you’ve discussed it with your colleagues?”
“Colleagues?”
“Other local doctors.”
“Ah.” The doctor nodded and moved his bulbous head, which gleamed from the light from the open window. “We don’t speak much. But—er—my wife was telling me about a penny dreadful she’d read that contained the affliction.”
Genevieve blinked. “You mean to tell me your only experience with my husband’s condition is from a book?”
“Well, I personally wouldn’t call a penny dreadful a book. Technically, it has pages and is bound in much the same manner—”
“—the exact same manner,” Genevieve corrected.
“Er—perhaps,” the doctor said, though she suspected his adherence to reality was more driven by an urge to pacify, a natural inclination toward condescension, and an awareness of the need to leave in a timely manner.
“Personally, I favor referring to it as rubbish,” the doctor said, and his eyes gleamed.
“I see,” Genevieve said faintly. “And that is your only experience with amnesia.”
“My wife and I discussed it at length,” the doctor said. “She found the concept interesting and wanted to discuss it, given my vast medical knowledge.”
“Medical knowledge that didn’t inform you anything about amnesia,” Genevieve muttered.
The doctor narrowed his eyes. “That seems disrespectful.”
“Oh?” Genevieve asked in an innocent tone.
The doctor’s gaze remained fixed on her, and his eyes didn’t relax their newly narrowed position. He assessed her with the same vigor Genevieve had hitherto seen bestowed to snakes and spiders.
She sighed. “Do you have an idea of how long my husband’s amnesia might last?”
“It could be a short time; it could be a long time. I’d rather hoped that he would remember by now.”
“I’d hoped that as well,” she said, even as an odd sense of relief flooded her.
“The good news is that the man has not forgotten everything.”
“And why is that good?”
“Well—er—” The doctor lifted a hand to his head, then dropped it, as if remembering his absence of hair to smooth or tug. Instead, he straightened his cravat. “Something is better than nothing.”
Genevieve stared at him, and something in her heart thudded.
Sebastian was ill, and this doctor could not help him.
She sighed. “What happened in the book?”
“The book?”
“Your wife’s book. Was the amnesiac person cured?”
The doctor nodded eagerly. “All his memories returned.”
“Oh.” Genevieve returned the doctor’s smile. “But how?”
“He was hit on the head again. Simple.” The doctor glanced at the vase on the sideboard. “Would you like me to try hitting him on the head? Just to see if that works?”
Genevieve shook her head rapidly. “N-No thank you. Better—er—not.”
“Right.” The doctor exhaled, and his shoulders adopted a lower perch. “I see.”
“But I had another question.”
“Heavens,” the doctor said drily.
Genevieve ignored the doctor’s exclamation. “I—er—was wondering what you thought might happen, were my—er—husband to learn that his impression of his current living situation might be... inaccurate.”
The doctor frowned. “What do you mean?”
Genevieve swallowed hard. She needed to know what the doctor thought. Unfortunately, she needed to be certain the doctor didn’t also think that she was an unmarried woman who had told a man suffering from amnesia that she was married to him, all while neglecting to mention that he was a duke. That was the sort of information that was apt to make the doctor uneasy.
“Simply that when my husband woke up, he made some—er—assumptions.”
“Then they should be corrected,” the doctor said. “Unless, finding out his assumptions were untrue might cause him shock.”
“He would be shocked.”
“Hmph.” The doctor frowned. “I see. It is vital that he is not shocked.”
“Perhaps he would find the shock good,” Genevieve said hopefully.
The doctor scrunched up his lips. Finally, he sighed. “Would this by any chance have to do with the fact that your husband was not residing with you?”
Genevieve widened her eyes. “How did you know?”
“The vicar is prone to talking with people with as much enthusiasm as he talks with our heavenly father.”
“Ah.”
“The vicar thought it odd his presence was not mentioned when you first moved to the cottage.”
“I see.” Genevieve looked down.
“You had an argument before his injury.”
Genevieve gave a miserable nod.
“But I’ve heard the way your husband talks about you,” the doctor continued. “I see the pride he has that he is married to you. If he were to think that your marriage is less secure than he believes, that he did not even spend the first night in Cornwall at your house—he might be devastated.”
“And would that impact his recovery?” Genevieve asked.
