God help him, he stank.
He lay still for a few minutes, his mind resting serenely behind his closed eyelids. There was something rather pleasant about unmoving reflection. He didn’t have to do anything but think. He could not recall the last time he’d enjoyed such a luxury.
And yes, he was well aware that he could not recall anything of the last three or so months. He was still quite certain he had not spent it sifting peacefully through his own thoughts, listening to the muffled sounds of his wife beside him. He was reminded of those moments the day before, the ones right before he’d opened his eyes. He’d heard her breathing then, too. It was different, though, now that he knew who she was. It sounded the same, but it was different.
It was strange, really. He would never have believed that he’d one day be content to lie in bed and listen to a woman breathe. She emitted more sighs than he would have liked, though. She was tired. Maybe worried. Probably both.
He should tell her he was awake. It was past time.
But then he heard her murmur, “What am I to do with you?”
Honestly, he couldn’t resist. He opened his eyes. “With me?”
She shrieked, jumping so far out of her chair it was a wonder she didn’t hit the ceiling.
Edward started to laugh. Big belly laughs that hurt his ribs and squeezed his lungs, and even as Cecilia glared at him, her hand over her obviously racing heart, he laughed and laughed.
And just like before, he knew that this was not something he’d done in a very long while.
“You’re awake,” his wife accused.
“I wasn’t,” he said, “but then someone started whispering my name.”
“That was ages ago.”
He shrugged, unrepentant.
“You look better today,” she said.
He lifted his brows.
“A little less . . . gray.”
He decided to be grateful no one had offered him a looking glass. “I need to shave,” he said, rubbing his chin. How many days’ growth was this? At least two weeks. Probably closer to three. He frowned.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Does anyone know how long I was unconscious?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. No one knows how long you were unconscious before you were found, but I can’t imagine it was very long. They said the wound on your head was fresh.”
He winced. Fresh was the sort of word one liked when applied to strawberries, not skulls.
“So probably not more than eight days,” she concluded. “Why?”
“My beard,” he said. “It has been far more than a week since I last shaved.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I’m not sure what that means,” she finally said.
“Nor I,” he admitted. “But it’s worth taking note of it.”
“Have you a valet?”
He gave her a look.
“Don’t look at me that way. I know very well that many officers travel with a manservant.”
“I do not.”
A moment passed, then Cecilia said, “You must be very hungry. I got a bit of broth into you, but that’s all.”
Edward placed a hand on his midsection. His hipbones were definitely more prominent than they’d been since childhood. “I seem to have lost some weight.”
“Did you eat after I left yesterday?”
“Not much. I was famished, but then I started to feel ill.”
She nodded, glancing down at her hands before saying, “I did not have the opportunity to tell you yesterday, but I took the liberty of writing to your family.”
His family. Holy God above. He had not even thought of them.
His eyes met hers.
“They had been informed that you had gone missing,” she explained. “General Garth wrote to them several months ago.”
Edward put a hand to his face, covering his eyes. He could only imagine his mother. She would not have taken it well.
“I wrote that you had been injured, but I did not go into detail,” she said. “I thought it most important that they know you had been found.”
“Found,” Edward echoed. The word was apt. He had not been returned, nor had he escaped. Instead he had been found near Kip’s Bay. The devil only knew how he’d got there.
“When did you arrive in New York?” he asked abruptly. Better to ask questions about what he did not know than to agonize over what he did not remember.
“Almost a fortnight ago,” she said.
“You came looking for me?”
“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t—that is to say, I would not be so foolish to cross an ocean to look for a man who was missing.”
“And yet you are here.”
“Thomas was injured,” she reminded him. “He needed me.”
“So you came for your brother,” he said.
She regarded him with a frank, open stare, as if she was wondering if this was an interrogation. “I was led to believe I would find him in hospital.”
“As opposed to me.”
Her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Well, yes. I did not—that is to say, I did not know you were missing.”
“General Garth did not write to you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe he had been made aware of the marriage.”
“So . . . wait.” He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. He felt very twitchy, but something didn’t make sense. The timeline was off. “Did we marry here? No, we couldn’t have done. Not if I was missing.”
“It—it was a proxy marriage.” Her face flushed, and she looked almost embarrassed to admit it.
“I married you by proxy?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Thomas wanted it,” she mumbled.
“Is that even legal?”
Her eyes grew very wide, and he instantly felt like a heel. This woman had cared for him for three days while he was in a coma, and here he was implying that they might not even be married. She did not deserve such disrespect. “Forget I asked,” he said quickly. “We can sort all that out later.”
She nodded gratefully, then yawned.
“Did you rest yesterday?” he asked.
Her lips curved into the tiniest—and the tiredest—of smiles. “I believe that is my line.”
He returned the wry expression. “From what I understand, I have done nothing but rest these past few days.”
She tilted her head, a silent touché.
“You did not answer my question,” he reminded her. “Did you rest?”
“Some. I rather think I’m out of practice. And it was a strange room.” A lock of hair fell from her coiffure, and she frowned before tucking it back behind her ear. “I always find it difficult to sleep the first night in new surroundings.”
“I’d wager you have not slept well in weeks, then.”
At that she smiled. “Actually, I slept very well on the ship. The rocking motion agreed with me.”
“I’m jealous. I spent most of my crossing puking up my guts.”
She smothered a laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Just be grateful you weren’t there. I would not have seemed such a matrimonial catch.” He considered this. “Then again, I’m no prize right now.”
“Oh, don’t be—”
“Unwashed, unshaved . . .”
“Edward . . .”