John had made a mistake. That became apparent when the entirety of the next day followed and he saw neither hide nor hair of Beth. He had hurt her feelings. No, he had done worse than that; he had insulted her and her... beau. The word made John flinch.
By late afternoon, he could stand it no longer. Grabbing the crutch from where it was propped against the wall, John hobbled out of the room in search of the woman he could not stop thinking about. He made it to the foyer before he spotted one of her brothers.
"Good afternoon, Simon, have you-"
The man glanced up from his conversation with the butler, offering John his usual friendly smile. "Ah, John! Good to see you up again," he offered cheerfully, cutting the man off. "Now that you're more mobile, you should take meals with us if you wish. We are about to sit down to an early supper if you're hungry?"
It was an odd juxtaposition to see a man as kind and gentle as Simon holding a title where he was used to being obeyed; it meant very polite offers that were near impossible to refuse. Not that John was inclined to say no.
"Thank you," he said, following the direction of Simon's extended arm, "I am." He was not, but he would make himself hungry if it would give him the opportunity to talk to Beth.
Though the entire family was seated in the dining room, John's gaze found her instantly. She was sitting at the far end of the table, opposite her young sister, and the moment he entered her own eyes fell to her lap. The room wasn't warm enough to explain the pink in her cheeks, and John swallowed nervously.
No one appeared to notice either of them.
Except one. Phillipa twisted in her seat, rising up onto her knees to appeal to him. "John, will you come sit by me?"
He shifted his gaze to her with some difficulty. "I'd be honoured, Phil."
The men in the room smiled or bobbed their heads at him – Vincent was the exception as he looked up from his book in surprise, apparently not having noticed John enter – but otherwise said nothing as they accepted him into their midst. Another plate appeared before him as John settled in the seat Phil had indicated.
Instantly, she began to ask him about the crutch. Did it work? Was it comfortable? Did he feel like it was impacting the healing of his leg? John tried his best to answer, but he couldn't help but glance at Beth. She was studiously avoiding him each time.
As the food before them began to cool, Simon offered a wry reminder to Phil to 'let the man eat', delivering John a few moments of quiet as she wolfed down her own meal. Of course, he looked at Beth. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, brown wisps falling against her cheeks. The ribbon that wound its way around was the same soft blue as her day dress, a gentle colour that matched her creamy skin perfectly.
John ripped his gaze away quickly. "Beth, please let me-" She stiffened as he spoke, but neither would ever know if she would have heard him out. Mr Grayson appeared at the doorway, issuing a gentle but clear cough that must have been taught to all butlers of good standing. The room looked at him quickly.
"Forgive me, your Grace," he said, stepping further into the room to direct his words to Simon. "You have a visitor."
Beth's neck snapped up suddenly, her wide eyes fixed on the doorway. John could have sworn he could read a name in them; Pendrake. Although he felt bad for his rude behaviour to Beth the night before, John could not bring himself to change his mind about her suitor. Pendrake had been... too attentive, never taking his eyes off Beth for a moment. And it had not seemed to be in a loving way. It seemed a petty complaint, but it was his complaint nonetheless.
Though the very thought of Pendrake entering at that moment irritated John no end, he silently vowed to be civil. He would be polite and decent, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter. He would not do further damage.
He had never been more relieved to see Thomas Thorne.
The bold fellow stepped around the butler, clapping the perturbed old man on the shoulder with his usual charming smile. "Now, now, Grayson. I told you not to worry about announcing me. Why, I'm practically family!"
Predictably, this was met with a host of eye rolls and snorts from the room. Simon nodded at the butler, indicating that he could let the intruder stay, and the man left the room with one last sidelong look at Thomas.
"Join us, won't you?" Simon's tone was laughing, but the offer was genuine as he indicated the table.
The younger man wiggled his brows. "I don't mind if I do."
The table had not been set for this many people, but as he walked towards the undecorated end, Phil slid out of her seat.
