Page 35 of How to Seduce a Viscount
Wren did the quick math. Four people plus Stepan lived in this space but, despite the overpopulation, the cottage was clean and warm. A ladder led up to a loft where the brothers probably slept. There was a bed frame with a stuffed mattress inthe corner of the main room for the girls. Perhaps it had once belonged to their parents. Clothes hung on pegs. Cooking was done over the fire in the stone fireplace.
This was a long way from the lifestyle of the Horsemen, Wren mused as she and Ellen set out tea and a loaf of bread. Yet, Stepan seemed at home. He was comfortable in the unbleached linen shirt and work trousers. He was comfortable with Ellen, too. Wren did not miss the quick brush of their hands as Ellen passed by him, nor the synchronicity between them as Ellen set out a crock of butter and a jar of jam while Stepan cut slices of bread. Well, that was an interesting wrinkle. She glanced at Luce. Did he see it, too?
‘People were asking questions in the settlement, earlier this fall.’ Ellen’s tone carried a hint of defensiveness, a warning. She was eager to protect Stepan. Another item to note. ‘But they didn’t come out here.’ Probably because they didn’t have an eager guide to show them the way, Wren thought. Why would Hartlett be so eager to befriend a stranger? Especially when Hartlett didn’t seem the friendly sort in general. He had the face of someone who lived in an attitude of perpetual sourness, although it had lit up when he’d asked where Ellen was and it had dimmed when Anne had told him Ellen was with Peter.
Stepan touched Ellen’s hand gently. ‘It’s all right. Let’s hear what these people have to say. Nothing needs to be decided today.’ There was definitely something burgeoning here. This was the Kingsley cottage but Stepan carried weight and position here. Typical Parkhurst male, Wren thought. Charming everyone in sight. Caring for them, too. Stepan was a hard worker, a provider given what she’d seen in the fields.
The cottage door opened, admitting two rambunctious boys in early adolescence and Anne. Stepan motioned them over to take seats at the table and they immediately settled down. ‘Mr Parkhurst, Miss Audley, this is Phillip and Andrew. Boys, MrParkhurst believes I am his brother,’ Stepan said calmly, slicing them bread.
‘Iknowyou are my brother,’ Luce said smoothly, directing the conversation to where it needed to go, no matter how difficult. ‘I would like to hear your story, how you’ve come to be here, and then I would like to share mine.’ It was a good strategy, focusing everything on Stepan instead of Luce making himself centre stage with demands.
Stepan exchanged a warm look with Ellen. ‘This good woman found me on the beach not far from here. I was half dead and half drowned, but somehow there was enough life left in me worth saving. Her brothers—’ he stopped here to nod towards Andrew and Phillip ‘—fetched me home in a quilt and laid me on that bed over there, where I stayed for far too long recovering from wounds and a fever. I’ve been here ever since. I was able to see the harvest brought in, but it is meagre payment for what this family has given me—a home, care and a place in the community.’
‘An injury?’ Luce pursued the point. ‘A knife wound on your arm by chance?’
‘Yes.’ Stepan rolled up his sleeve revealing a tanned forearm and a healed scar higher up near his bicep. His brow knit; an expression so reminiscent of Luce. Even Wren, who’d never met either of the brothers in person until a few weeks ago, could see the resemblance. Wren glanced at Ellen. The woman had gone pale. She’d seen the resemblance, too. Her thoughts were clear: anyone could guess or hear about a knife wound, but one could not fake a resemblance. She was concerned and fearful. If the stranger at the table was Stepan’s brother, she would lose him. She did not want to give him up.
Stepan rolled down his sleeve, his gaze steady on Luce. ‘Perhaps you should tell me your story now.’
