He laid her on the ground gently and then stood back and surveyed the other passengers. The old woman’s lamentations were commanding the attention of everyone except Jason. He was hovering over the prone body of Felicia, leering at her suggestively.
He looked up at the gentleman. “My name is Hobbs, sir, Jason Hobbs,” he said obsequiously.
The gentleman tipped his hat. Choosing one of his lesser titles, he answered, “Sir Ian Gordon.”
“Well, thank you, sir,” Jason said, only slightly taken aback, “for getting this pretty little miss out so quickly. Now, if only we can get the coachman to go for help, we will be all right.”
Sir Ian looked at him with a disdain that belied his civil words and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his corded sleeve. Increasingly he objected to the smirk that appeared on the man’s face every time he looked at Felicia.
“I would not rely on that one to do anything,” he said haughtily. “He will be pleased to know, though, that I intend relieving him of his greatest problem.” He looked down at Felicia. “I will take this young lady with me.”
Mr. Hobbs’s bulbous nose reddened in frustration, and Sir Ian was reminded of a clown he had seen in Italy once—the whitened face and the nose painted crimson. Sir Ian smiled briefly to himself. Whatever his faults, he was honest, and he admitted to himself he was having a deuced good time putting this presumptuous lout in his place while making off with a gorgeous prize.
“But you cannot do that,” Mr. Hobbs said angrily. “You do not even know the girl.”
“Immaterial,” Sir Ian said, with an airy wave of a gloved hand. “And as I can insure that she will get medical treatment immediately, I am certain she will be grateful for my help.”
No longer obsequious, Jason glared at Sir Ian. “You gentry are all the same. Always think you know what’s best for everyone.”
“Enough of your ravings, young man,” Sir Gordon said lightly. He signaled to Timothy. “Bring the curricle over, and let’s get the lady on board.”
The old woman looked over as she heard this command and started to complain loudly. “I told you,” she said angrily to anyone who would listen. “Didn’t I? He’s only interested in the girl. He don’t care one bit that I probably have a lasting injury.” She clutched her side as though in pain. “Oh!” she moaned, “I hurt so badly, especially here.” Her moans turned to loud yelps as she realized that no one was listening.
“Be it safe to move ’er, sir?” one man asked. His ruddy complexion and stocky build indicated that he was a farmer. “I mean, she ain’t even moved a whisker.”
Sir Ian was beginning to wish he had not involved himself in the whole affair. Nothing took the savor out of an escapade like complications.
“In the circumstances, I think it is the wisest thing to do,” he said loftily. “It appears to me that the young lady has sustained a severe concussion, and when she comes round she will not appreciate finding herself stretched out on the highway.”
Silenced by Sir Ian’s air of having delivered a pronouncement of irreproachable logic, the, group fell back and formed a path for Timothy who was approaching in the curricle. Sir Ian lifted Felicia in his arms and carefully placed her on the seat, then swung himself up and sat down beside her and placed one arm around her. Timothy handed him the reins and within seconds they had left the scene of the wrecked coach.
Sir Ian grinned ruefully. “I hope this sweet young thing appreciates what I have saved her from,” he remarked. “A week with me is bound to be better than a lifetime with Mr. Jason Hobbs.”
Timothy grinned knowingly. “A day, more like, Guv,” he said cheekily. “Not a bad bit o’ muslin, is she? Dressed up in a bit o’ finery, and I reckon she’ll look bonny.”
“The trunk, Timothy,” Sir Ian exclaimed. “We forgot her trunk!”
“Just as well, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Timothy responded. “By the looks of what she’s wearing, t’other clothes won’t be worth much.”
Sir Ian nodded. “You are quite right, Timothy. It’s certainly not worth returning to the coach to retrieve them.” He chuckled to himself as he thought of the old woman’s squawkings. “And I do not
think
I can face any more complaints.”
Timothy laughed. “That ole lady would ’ave like to run you through with ’er cane, she would. Anyways, it gives ’er sommat to talk about to ’er friends.”