"Here Thomas, you can have my place." In the same breath, she tapped John on the shoulder, waiting until he leaned back slightly before climbing onto his lap. And there she sat, looking at the rest of the room as the rest of the room looked back at her.
John was just as surprised as her family, but when Simon looked like he might scold her, he shook his head. Impetuous decisions like this were the closest thing to acting like a child he'd seen Phil do. He was also more than a little honoured she liked him enough.
As usual, Thomas seemed oblivious to the tension, though his eyes did scan the room from beneath his brows as he bowed his thanks to Phil. He was dressed simply yet again – plain breeches tucked into tanned boots, a dark shirt mostly hidden beneath a dark red coat – a confusing mix of high-quality items and simplicity not commonly seen in the peerage. Much like Thomas.
When he took Phil's seat, he smiled.
"So." The room looked to him. "Did you all have as lovely an evening as I?"
The only noise in the room was a small thump as Vincent lowered his tome to the table. Thomas looked to him, a smile on his face but a dark intensity in his eyes. "That good, eh?"
Simon cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. He nodded at the footmen. "Thank you, we will call for you if we need you."
When the door closed firmly behind the last servant, Thomas reclined in his chair, meeting the gazes that were fixed on him with a steady, sardonic smile. After a long moment, he turned to John. "Well, I think we can suppose that Henry knows you."
There was a clatter from Beth's direction; she'd bumped her glass into her plate at the mention of his brother's name. John longed to reach out to her, to comfort her, but he doubted it would be welcome. Instead, he shifted Phil further onto his knees, meeting the small girl's frown.
"What happened?" she asked, her head cocking to the side. "Did you recognise him?"
John could feel the curiosity of the room burning into him. He shook his head quickly. "No, I'm afraid not. But he was very angry with me."
"Ha!" Thomas was grinning now. "That's an understatement! I've done my fair share of things to anger my brother, and I don't think he's ever been quite that irate." He leant towards John slightly, lowering his voice. "When your memory returns, you'll have to tell me how you managed it."
Matt and Vincent tried to speak at once, but the latter conceded with a wave of his hand. Matt was resting on his elbows, tumbler of port swirling in one hand, and excitement glistening in his grey eyes. "What of your father? Did you see anything in his behaviour?"
"No," his tongue skimmed his top teeth, a little huff escaping his chest. "The Duke's anger was for me alone." After a moment, he raised his gaze to Vincent and waited.
"What... How... Did either of them say anything to you with regards to John?"
"No. All I saw was recognition, and then Henry watched you all like a hawk for the rest of the evening."
"And to you?" This was directed at John.
"He asked why I was there. And then he refused to believe me when I said I was simply there for the ball. I don't know what he thought..." Truth be told, John hadn't thought much about what had happened with Henry. His mind had been focussed elsewhere.
"Blackmail..."
John's head jerked to the side, looking across the table in surprise. Beth's gaze was fixed on her plate, a small line between her brows.
"What was that, Beth?" Simon was the furthest away, and he set his elbows on the table, leaning forward to hear the word he'd missed.
She swallowed, glancing up but studiously avoiding looking in John's direction. "Lord Henry said that he thought John was there to blackmail him."
There was a collective raising of eyebrows around the table and all eyes turned to John. Phil squirmed around to look at him solemnly.
John tried to ignore the sick feeling that formed in his stomach, but in the end he had to voice it. "I don't know which is more unnerving; the idea that I've forgotten something that important, or that I am the type of person thought capable of blackmail..."
Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. "I wouldn't lose much sleep over what my brother thinks you capable of."
That drew a small smile.
"Your... If..." Vincent was looking at his book. "You've told us about your father, but what of your brother? Do you believe he's capable of being involved in all this?"
Thomas raked his dark hair out of his face, sliding down slightly in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. He watched Vincent for a long moment until the other man finally looked up. "You always ask the difficult questions, don't you?"