‘I am Lucien Parkhurst and you are my brother, Stepan Parkhurst. We are the grandsons of the Earl of Sandmore.’ Luce spoke slowly, giving the man time to digest the news. ‘We have two older brothers, Kieran and Caine, and a younger sister, Guenevere. She had her baby last month, a boy.’ He made no mention of the network or of the Four Horsemen. He paused and Wren knew what Luce was waiting for, hoping for: a switch to flip in the man’s mind, one that would bring all the memories flooding back.
There was a little rustle around the table. Andrew and Phillip had exchanged excited glances at the mention of the earl, but a look from Stepan quieted them. The boys adored him, obeyed him.
‘An earl’s grandson?’ Peter queried in disbelief. ‘If you’d said I was a sailor who had fallen overboard I might have believed that. How would an earl’s grandson come to be washed up on shore where the Thames meets the North Sea?’
‘You were lost during an altercation on the docks in Wapping in July.’ Luce’s announcement was met with shock. Ellen gasped and quickly covered her mouth, her distress evident. Stepan took her hand, steadying her with his gaze.
‘I assume that’s what the other enquirers mentioned as well. This is not the first time you’ve heard of the incident in Wapping,’ Luce continued.
Stepan nodded. ‘It is not. It just seems a little extreme. It’s a long way from here in lifestyle and in distance.’
‘May I tell you about our family?’
Luce was doing an admirable job of keeping his emotions under control. How frustrating it must be for him to have Stepan right there in front of him but unable to remember who he was.
‘Yes, please. Perhaps it will jog something loose. I’ve been unable to remember a thing.’
Stepan was lying about that last part. Wren noted the way his hand had discreetly tightened on Ellen’s hand. Hehadremembered some things. Perhaps he just didn’t know what they meant.
Luce did his best. As the afternoon gave way to shadows he told stories of the four boys growing up at Willow Park, at Sandmore. Stories of camp outs, swimming races and horses. Of how Stepan had delayed his entry to school by a year so that Luce could go with him. But Stepan recalled nothing. It wasn’t going to happen today.
Wren shot Luce a signalling look. ‘It’s getting late. We should be going. We thank you for your hospitality today and your patience.’
Luce rose, admitting to temporary defeat. ‘I will call tomorrow and discuss a few other matters.’ It was not a question or a request.
They said their goodbyes and Wren noticed that while the farewells were cordial, there was no begging them to stay for supper or a desire to put them up for the night. Ellen Kingsley and Stepan wanted them gone. It was understandable. They had a lot to discuss, as did she and Luce. There would have been no space or privacy in which to do that work in the cramped cottage and unexpected company would drain the family’s food resources in the heart of midwinter. She knew a little about that.
‘He didn’t know me.’ The knowledge settled with leaden intensity in Luce’s heart as they made their slow way back to the inn at the settlement, taking care in the dark to keep the horses safe. ‘I was stunned when he didn’t recall who I was, but it made sense. It explained his absence, his lack of contact. I told myself I could fix that. I thought I could make him remember me.’
In retrospect he felt rather naïve as he confessed to Wren. ‘I was certain if I told enough stories, gave him enough details, his mind would crack open like a safe and all the memories would come spilling out. I don’t know why that didn’t work.’
‘We don’t know how trauma functions. Perhaps there is something he unconsciously doesn’t want to remember,’ Wren offered. She was trying to help and her efforts touched him. She’d been beside him all day not only because this was her mission. She’d let her concern for him be palpable and it had sustained him through the long, disappointing afternoon. ‘His brain might be trying very hard to block something out. We can consult doctors in London. I am sure your grandfather knows someone who is an amnesia specialist.’
‘We can if there’s time and if he’s willing.’
‘Do you think he’s not willing? I think people who discover they’re the grandson of an earl would be quite willing to pursue their true identity.’
‘My brother seemed very happy in that cottage today.’ Luce had been envious of how happy he’d seemed for a man with no memory. Content even, as if he’d found his place in this world. It was akin to how Luce almost felt at Tillingbourne. Perhaps he too would feel entirely content there once the restoration was complete.
