Page 73 of His Unforgettable Bride
“Gray?” The man sitting beside him raised his head, blood smeared on his face and bushy hair. “I thought your name was Henry Graighton. The prince.”
Had he heard the rumors attached to Ruby’s claim last night? By now, the entire town had probably caught the news that had unfolded hours ago.
Gray stepped closer to the trespasser and examined him more closely. The man’s front teeth were missing. His heart slammed against his chest, and he tightened his grip on the gun. This man—no, this thief—had stolen his memories, a part of his soul.
“Gray is Gray.” Juliet’s voice rang out defiantly. “He’s not the missing prince from far away.”
Clearly, that was what she wanted to believe, though the evidence said otherwise.
Cy said nothing.
A memory streaked through his thoughts—awakening on a boat ride from Victoria before his escape. The recollection had a genuine roundness, almost as if he could touch the steamer’s cold floor. Smell the hay and feel the icy water rushing over his head that day.
Deeply, he longed to be alone to sift through his recollections and prod a few more. But not yet. Only after they finished securing the trespassers—his kidnappers—tying and locking them up until they could go for help.
Sutton’s image flew through his brain, and a raw ache squeezed his heart. Mother had sent him a letter explaining his brother’s death and killing all hope of ever forgiving each other and restoring their bond. It was not fair.
Who else had Gray forgotten? A picture of his straight-shouldered father dropped into his brain. Like train cars following an engine, the images of his four younger sisters—Amanda, Charlotte, Nora, and little Maureen—rolled through.
He could picture his home, a stately palace on a hill, complete with a moat and drawbridge. He captured the beauty of Bascandy. The ragged coastal cliffs, the sandy beaches, and the flowering vegetation joined in calling him back to his birthplace.
And what about Dobbin? The last time he saw his friend, he was unconscious on the ground. Had God spared his life? Merciful heavens, he hoped so. Soon, he would leave Everly to learn the answer.
His eyes strayed to Juliet. What would she say when he revealed he was one hundred percent a prince?
Twenty-Three
If you wish to succeed in society, and be known
asa man who converses well, you must cultivate
your memory.
“Iassume you have heard the chatter regarding my identity.” Gray stood beside the constable on the front walk outside the sisters’ house in the dawn light. He had changed his clothing and donned shoes but neglected to add an overcoat in his haste to catch the lawman before he left with the kidnappers.
Mr. Blake straightened his top hat, shaky in the stiff breeze coming off the mountains. “Apparently, word spread after the tea party last night. Some say you’re a prince. Is it true?”
Without a shadow of a doubt.
“Yes, and the two men you arrested kidnapped me last month.” Gray glanced at the cart in the street, ready to deliver the bound villains to jail. “They brought me here on a ship from Victoria. While docked at the harbor, I escaped before suffering amnesia.”
“Any idea why they kidnapped you?”
“For a ransom. They mentioned a boss in Hope, though I have no name to hand you. From what they said earlier, they searched for me the past few weeks but thought I ended up back in Victoria. They had only returned to Everly a few days ago but had nearly given up on me for dead.”
“All this time, everyone thought you were the sisters’ nephew.”
“I realize that.” An early-morning owl hooted a lonesome cry.
Slowly, the constable ran his hand over his mouth. “I’ll try and squeeze what information I can out of these two, then head over to Hope to investigate a ringleader. I’d keep an eye open in case their boss arrives to finish the job these two failed to complete.”
A wrinkle Gray had not yet considered. He nodded.
The lawman moved toward the conveyance with a hand on his hat brim as Gray turned toward the house. He drew fresh air into his lungs. It was the start of another wintry day. What would it bring? Last night was a whirlwind, one Gray hoped never to live twice. And yet, the incident had finally resurrected his memories. What he needed now was time alone with his recollections. He climbed the stairs, a large Christmas wreath gracing the front door as he entered the house.
Juliet stood in the foyer, resting her elbow on the banister and her ankles crossed. “Are you sure you’re fine, Gray? I hate being a pest, but you look troubled.”
Fine? Not exactly. Overwhelmed was a better description. “Yes, though I am full of thoughts and on my way to bed. Good night or good morning, whichever you prefer.”