Vincent's mouth moved slightly, trying to find words for a reply, but Thomas waved him off. "My brother..." He shrugged. "Henry is very like the Duke. He has the same greed, the same desire for power, the same..." he barked out a short laugh, but there was no humour. "...prejudices. There is not a lot I do not think he would do if it served him adequately. And nothing he wouldn't do for the Duke."
.
Beth was doing a remarkably good job at avoiding John. It had been a week since the Thorne ball, and the most time she'd spent in a room with him was over the evening meal. He had tried to speak to her a few times, in hushed tones as he leaned forward across the table, but she had made a habit of sitting close to Phil or Matt who could be quickly and easily drawn into conversation. She rarely listened to what they had to say, but it was an effective way of silencing John. His injured leg worked in her favour too; at the conclusion of the meal, she could rise and leave the room before John's hand had found the crutch he depended on.
Over the course of the week, she also had time to consider why she was so studiously avoiding him. There were many answers – her feelings were hurt, she was angry with him, it was inappropriate to spend time alone with him – but perhaps the most prominent was this: she could only deal with one man at a time. And at the current moment, Lord William Pendrake demanded to be that man.
He'd sought her out the day after the ball, finding her by the bench swing deep in conversation with the head gardener. They were discussing the changing seasons and how best they could accommodate the cook's request for certain herbs and roots without upsetting the equilibrium of the garden. Beth was slated to have the same discussion with the cook later in the afternoon.
Pendrake interrupted with a fluid bow, removing his hat and almost brushing it through the pebbles in one motion. If not for his bright hair, Beth might have had trouble recognising him.
"Good afternoon, Lady Elizabeth. How lovely it is to see you again, and looking so bright and healthy despite the late evening."
Beth was a little overwhelmed by how quickly his words came – though she was still able to acknowledge to herself that their evening had not ended that late after all – and smiled at his bent form.
"Hello Lord Pendrake. I hope you are recovered from last night?" She nodded a polite dismissal at the gardener, making a mental note to find him later and convince him that oregano would not be a blight on his garden.
Pendrake finally straightened. He was clearly very happy. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he was grinning at her in a very friendly way. Beth could not help but smile back. It only faltered slightly when he offered her his hand.
A quick glance around showed that the gardener had found work nearby; she dubbed him chaperone in her mind and placed her fingers on Pendrake's.
"I am very well recovered, I thank you. In fact, last night was one of the best in my memory." He led her gently towards the swing, other hand held behind his back. As ever, he was dressed practically; good quality clothing that was clearly well worn. In a way, it reminded her of Thomas' wardrobe, though his was perhaps designed to be subtle rather than a little frayed. She liked that about Pendrake – well, about both of them really – she didn't want a dandy for a husband who spent more time fretting over clothes and fashion than the important things. She was briefly reminded of Anthony Wells' peacock feather hat and suppressed a shudder.
Pendrake glanced down at her. "Yes, I had an inkling you might know why."
She took a moment to settle on the swing, and the conversation came back to her. She blushed deeply. This had been playing on her mind, in alternation with her anger at John.
"Your brother mentioned our conversation?"
He stood with his back to the sun, but in a way that forced Beth to shade her eyes. Nevertheless, she nodded.
Pendrake sat beside her suddenly. "Lovely Lady Elizabeth." She wasn't sure if they'd ever been quite this close. She had a moment to study his face; it was handsome. His nose was strong and straight, his cheeks lightly dusted with freckles, and the faintest scruff lining an angular jaw. His eyes were dark, perhaps brown, and were currently burning into hers. "I wish to know you better. You are lovely and pretty, and we get along well. Please allow us the opportunity to court and deepen our acquaintance."
She had no reason – or desire – to refuse. "I would like that very much, Lord Pendrake."
For a moment he seemed to think about kissing her, and Beth felt her pulse thrum in her throat. She couldn't deny her curiosity, but the voice in her head that said it was improper was overpowering. She did not want to have to deny him.
But he did not try, and she was spared the embarrassment.
