Page 54 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
“No, Your Grace, although keeping a jar of vapours would certainly be useful,” Isabella replied, smiling. “You would not need to come to my rescue every time I succumb to a ridiculous fainting spell. I cannot abide by them and think them rather an inconvenience and a plight upon women.”
Nash raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Indeed? I know of many women who would disagree with you on that point.”
“I daresay there are, but I have nothing to do with them, so they may faint away as they please. I can only hope that if I find myself in the unfortunate situation of awakening from one of these time-wasting activities, that I might make a rapid recovery and return to my duties.”
Isabella seemed disgusted with the very thought of fainting, but what truly caught his attention was her manner of speaking. She maintained the barrier of servant and employer in all their interactions, but rare moments where she would talk to him as though they were equals were fast becoming a regular fixture.
Nash took no offence and enjoyed this less formal interaction, but he had to consider that this might be an indication of Isabella’s memory returning.
“Have you managed to recall anything about your past?” he asked. “I have been meaning to ask you for some time, but something or other seems to distract me.”
Isabella’s smile fell, and a slight frown appeared between her eyebrows. “I do believe so, Your Grace, although I cannot be entirely confident until I recall more memories that are helpful.”
Is it wrong of me to feel disappointed that she is regaining her memory? I do not wish her to remain without it, but a little prolonging would not hurt.
“What about these current memories is not helpful?” he asked.
“Well, knowing how to play the pianoforte and the memory of being at a ball. What is the point of remembering such things when I cannot recall who I am?”
Contrary to her beliefs, playing the pianoforte was undoubtedly a telling piece of evidence that gave Nash some insight into Isabella’s life before her accident.
Only the middle and upper classes would have such a skill, thus ruling out the belief that she was a simple commoner. However, he had chosen to ignore this in favour of avoiding the discussion of her servant’s role in this house.
Nash sat back in his seat and played his fingers on the edge of his desk. “You mentioned a ball. When did you remember this?”
Isabella’s cheeks turned faintly pink as she gnawed on her bottom lip for just a brief moment before releasing it and standing a little straighter.
“The day I rode in the carriage with you,” she answered.
That would be the same day he had removed her from the midst of those unscrupulous men. Nash had taken it upon himself to speak to Lord Kinsey about his son and his friends a day later and had secured the man’s word that such a disgraceful situation would not happen again.
“Why did you not speak of it sooner?” he questioned.
That was a rather hypocritical thing of him to ask when he was so reluctant to begin the search, but Nash ignored that for the moment.
“We had just left an unfortunate experience, Your Grace,” said Isabella.
Nash nodded. “I understand. Why don’t you tell me about the ball?”
Isabella looked away for a moment, her mouth gathered to the side as though in deep thought. After a minor pause, she returned her steady gaze to him, her eyes full of puzzlement.
“It is all rather odd. I believe I was in a grand ballroom with many guests dressed in their finest. I know that many spoke to me, but I cannot remember if a name passed through their lips. I also danced with a gentleman before the memory faded.”
“Is there anything else you can recall?” Nash pressed. “Perhaps a specific feature about the ballroom, the guests present, or even the music played? Any of these would give us a little more information.”
Isabella returned to biting her lower lip, but it seemed so daintily done that the lip would have no cause for complaint. However, it was mildly distracting.
“I do not know if the style of my attire will mean anything, but I was dressed in a deep green gown with gold trimming,” Isabella began. “I would go as far as to say that silk was the predominant material used for the dress.
The guests also treated me as their equal and not a servant waiting upon them— that is not to say that I have any qualms with being a servant,” she quickly added.
“Do not fret,” Nash told her. “I do not think anything of the sort. Continue with your memory.”
Isabella nodded her thanks and tucked a stray auburn curl that had fallen loose when she had curtsied earlier.
“I do recall the music I danced to,” she said. “It was distinctly Scottish and ... Does the name Neil Gow mean anything at all, Your Grace? The name has suddenly come to mind.”
Neil Gow was the orchestra conductor at the Almack’s Assembly Rooms in London. Nash had had the pleasure of listening to the Scotsman’s music during his visits to the city, and it seemed so had Isabella. Suddenly, continuing this conversation was not at the top of his priority list.
