The hospital turned out to be a church that had been taken over by the British Army, which was strange enough, but when she asked to see Edward, she was told in no uncertain terms that she was not welcome. Captain Rokesby was an officer, a rather sharp-nosed sentry informed her. He was the son of an earl, and far too important for visitors of the plebian variety.
Cecilia was still trying to figure out what the devil he meant by that when he looked down his nose and told her that the only people allowed to see Captain Rokesby would be military personnel and family.
At which point Cecilia blurted out, “I am his wife!”
And once that had come out of her mouth, there was really no backing away from it.
In retrospect, it was amazing she’d got away with it. She’d probably have been thrown out on her ear if not for the presence of Edward’s commanding officer. Colonel Stubbs was not the most affable of men, but he knew of Edward and Thomas’s friendship, and he had not been surprised to hear that Edward had married his friend’s sister.
Before Cecilia even had a chance to think, she was spinning a tale of a courtship in letters, and a proxy marriage on a ship.
Astoundingly, everyone believed her.
She could not regret her lies, however. There was no denying that Edward had improved under her care. She’d sponged his forehead when he’d grown feverish, and she’d shifted his weight as best she could to prevent bedsores. It was true that she’d seen more of his body than was appropriate for an unmarried lady, but surely the rules of society must be suspended in wartime.
And no one would know.
No one would know. This, she repeated to herself on an almost hourly basis. She was five thousand miles from Derbyshire. Everyone she knew thought she’d gone off to visit her maiden aunt. Furthermore, the Harcourts did not move in the same circles as the Rokesbys. She supposed that Edward might be considered a person of interest among society gossips, but she certainly wasn’t, and it seemed impossible that tales of the Earl of Manston’s second son might reach her tiny village of Matlock Bath.
As for what she would do when he finally woke up . . .
Well, in all honesty, she’d never quite figured that out. But as it happened, it didn’t matter. She’d run through a hundred different scenarios in her mind, but not one of them had involved him recognizing her.
“Cecilia?” he said. He was blinking up at her, and she was momentarily stunned, mesmerized by how blue his eyes were.
She ought to have known that.
Then she realized how ridiculous she was being. She had no reason to know the color of his eyes.
But still. Somehow . . .
It seemed like something she should have known.
“You’re awake,” she said dumbly. She tried to say more, but the sound twisted in her throat. She fought simply to breathe, overcome with emotion she had not even realized she felt. With a shaking hand, she leaned down and touched his forehead. Why, she did not know; he had not had a fever for nearly two days. But she was overwhelmed by a need to touch him, to feel with her hands what she saw with her eyes.
He was awake.
He was alive.
“Give him room,” Colonel Stubbs ordered. “Go fetch the doctor.”
“You fetch the doctor,” Cecilia snapped, finally regaining some of her sense. “I’m his w—”
Her voice caught. She couldn’t utter the lie. Not in front of Edward.
But Colonel Stubbs inferred what she did not actually say, and after muttering something unsavory under his breath, he stalked off in search of a doctor.
“Cecilia?” Edward said again. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ll explain everything in a moment,” she said in a rushed whisper. The colonel would be back soon, and she’d rather not make her explanations with an audience. Still, she couldn’t have him giving her away, so she added, “For now, just—”
“Where am I?” he interrupted.
She grabbed an extra blanket. He needed another pillow, but these were in short supply, so a blanket would have to do. Helping him to sit up a little straighter, she tucked it behind him as she said, “You’re in hospital.”
He looked dubiously around the room. The architecture was clearly ecclesiastical. “With a stained glass window?”
“It’s a church. Well, it was a church. It’s a hospital now.”
“But where?” he asked, a little too urgently.
Her hands stilled. Something wasn’t right. She turned her head, just enough for her eyes to meet his. “We are in New York Town.”
He frowned. “I thought I was . . .”
She waited, but he did not finish his thought. “You thought you were what?” she asked.
He stared vacantly for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. I was . . .” His words trailed off, and his face twisted. It almost looked as if it hurt him to think so hard.
“I was supposed to go to Connecticut,” he finally said.
Cecilia slowly straightened. “You did go to Connecticut.”
His lips parted. “I did?”
“Yes. You were there for over a month.”
“What?” Something flashed in his eyes. Cecilia thought it might be fear.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked.
He began to blink far more rapidly than was normal. “Over a month, you say?”
“That’s what they told me. I only just arrived.”
“Over a month,” he said again. He started shaking his head. “How could that . . .”
“You must not overtax yourself,” Cecilia said, reaching out to take his hand in hers again. It seemed to calm him. It certainly calmed her.
“I don’t remember . . . I was in Connecticut?” He looked up sharply, and his grip on her hand grew uncomfortably tight. “How did I come to be back in New York?”
She gave a helpless shrug. She didn’t have the answers he sought. “I don’t know. I was looking for Thomas, and I heard you were here. You were found near Kip’s Bay, bleeding from your head.”
“You were looking for Thomas,” he echoed, and she could practically see the wheels of his mind spinning frantically behind his eyes. “Why were you looking for Thomas?”
“I’d got word he was injured, but now he’s missing, and—”
Edward’s breathing grew labored. “When were we married?”
Cecilia’s lips parted. She tried to answer, she really did, but she could only manage to stammer a few useless pronouns. Did he actually think they were married? He’d never even seen her before this day.
“I don’t remember,” he said.
Cecilia chose her words carefully. “You don’t remember what?”
He looked up at her with haunted eyes. “I don’t know.”
Cecilia knew she should try to comfort him, but she could only stare. His eyes were hollow, and his skin, already pallid from his illness, seemed to go almost gray. He gripped the bed as if it were a lifeboat, and she had the insane urge to do the same. The room was spinning around them, shrinking into a tight little tunnel.
She could barely breathe.
And he looked like he might shatter.
She forced her eyes to meet his, and she asked the only question that remained.
“Do you remember anything?”
Chapter 2