After their courtship was confirmed, Pendrake continued to be an attentive gentleman, calling almost daily. Beth enjoyed their conversation, mostly about family and their mutual acquaintances. Yet there was a part of her that hesitated. After John's words of caution, Beth could not help but be mistrustful of the look in Pendrake's eye. He was a gentleman, neither trying to seduce her nor coax her out of the eye of their chaperone. But at the same time, he looked at her and she felt fire in her cheeks. But after John's words... For the first time, she tried not to think about how his glances made her feel, but about what feelings of his own had inspired them. There was some humour, crinkling at the edges, and – she flattered herself – some measure of attraction, but she could not help but think that John was right; there was something else she couldn't place. It reminded her vaguely of a conversation they'd had, but she could not recall it for the life of her.
Nevertheless, Beth was resolved to ignore her doubts. She wanted marriage and all that it entailed; happiness, purpose, and children. Pendrake was the only man willing to offer her that – the only appropriate man, a voice said in the back of her mind – and until he did something to earn her dislike, she would not burden him with her own imaginings.
As he was leaving on the second Friday, they were discussing children.
"I should like a few," Pendrake said, his face contemplative as he stared towards the crown mouldings in the foyer. "Perhaps daughters. Sweet things that take after their mother." His gaze darted to hers and she blushed. The conversation had, until that point, remained theoretical.
Beth did the proper thing and ignored the last comment. "Only daughters? You don't want a son and heir?"
The man ran a hand across his hair, more patting the curls into place than raking them, as he shrugged. "I've no need. My brother has the title. And his heir." His jaw tightened suddenly. "What would I have to give sons?"
In true Pendrake fashion, his expression cleared after a moment, and he fell again into a deep bow. This time, he caught her hand, pressing his lips to the back in a chaste kiss. Surely he spoke, offered a farewell, but Beth heard not a word. Instead she stared at her hand, trying to figure out if the burning outline of his lips was a good sensation or not.
"So, you and Pendrake are courting." The observation came from behind Beth, startling her. She turned quickly, raising her eyes to the top of the stairs to find John standing on the landing, one hand on the railing and the other gripping his crutch. He was dressed casually; white shirt buttoned and tucked into tan breeches, with a simple navy vest. The latter was unbuttoned and for a moment she considered whether this was a choice, or whether the item – doubtless borrowed from one of her brothers – simply would not do up across his broad chest.
He moved towards the stairs, and worry overtook her. "Be careful," she insisted, stepping forwards. He glanced up at her and smiled.
Two things happened almost simultaneously in Beth's chest. Firstly, her breath caught. He was handsome and smiling at her, and she couldn't help the flutter beneath her breast. Then, her anger descended, forcing the attraction and the breath out of her chest.
"What are you doing about, anyway?" Her hands clenched, and she refused to move a single step closer as he manoeuvred slowly down the staircase.
John kept his gaze on his feet, mostly to prevent from falling but also – he was a little embarrassed to admit to himself – to keep from seeing her anger shining back at him.
"I've been exploring your home." He could have left it there. He should have left it there. "Given my usual visitor has been otherwise engaged recently."
He felt more than saw Beth bristle at his tone. "I am not your carer."
John paused. He looked up with a frown. "No, but I thought perhaps you were my friend."
"Do not play the victim here, John!" Later, Beth would be embarrassed that she stamped her foot. "This... tension between us is not my doing. You are the one that said... that implied..."
"The 'tension', as you put it, was between us long before the Thorne ball, Beth." He was grateful to be standing still, as it afforded him the opportunity to lock his burning gaze on hers and hope she could see a fraction of what smouldered within him. Beth was kind-hearted, sweet-tempered – generally – and just lovely. She was perfect. And he wanted her.
She wavered towards him, heat rising in her cheeks, and swallowed heavily. She fixed her gaze on the marble at her feet. "That's inappropriate, and I thank you not to mention such things, J... Lord John."