The doctor looked at her. “It might. I would strongly suggest you not confuse him. You are his most trusted confidante. You know him better than anyone else. Help him discover who he is with you. It could set him back—perhaps permanently, if the few things he knows of his life are proven to be false. You would not wish that on him.”
Genevieve shook her head. “He might find some of the changes good.”
The doctor fixed his gaze on her. “Do any of those potential changes involve being estranged from you?”
Genevieve nodded.
“I understand,” Genevieve said. “Thank you for your help.”
The doctor nodded solemnly, bowed, then exited the room.
Genevieve watched him leave, her mind occupied on understanding what he’d said about Sebastian. She wouldn’t be able to tell Sebastian the truth yet. She would spend more days with Sebastian, perhaps, more weeks. The thought was not distasteful, but unease still moved through her: perhaps it would even be difficult to remember that they were not truly married.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I THINK WE SHOULD GO on a walk,” Sebastian declared.
Mother sent him a skeptical look.
“I am well enough to go on a walk.” Sebastian glanced at Genevieve. “In fact, I’m well enough to do all manner of things.”
There was one particular activity that Sebastian was particularly enthusiastic about performing, but unfortunately, his wife wanted to postpone that particular pleasure.
“Can we look for frogs?” Billy asked.
Sebastian nodded solemnly. “I’m particularly fond of looking for frogs.”
Billy beamed, then eyed him skeptically.
Evidently, he was his mother’s son.
“Nobody is fond of looking for frogs.” Billy pointed at both his mother and sister, assigning a hand for each subject. “They hate it.”
Sebastian crouched down. “Well, I’m your big brother. I’m very fond of searching for frogs.
“Brother?” Billy asked, his eyes wide.
Mother cleared her throat. “Since Sebastian is married to your sister, he calls himself your brother.”
Genevieve’s face tensed, and Mother’s visage appeared equally strained.
Billy nodded. “I get it. It’s the game.”
“Yes, frog hunting is a game,” Genevieve said quickly.
Personally, Sebastian would have described frog hunting as an activity, or, evidently in Billy’s case, as a hobby, but he wasn’t going to quibble on his wife’s loose usage of the word. Even the most magnificent woman in the world was bound to have flaws on occasion, and certainly, a loose interpretation of the word ‘game’ seemed a trivial one.
“Can we go?” Billy turned eagerly to his mother. “Pleeeeeease?”
Mother grimaced. “Frog hunting sounds muddy.”
“It is muddy,” Genevieve said, speaking with the voice of experience.
“I can go with Billy alone,” Sebastian offered.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Genevieve stared at him.
“Naturally not,” Sebastian said. “I love frog hunting.”
“Me too!” Billy exclaimed. He ran to the door.
Mother sighed. “I suppose that’s a joy I should discover.”
“You don’t have to go,” Sebastian said. “It is muddy.”
“I don’t mind.” Mother gave a tight smile and glanced at Genevieve.
“I’ll go too!” Genevieve said brightly.
Well.
This was going to be wonderful.
“I have the impression,” Sebastian said, “that frog hunting has never been so fun.”
Billy beamed, and Genevieve’s face pinkened.
“I like having a brother,” Billy announced.
“Well, games are fun,” Mother said, even though she had the appearance of a woman not prone to playing games.
He supposed that Genevieve’s inaccurate use of the word ‘game’ derived from a faulty understanding of it from her mother.
Soon, Genevieve, Mother, Sebastian, and Billy were trampling through a wooded area that Billy assured them was a prime spot for frogs. Eventually, the sound of a creak gliding over rocks and pebbles sounded, and Billy leaped toward it.
Sebastian glanced at Genevieve. “So, this isn’t your first-time frog hunting?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m enjoying it now.”
He smiled, then furrowed his brow. “It’s strange I’ve never gone frog hunting with your family before.”
Genevieve’s face paled, and she averted her eyes. “Well—”
His shoulders slumped. “I was an appalling person. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was spending so much time thinking about horses.”
“It wasn’t so much time.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “And we just moved with my family to Cornwall. We’re still discovering all the locations as well.”
“Ah.” An odd weight in his shoulders eased.
Billy and Mother were farther away now. Birds chirped merrily, perched on various branches. Squirrels played, darting this way and that, and light sparkled as it shimmered through the leaves. A wonderful woodsy scent wafted throughout, and Sebastian inhaled happily. No scent equaled that of Genevieve, and he pulled her toward him.
“Sebastian?” her voice trembled.