Felicia started to slip in her seat as Sir Ian took a bend a little too fast. “Steady her, Timothy,” he commanded. “I would hate for her to take another tumble before she recovers from the first.”
Timothy leaned over and put his arms around Felicia’s shoulders. He looked down and saw an ugly gash on her right temple. “Better spring the horses, Guv’,” he said gruffly, “to the nearest village. I reckon a doctor ought to take a look at this cut. And ’twill be best to get ’er into a bed fast.”
Sir Ian glanced down at Felicia. “In that case, I will continue with my original plans.”
“What, visit your mother?” Timothy gasped.
“Indeed,” Sir Ian said airily. “Dr. Ross is staying there for a few days, and if this young lady has any lasting injury to her brain because of the crash, he is the one doctor in England who can help.”
“But won’t the dowager be insulted when she finds out that she ’as been asked to entertain one of your ladies?” Timothy asked nervously.
“If she knew, maybe she would,” Sir Ian laughed, a devilish look in his blue eyes. “But as you and I are the only ones who know of my plans, I think we can get away with it this once.”
Two
Felicia opened her eyes and found her
self staring into the unfamiliar face of a severe-looking gentleman who was bending over her. A deep frown drew his thick eyebrows together, making him look older than his twenty-eight years. She let out a frightened gasp and instinctively pulled the bedclothes up around her chin.
“Who…who…are you?” she asked warily.
The man straightened up, and his concerned expression vanished. He was pleased to see that Felicia’s movements in bed were quite normal and not painful, for he had been uncertain whether or not she had sustained any fracture to her ribs.
“There, there,” he soothed. “I am a doctor. You have been in an accident and have suffered a mild concussion.” He patted her hand reassuringly, then continued as he saw her expression of dismay. “Don’t worry, miss. Don’t worry, for we will soon have you on your feet.”
Felicia’s feeling of dismay turned to bewilderment when she raised her hand to her head and her fingers encountered a bandage.
“Accident?” she queried feebly. “I do not seem to remember.” She stared intently at the doctor’s face for some sign of comfort. She struggled to think about what had happened, but her mind remained stubbornly blank, and she could not prevent the tears from rolling down her cheeks.
“There is no need to be frightened, my dear,” the doctor said softly. “You are quite safe now.”
“But you do not seem to understand,” Felicia broke in, her voice trembling. “I cannot remember who I am.” She shook her head as though to clear it and winced as a sharp pain stabbed behind her eye. She saw a gleam of interest light the doctor’s face. Not understanding, she felt a panic deep within her. “What am I going to do?” she cried out.
Oblivious to her appeal, the doctor scrutinized her carefully. “That is very interesting,” he murmured, “very interesting. You are fortunate, young lady, that I am here to tend you.” He paused, as though conscious of his own importance. “Dr. Ross is my name. Dr. Paul Ross.” He rocked slowly back and forth from his heels to his toes, his fingers tucked into the lapels of his ill-fitting old-fashioned jacket.
Felicia struggled to control her sobs. The doctor’s voice was reassuring. “But…but…I do not understand what has happened to me,” she whispered.
“Nothing that rest and a little treatment won’t cure,” Dr. Ross responded in kindly tones. “The stagecoach you were in crashed, and you were thrown about a bit. Must have hit your head on something sharp, for you have a nasty cut over your eye.”
Felicia shook her head slowly and said with a slight shrug, “I do not recall anything. Who…who am I?”
“That is an easy one,” Dr. Ross smiled. “See here, I found this letter in your reticule. It is a letter of introduction to a Mrs. Barton, in Manchester.” He paused to see if there was any response to the name, then continued when Felicia shook her head. “And it seems that you are Felicia Richards, on your way to being governess to Mrs. Barton’s two children.”
“How strange that sounds,” Felicia said with misgiving. “It means absolutely nothing to me. Oh! Dr. Ross, whatever am I going to do? I do not even know where I am.”
Dr. Ross looked down at his patient and was impressed with the intelligence he saw in her face. The clear-cut features were a refreshing change from the aging, cantankerous patients he normally had to deal with. There was a freshness and innocence about her that he liked, and he was not immune to her blond loveliness.
