A Christmas Bride (17 page)

Just as she was about to excuse herself, Serenity froze. She gasped, “Are you talking about the Frost Fair several years ago in London? Did you attend, too?”

Felix's eyes slitted in that expression she was seeing too often lately when she mentioned anything about her past. “Too, Serenity? Are you recalling some more of what you have forgotten?”

“Just images.” She frowned. “When someone mentions a word, I occasionally remember something. Nothing specific. Just something. When you said Frost Fair I was transported to the past for only a second. In that second I saw the colorful pavilions on the Thames, the crowds, and little else.”

He shrugged. “That is of little use to you in remembering who you really are. Mayhap you have a reason for not wanting to remember the truth.”

“Or mayhap she has recalled it,” Melanda said with an abruptly gleeful smile. “She simply does not wish to own to that.”

“If,” Serenity replied in her coldest voice, “I am fortunate to remember anything of import, you may be assured that I shall announce it from the highest roof of Cheyney Park so that no one will fail to heed it.”

“Save Grandfather.” Felix's laugh again had a brittle edge. “You would be wise to remember that you agreed to keep that knowledge to yourself until after Grandfather's party.”

“If you will recall, we all agreed to keep our counsel about this.” She glanced at Melanda.

Felix's face turned an unhealthy crimson. Jerking Melanda to her feet, he steered her along the passage in the direction opposite the one Timothy had chosen.

Serenity watched them walk away. Felix was distressed. How much more distressed would he be if she told him how she grew more certain with the passage of each day that she had met him and his father before? But where? Under what circumstances? She could not accuse him of keeping the truth of that meeting from her when he had been unable to keep from divulging the truth of her masquerade to both his father and Melanda.

But he has kept the secret from his grandfather!

She wished that thought had remained silent. In the weeks she had been at Cheyney Park, she had come to know this family so much better. Yet Felix Wayne seemed even more a stranger than ever. His bonhomie covered emotions that she hesitated to confront.

She wondered what would happen if she did.

Twelve

The wind swirled around Serenity, plucking at her bonnet and scouring her face. Sunshine was eye-wrenchingly bright on the snow. Pulling her bonnet forward, she squinted past the hedges that tried to civilize this garden that had been stolen from the gorse and grasses of the moor.

She tried to envision this garden when spring bedecked it with flowers. It was impossible, because her spirits were too mired to let her imagination soar. By this week's end, she would be looking at leaving Cheyney Park, and she had no idea where she should go.

You can stay here
.

The memory of Timothy's words and the hope in his eyes when he spoke them were seared in her brain. Not even a carriage accident could erase those memories. Mayhap because they were truly not in her brain, but in her heart.

She put her hand over the buttons on her dark blue coat. He could not be the first one in her heart, for she had had a family. A mother who had died, a father who might be alive or dead, and a sister and a brother who were as unseen as the notes of a song. These people must have a place in her heart, if only she could figure out a way to find them.

When the snow crunched behind her, Serenity looked over her shoulder. She smiled as her heart leaped at the sight of Timothy striding toward her. His dark cloak flapped behind him as if it were trying to fly away from the wintry day. Beneath it, his buckskin breeches and dark coat were molded to his strong body by the wind. He must have given up any attempt to keep on a hat, because his tawny hair swirled into his eyes.

“What are you doing out here in the cold?” Serenity asked as he came up to her.

“I was checking with the stables about the final details for arrangements for the horses and carriages of Grandfather's guests. I saw you walking out here.” He grinned as the wind slammed into them, knocking her against him. “What are
you
doing out here in the cold?”

“I like these wintry days.”

“I think I am beginning to.” He chuckled as he put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “I could get very fond of this wind.”

“'Tis not just the wind.” She smiled. She stepped away and turned to admire the gardens. “With the fresh snow, everything looks brand-new. To everyone, not just to me.”

When he offered his arm, she put hers through it. He led her toward the water garden. Although she wondered what he expected to find there, save for the reeds that were frozen into the ice, she matched her steps to his. She wanted to enjoy every moment of the few they had left to share.

“You are constantly amazing me with your comments, Serenity,” he said, as he helped her down some stone steps that were edged with ice.

“How?”

“I don't know if I could be as accepting of losing all my memories as you are.”

“You have said that before, and I have told you that I am not accepting of it. Not in the least.” She laughed. “I have considered asking everyone for the same gift this holiday—the truth about what happened to me before that carriage accident.”

“I wish I could tell you.”

“You have heard nothing from London?” She paused to face him. The wind threw his cloak around her, so they were alone within its ebony shadow.

His smile vanished. “Nothing that will help you.”

She put her hands on his coatsleeves. “What is it, Timothy?”

“Nothing to distress you. A setback with the start of the next factory.”

“I am so sorry.”

He stared at her, bafflement lining his face. “You are, are you not?”

“I know how important these projects are to you. You revel in the challenges and the escape they give you from the
ton
.”

“I guess it is pretty obvious.”

It is to the woman who loves you
.

Serenity edged away from him and continued down another set of steps.
Sweet heavens!
Where had that thought come from? She could not be falling in love with Timothy. He was the heir to an earl, and she was … She was no closer to knowing what she was than she had been the day she arrived at Cheyney Park.

“I did not mean to bore you with this discussion,” Timothy said, taking the steps two at a time to catch up with her.

“It was not boring me.”

“Then why are you running off?”

She forced a smile. It must have looked sincere, because he smiled back as she said, “If you have not noticed, my lord, it is downright cold. Standing still reminds me exactly how deeply the wind bites.”

“I don't need a reminder of that.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “This is just to keep warm.”