He smiled at her.
Her eyes were bright and shining, and her cheeks were flushed.
“I like the way you fit against me,” he said.
“Indeed?” her voice quivered, and he smiled. One would almost think her an innocent. He stroked her hair, touching her glossy locks.
“W-We shouldn’t.”
“Your mother and brother can’t see us,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And these trees are most magnificent.”
“Because of their size?”
He shrugged. “I was more contemplating that they function quite well as a wall. A pretty wall. But a wall all the same.”
“Are you very fond of walls?” she asked.
“I find their privacy purposes practical.”
“Oh?” Her voice had a breathless quality to it.
He nodded and took her hands in his. She was quivering. No doubt, she was as eager for him to kiss her as he was. Joy surged through him.
“Though the trees’ beauty is considerable, I am more interested in your beauty.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
So, he did.
He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against hers. Pleasure jolted through him. She seemed to move nervously, and he smiled.
“I’m not going to break,” he said.
Her lips twitched. “You just had a significant head injury.”
He shrugged. “That took a great ocean.”
He concentrated on the wonderfulness that was Genevieve. He focused on her lips and her tongue.
He focused on her slender figure, which somehow had just the right amount of curves.
He focused on her lovely locks and her cerulean eyes.
He focused on her.
She pulled away, finally. “We should join the others.”
“You wouldn’t fancy a tumble in that bush?” he pointed at one.
Her eyes widened, and he smiled.
“Do not worry. I’m jesting, sweetheart.” He took her hand in his. “Let’s join them.”
His heart swelled as they strode, her hand still clasped with his.
THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED to happen. Genevieve knew that. She shouldn’t be strolling through the woods with Sebastian, and she certainly shouldn’t feel happy about the matter.
And yet, his hand was so warm, and the size seemed to fit perfectly with her palm.
An odd lightness moved through her. She was acting scandalously. Unmarried women weren’t supposed to hold hands with unmarried men, and they certainly weren’t supposed to kiss them.
But she was doing one thing, and she’d already done the other.
This was when guilt was supposed to come toward her, followed by an urge to take a horse straight to Mr. Ackley’s parish and spend the next ten hours on her knees praying.
The instinct did not come. Instead, she enjoyed the sensation of Sebastian’s hand. They strode evenly, practically gliding, despite the prevalence of fallen twigs and leaves in their path.
“Coming?” Mama called.
“We should hurry,” Sebastian said, still
clutching her hand.
They came across a corner, and found Mama and Billy examining a creek. Billy was squatting on a rock.
“I found one!” Billy exclaimed.
Mama’s gaze fell to the joined hands of Sebastian and Genevieve, and she smirked.
“Let’s see the frog.” Sebastian joined Billy, and they soon were noting the intriguing characteristics of the creature.
Mama smiled and moved toward Genevieve.
Genevieve waited for Mama to scold her, but Mama only smiled serenely, and Genevieve had the odd sensation that everything might truly be fine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GENEVIEVE SHOULDN’T have been surprised when Sebastian was gone early the next morning, but she still had the odd sense that she would miss him.
“He’s going to be furious once he recovers his memory,” Mama said.
“I know,” Genevieve agreed. “Hopefully, he finds a better position.”
“You’re Genevieve Devon,” Mother said. “You shouldn’t be married to a plowman.”
“He is not aware of that fact,” Genevieve said.
“We had a ballroom in Cumberland,” Mama moaned. “And it was a nice one. People traveled from far away to dance there.”
“And to drink your wine and brandy,” Genevieve said.
“Your father should have told me earlier that he was experiencing financial difficulties,” Mama grumbled. “That would have been important information.”
Genevieve made sympathetic noises.
“Still, you shouldn’t be married to a plowman,” Mama said. “Your uncle is an earl.”
“Fortunately, I’m not married to Sebastian.”
She’d meant for the words to sound light, but there was an odd bitter edge to them she had not expected, and her mother furrowed her brow.
“The plan isn’t going to work,” Genevieve said. “He will probably remember at some point. Even if he doesn’t—we can’t leave him here. Not when he is titled and has heavens knows how many properties.”
“We have reached the point where taking things one day at a time is all one can do,” Mother said.
“A carriage is outside!” Billy screamed, rushing toward them.
Genevieve and her mother exchanged glances.
“Perhaps the doctor has decided to travel in more comfortable transport,” Mama suggested.