“I am of no profession. I am a gentleman.”
“Oh.” She exhaled slowly. “So coming to France did not bankrupt you?”
“Why would you—?” He stopped himself. It did not matter; he only needed to reassure her. “No, not at all.”
“Is your property large?”
“Yes.”
“And prosperous?”
“Extremely.”
“So I was a complete fool to think you were a common laborer,” she said with a self-mocking smile. “Your accent should have told me. In my own defense I can only say that I am recovering from a blow to the head.”
“I am doing my utmost to avoid resembling an English gentleman and have utterly failed to fool the Martins, so I am pleased at least one person believed the disguise.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you fooled the woman who cannot remember her own name. Quite a feat.” He laughed. “My family did not disapprove of our marriage?”
“No.” Darcy feared lightning would strike him down, but it was a reasonable falsehood. No doubt Mr. Bennet would be quite pleased to have his daughter marry the master of Pemberley—particularly after he discovered Darcy had spent the past two nights sleeping in Elizabeth’s bedchamber.
She considered for a moment, her head tilted to the side. It was such an appealing expression that Darcy wanted to kiss her. “Are my parents living? Do I have brothers and sisters?”
Resisting temptation, Darcy sat back in his chair, happy to address less fraught subjects. “You have no brothers, but four sisters. The oldest is Jane. You are second eldest. The others are… Mary…” Darcy strained to recall the names of the two younger girls; he had done his best to avoid them, but a husband would know that sort of information. “Katherine…and Lydia.”
“Longbourn…Bennet…Jane…Lydia…” she repeated to herself. “Nothing. I thought that surely the names would provoke some memories.”
Tears sparkled in her eyes. Darcy wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms. Blast it! He would if she were his wife in truth.
“You have been conscious for less than a full day. Give yourself more time to remember.” His hand moved of its own volition to stroke her hair. He froze for a moment but then continued. Surely it would not be wrong to exhibit some husbandly behavior.
Elizabeth sighed, nuzzling his hand with her cheek. The simple gesture brought him a sense of warmth and contentment he had never experienced before. “Please tell me about my home,” she said in a muffled voice.
Darcy tried to conjure the image to mind. Truthfully, the estate was not particularly impressive, and Mr. Bennet was not an especially careful landowner. But he tried to picture it through the eyes of a woman who had grown up in the house and loved it. “There are many trees and copious shady lanes for walks. A picturesque stream winds its way through the property and into the home of a friend of mine. You mentioned to me once that you especially enjoyed the walk to Oakham Mount where you could view all of the surrounding countryside.”
“Did I never take you there?”
“No…we never had that pleasure. Perhaps when we return.” If you are still speaking to me.
She turned her head, and he was transfixed by eyes as green as holly in winter. His hand was tangled in her hair, and his face was inches from hers. You cannot kiss her. She is not your wife. It was growing more difficult to remember that fact with every passing minute.
“Will you tell me how we met?” she asked.
The request threw a bucket of cold water on his ardor. How could he describe those circumstances without inadvertently revealing the truth of their relationship? However, he was saved from a response by the entry of the maid with a tray of food.
He carried Elizabeth’s hand to his lips and murmured, “Another time, my dear. You should eat and then try to rest again.”
There was a stubborn set to Elizabeth’s shoulders, but already her energy was flagging. “Very well, I will eat. But I shall expect the full story when I awaken.”
***
Elizabeth watched William bustle about, removing the last of her dishes and handing the tray to the waiting maid. He moved with such grace and such economy that she would guess he was an excellent dancer. If only I could recall dancing with him! She imagined facing him across a line of dancers, taking his hand for the turns, or speaking to him as they waited while others danced. But she did not glimpse even the shadow of a memory. It was as if her life had started the moment she awakened in this room two days ago.
William fussed with opening the windows and drawing the curtains, making sure she caught the early afternoon breeze without enduring too much sun. He was so attentive to her needs—the quintessential gentleman. How could she have believed he was anything else? He was accustomed to ordering the servants. His teeth and skin were quite good, his accent quite precise. She had been foolish not to notice before.
“Would you sleep?” he asked.
“I am not as fatigued as I was. May we speak a little longer?” He nodded his assent.