“Really?” she asked when his eyes twinkled like the sunlight on the pond's ice.

“Yes, really, although it is an excellent excuse to stand close to you.”

“You are being outrageous today.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you always do that when you don't want anyone to see that you are distressed?”

“Always.”

“Then why has not anyone else figured out that you are distressed?”

He squeezed her shoulders as he had before. “Because they are caught up in all the plans for the holidays. Mrs. Gray told me yesterday morning that the cake for Grandfather's birthday will be four layers high.”

“Five.” She laughed. “She decided yesterday
afternoon
that four was not grand enough.”

“Thank goodness she has not considered making it seven layers high, one for each decade.”

“The cake is not done yet.”

Timothy chuckled as they continued down the steps. She let the sound of his good humor surround her with a warmth that not even her cloak could match. While they walked through the winter garden, he pointed out where the flower beds would offer glorious color in just a few months. She slowly began to see the pattern of beauty that would be a joy for the eyes.

As they came around a corner of the curtain wall that extended into the garden, Serenity stared at a building that looked like no other building she had seen at Cheyney Park. Its roof arched up at the eaves, and it was hung with the tatters of paper lanterns that bounced mournfully in the wind.

“It is a Chinese building!” She peered closer at the carving on the walls. “Or it is supposed to be a Chinese building.”

“Exactly right.” He ducked his head to go through the low door beneath the odd roof.

When she followed, she found the room inside empty, save for benches ringing the edges. The weak sunlight poured down through clerestory windows that must be hidden in the roof, so no one outside the building could see them. Her fingers found carvings on the walls, but it was too shadowed to see what it was.

“A dragon over there,” Timothy said, smiling, before she could ask. “I think there is a tree of some sort over here. Or mayhap this is the wall with a mountain and a river on it. I don't remember which is which.”

“Your grandfather is fond of things of the Far East, is he not?”

“Actually it was my father who was.” He sat on one of the stone benches, then stood with a grimace. “Dashed cold!”

Crossing her arms in front of her and slipping her hands under her arms, she mused, “So your father had this built? Did he travel to the East?” This place seemed oddly familiar, even though she could not guess why. It was the same sensation as when she had seen the temple lions … and Felix and his father. She could not guess how they all had been connected.

“No, I don't believe he had a chance to travel there.” He touched one of the carvings. “Grandfather told me only that my father was deeply intrigued with things of the East since the time he went to Oxford. One of his friends who had actually been to the East helped him design this building. It is one of the few connections I have with my father, because he died so young. The portrait of him as a young man burned when the ballroom did, so I have only pictures of him as a young child at Grandfather's knee.”

Sorrow thickened her throat. “Have you thought of contacting his friend who helped him with this building?”

“I had considered it, but Sir Philip is often traveling and seldom at his estate near the coast. Mayhap one of these days I shall think of it at a time when he is in residence there.”

She put her hand on his arm. “You could write him a note. If he was your father's tie-mate, surely he would be eager to see how his friend's son has turned out. Mayhap there are other connections you have with your father than this building.”

“You are ever an optimist, Serenity.” He smiled as his fingers covered hers on his sleeve.

“I have to be.”

Drawing her back out into the sunshine, he took a deep breath of the fresh air. “And I think you are right. I shall send Sir Philip a note at Loughlin Hall. He might receive us during the holidays, if he is there.”

“Loughlin Hall?” She froze as if the wind had turned her to ice.

“Does it mean something to you?” He caught her by the shoulders and spun her to face him.

“I thought …” She sighed and shook her head. “For a moment there seemed to be something, but it is gone. Loughlin Hall. Loughlin Hall. Loughlin Hall.”

“You cannot force it, Serenity.”

“Being patient and waiting for my memory to return has not worked.” Her hands curled into fists. “I hate this. I hate it so much!”

His arms enfolded her to him. “I know, sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat. It became swift when her arms glided beneath his cloak to curve up along his back. Although she wanted to remain like this, never moving, she swallowed her sigh when he shivered and stepped back to draw her hand within his arm, so they could return to the house. She could not forget the dangerous wind or the peril of being so close to him when her heart was so wide open. How easy it would be to tell him that she appreciated his compassion, that she thrilled at his touch, that she loved him!

“Look. A duck's nest among the reeds.” Timothy's voice jolted her out of her reverie that could lead only to more complications. “This must be the home of Theodora's ducklings.”

Hoping her voice would not betray her thoughts, she asked, “You miss being here in the country, don't you?”

He nodded. “Very much. London has its entertainments, but anything that grows there must be restrained to remain within its boundaries. The flowers that bloom in Green Park would never be allowed to join those near Buckingham Palace. Each bed is a separate island.” Standing and wiping his gloved hands on his breeches, he scanned the gardens. “Here there is a flow of one garden to another. And beyond the walls, the moors prove that true beauty cannot be contained by man.”

“I love walking along the hills in the springtime when the gorse is just coming awake again from its winter slumber. The sheep are wandering free, and the birds dart to and fro, looking for materials for their nests and the babes that soon will come. It is best at dawn, when anything seems possible, and the day promises everything. As if …” She looked up at him. “Why can I see that so clearly when so much of my past is lost in shadows?”

“At least you know you are not that far from home.”

“These moors are expansive. I could have started my walk upon them from dozens of directions.” She tucked her mittened hands under her crossed arms and walked back toward the steps leading to the upper garden.

“Serenity?”

She looked back over her shoulder. “I know you were trying to make me feel better, but a taste of the truth seems like a torment instead of a relief.”

“I don't want you to be tormented. If there was anything I could do, you know I would.”