Page 27 of Good Duke Gone Hard

“Time is in other hands, my boy.”

“So it would seem.”

“Good hands, but unpredictable. It’s our greatest achievement to yield to the hands of time and our greatest satisfaction to think we’ve beaten it.”

“Ever the philosopher, what?”

“Truer words…and such.”

“Yes, well, they are indeed words steeped in yards and years of experience.”

Dr. Walker chuckled. “While I haven’t traveled too many yards beyond Glaston, but I do believe my years make up the deficit.”

Jonathan grinned at the old man. In spite of having known him for only a few years, he was currently the most familiar face on the planet to him, and there was something peaceful about having him around.

“Have any memories come back?”

Jonathan’s lips steeled in a line. “None specifically.” He rubbed his hands up his face. “Just the water.”

“Ah, they have a pond here too that you’ve walked more than the locals?”

Jonathan grinned. “It’s been mostly sitting and meditating here. But yes, they too have a pond.” Jonathan inhaled, “And there was also an incident with painting.”

“Hmmm…painting.”

“Yes,” Jonathan hesitated.

Dr. Walker waited silently, comfortably, with his hands clasped in his laps. Bugsby must have anticipated Jonathan’s requirement for tea, because at that moment, two footmen came in carrying tea trays and sweets.

There was no specific memory to share with the doctor, only a vague sensation that water, specifically the pond at Chatsworth, could potentially unlock the flood of memories waiting behind the dam in his mind.

“Margaret invited me–rather, I invited myself–to a painting session out in the gardens. At most I thought it could trigger a memory, and at the very least I…”

Jonathan didn’t want to finish the thought.

“...Could spend time with a pretty young lady?” Dr. Walker finished for him with a grin.

Why did Jonathan feel embarrassed to say the truth? He wasn’t a young lad sneaking kisses, he was a grown man, expected to have experience. Experiences.

But perhaps he wanted the one man whoknewhim to give his approval. Would he approve? Jonathan wasn’t sure he approved himself. His actions could singularly ruin Margaret and there was no turning back. If he had any ethics, he would offer for her. But he couldn’t marry her. Could he?

And just then Margaret swept into the room bringing a glow and warmth that he hadn’t realized was missing. Her eyes sparkled upon acknowledging him. He caught his breath.

This woman knew him better than he knew himself. It was quite possible that she knew him better than any person at any point in time ever had. His own family would never even have had a chance to catch up to her.

Wordless, he watched as Margaret approached. He forgot that Dr. Walker was standing beside him. He forgot that he was standing in Chatsworth. He forgot that he had forgotten everything, and all he remembered was Margaret. Light and life. Sparkling joy. What would it be like to be immersed in her?

“Ahem,” the doctor was clearing his throat.

Jonathan looked back and forth between Margaret and Dr. Walker. Then back and forth between them again. “Oh yes, quite. Lady Margaret, this is Dr. Walker.” Margaret curtsied. “Dr. Walker, Lady Marget.”

“The painter?” Dr. Walker murmured, though not quietly enough.

Margaret beamed, and her smile tugged at his heart. Jonathan grinned like a schoolboy given extra sweets at Christmas.

The doctor cleared his throat again, mumbling, “Must be something in the Chatsworth air.” He glanced at Jonathan. Then Margaret. And then waited.

Then deciding he had waited long enough, Dr. Walker severed the silence. “Jonathan mentioned that you paint.”

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