He kept moving towards her. "I think this is my last chance to mention it, Lady Beth. You are courting someone now. You might be affianced soon." The words created an uncomfortable burn in his chest.
Beth ran her hands down the front of her skirts, straightening invisible creases. "We have discussed this. Or rather, we have discussed how inappropriate it would be to discuss this. Until we know who you are... we cannot... there is no..."
"Because you would not marry me if I am poor?"
If she had been angry before, now she was furious. Some of the hair around her face had come free of her braid, and it framed her in a shining halo. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear, and she pinned him with a look that might have melted stone. As it was, it stopped John in his tracks, leaving him only a couple of stairs from the foyer.
"How dare you." She cut him off with a wave when he tried to interject. "How dare you accuse me of being a fortune hunter. You must not be from the peerage, because if you were you could not have possibly forgotten the duty a young woman has to her family. My marriage is not mine alone. It will affect my brothers' opportunities and marriages, and even Phil's one day. I do not have the luxury of marrying purely for..." she hesitated, some of the fire dying out of her eyes "... for my feelings."
She swallowed, and the tone of his voice replayed in her head; You would not marry me if I am poor? Her fury reignited.
"Besides, it is hardly just your wealth or social standing that are unknown to us! What of your family? Where do you reside? What is your normal temperament? Given some things you've said to me you might be a... a... brute!"
Nothing she said was untrue, but that did not mean it was painless. His words came out more quietly than he had intended. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"
That was the moment John's crutch gave out. The wooden stick was no match for the slippery marble stair, and it darted out from under him. Thankfully, his weight shifted backwards and he did not have far to fall. His head hit the bannister on the way down, letting out a reverberating crack, and he landed on the stairs with the wind knocked out of him. The crutch, having made its escape, glided the rest of the way, spinning across the shiny floor to come to rest at Beth's feet.
Beth's gasp was left in her wake as she leapt forward. "John, are you alright?" she threw herself to her knees beside him, hands fluttering awkwardly across his arm and shoulder as he raised the other to his head. A bruise was already forming, but the skin was not split.
He offered a tiny grunt in reply, his eyes squinting shut.
Beth's gaze ran over him quickly, worrying about his other injuries. She saw no blood seeping through his clothing, nor any bone protruding. For the second she was immeasurably grateful.
Glancing around the foyer, she looked for assistance and was – for the first time – disappointed to find them alone. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to the complete lack of chaperoning, despite Simon's protestations that she might have been putting herself in a compromising position with John. She saved that harrumph for a later time.
"Could someone come here please? We need assistance!" She was proud that her voice didn't waver.
She glanced down as there was movement beside her. John was looking up at her, still clutching his skull. "Why must I injure myself every time I want to spend a moment alone with you?" Despite the pain swirling vaguely in his eyes, he was smiling.
Beth could not bring herself to return the gesture, shaking her head slightly. "I'm sorry."
His hand caught hers. "Please do not be sorry. I would do far worse for far less time." His thumb skimmed her knuckles, but that was only part of the reason Beth looked away. "I'd rather you accept my apology."
The girl froze. A part of her insisted she snatch her hand away and leave him where we had fallen. She was entitled to her anger and he had no right to take it from her! A far larger part demanded she remain; she needed to hear him take it back, to say he'd been mistaken and that Pendrake was clearly smitten with her and that she was deserving of that affection. In truth, it might have been a little over expectant for an apology.
John clearly took her silence for encouragement. His hand continued to brush against hers. "I am sorry. Truly. I should not have said what I said; I do not know the man, nor his..." She almost missed the pause "...relationship with you. But more than that, I'm sorry that what I said made you doubt yourself. You are kind, and smart, and beautiful-"
Her refusal came without intention. "I'm not 'beautiful'."
"You are."
Beth was adamant that she would not look at him. She might forgive him on the spot if she did. But there was something else that she needed to know.
"Why then? Why did you say that he... that I..." She swallowed heavily. "Why?"