He sat down on an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair that stood by the side of the bed. The sparsely furnished room was typical of a servant’s room.
Felicia eyed him nervously, not liking the lengthy silence that had developed. “Please, please tell me what happened,” she begged. “And where am I? There must be someone I should thank for helping me.”
“My dear young lady,” Dr. Ross said thoughtfully. “I will not deny that you are in a peculiar position.” He held up his hand as Felicia started to say something. “No, wait a while for me to explain matters. You are at Alverston, Lord Umber’s country seat.”
“Lord Umber?” Felicia queried.
“To be more precise, the Earl of Alverston and Umber.” He paused, allowing Felicia time to absorb this information, but seeing the puzzled expression still on her face he added, “Umber is the senior peerage. Be that as it may, he came upon the scene of the accident moments after it had happened and was responsible for pulling you and your traveling companion to safety.” Dr. Ross smiled briefly to himself. He could well understand Lord Umber’s impulsive offer to help Felicia, for it was well known that he could never resist a pretty face.
“I was traveling with someone?” Felicia asked hopefully.
“No, no, just sharing the inside of the coach. It was a mistake Lord Umber made, but the other lady soon put him to rights.”
An unhappy sigh escaped Felicia as she realized there would be no help from that quarter.
“As you were unconscious,” Dr. Ross continued, “Lord Umber decided to bring you here, knowing I was in residence and could possibly be of assistance.” He looked away, as though in modesty at this seeming self-praise.
“You must think me incredibly stupid,” Felicia said, “but I must confess that I cannot recall ever having heard your name before.”
“As you cannot recall your own, I feel no insult about your lack of recognition of mine.” Dr. Ross laughed and Felicia smiled hesitantly at the joke. “Anyway, your thanks should go to Lord Umber for rescuing you, and to his mother, the dowager, for insisting that you stay until you have recovered sufficiently to resume your journey.”
“But…but how long will it take for me to remember?” Felicia asked, determined to know the worst.
“It may take a few days or a few months. You must also face up the fact that it is entirely possible you will never regain your memory.”
Felicia looked at Dr. Ross in horror. “Never! I could not bear it!” Her frail body shook with her effort to control herself. “Never to know who I really am! Oh! Please say that it cannot be so!”
Realizing that he had been too harsh, Dr. Ross attempted to calm her. “There, there. I only mentioned that as a possibility. But I have great faith in my ability to cure you.” He smiled down at her with such cheerfulness that her fears vanished.
“What is this cure you speak of?” she inquired.
Dr. Ross hesitated. He always found it difficult to explain the method of treatment he had studied under Anton Mesmer. “It is somewhat of an experiment, really. You see, your amnesia could be caused by several factors, and I first have to ascertain whether they are emotional or organic. To do this, I will put you into a trance and ask you some questions.”
“A trance?” Felicia queried, her natural intelligence making her take an interest despite her unhappiness. “What is a trance?”
“It is a sleeplike state during which you will appear to be unconscious, but you will be able to answer my questions. If the primary reasons for your amnesia are organic, you will be cured in a very short time. However…should they be emotional…I cannot even hazard a guess…” He paused to suppress the excitement he felt. “
…
because you will be the first patient I have treated for such amnesia.” There, it was out—and he waited for Felicia to complain.
Exhilaration surged through him as he realized that she was not protesting. “But I cannot stay here,” she pointed out. “I cannot impose on the hospitality of strangers.”
“You must not regard it so,” Dr. Ross said emphatically. “In fact, you could be of great assistance to me. The dowager is in sore need of a companion, and I will suggest to her that you would suit admirably.” There was simply no way he was going to let this opportunity out of his grasp. Indeed, his motives were not entirely selfish. The dowager was in need of distraction, since most of her illnesses were imagined, brought on by ennui. If, Dr. Ross reasoned to himself, she had someone else to think about, it was quite conceivable the lady’s health would improve.