John sighed; it was not a question he knew how to answer. "I don't know. I can't recant; I do believe he looks with-" he shook his head at himself. "I won't say that now. I just couldn't stand the idea of anyone less than you looking at you like he... like he might have a chance... like you..."
"Are you jealous?" The question came out quickly, unbidden, and Beth's hand whipped to her lips as if to check the words had come from her.
John hesitated a moment. He looked at her gentle brown eyes, the surprised furrow of her brow, the hint of red in her cheeks, her elegant neck, the swell of her... He looked away suddenly, lest he get distracted. The answer came easily, and without embarrassment. "Undoubtedly."
Whatever anger had been left in Beth vanished, leaving a small space in her chest that slowly filled with a different kind of warmth. She met his gaze, and the warmth flickered. Looking closer, she saw there was nothing similar there to what she saw in Pendrake. John's eyes held kindness, sincerity, and a little something at the centre that pulled at her low in the stomach. Her mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips. John watched.
Steps behind Beth signalled the arrival of a footman. The man stumbled to a halt, apparently startled to find the pair splayed across the staircase. "Lady Elizabeth!" Perhaps it had been intended as a question.
It took some effort to turn away from John, and a little more to force her face into a mask of composure. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do to control that. Or her bright eyes or her wispy hair... If she'd been found in this state in a dark alcove at a ball, everyone would assume she'd been ruined.
That thought did nothing for her blush.
"Yes, thank you David. Would you please help-"
Beth's hand, still trapped between John's own and his forearm, was suddenly gripped in a vice. With a small gasp – both in surprise and pain – she turned back to him to find him paler than he had been before, staring at her with wide eyes. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead, but he made no effort to move it.
"Say it again." The request was quiet, but something desperate in his tone made it an order.
Beth was more than happy to comply, if only she knew what he meant.
"Say what, John? Are you well?"
The man was already shaking his head, sending his hair into further disarray. Before she could help herself, Beth raised her other hand to tuck some of the longer pieces behind his ear. He caught that hand as well, holding them both tightly in his without tearing his gaze from hers.
"No." He swallowed. "Not 'John'."
Her mouth, already slightly agape, froze in the process of forming words. The intensity in his eyes, the way he gripped her with... hope? She glanced quickly at the footman, and when she looked back to John she was smiling. Widely. It was her turn to squeeze his hands.
"Is your name David?"
In answer, he pulled her to him, ignoring her squeak of surprise to wrap his arms around her. He was grinning, overwhelmed with joy. It was the smallest of things to be able to recall one's own name, and yet here he was. A lick of disappointment swept in when nothing else followed; no other names, no family, no other memories.
With a giggle, Beth pulled away gently. "This is marvellous, Jo-" She laughed again, "I mean, David. Truly marvellous!"
The last vestiges of anger and awkwardness had melted away, and for a moment he was just a man holding a woman in his arms. Then she licked her lips and the tone of the moment changed.
Thankfully – or not, depending on who you asked – Simon and Bart appeared at the top of the stairs at that moment. Beth saw them at the edge of her vision and pulled away from him quickly. She kept their hands joined however. Before either brother could offer censure or protest as their frowns predicted, she was calling them.
"Come help, would you? John slipped." She couldn't help the giggle that slipped out again. "Well, actually – David slipped. John, well David, well..." She huffed her confused. "He remembered his name!"
Her brothers were already moving at her request for help, and were on either side helping him to his feet when this news was broken. The footman David hovered nervously at the foot of the stairs, ready to assist if required. They clapped the newly named man on the shoulder.
"That's excellent news, John!" Simon was grinning broadly.
The soft correction came from Beth. "David."
Ever sage, Bart's congratulations came with further questions. "Have you recalled anything else? Do you remember where you are from? Anyone we might contact for further information?"
His probing stung at John –David actually, he reminded himself – but he refused to let his continuedignorance depress his spirits. As long as Beth thought it marvellous, he wouldtoo.