Page 9 of My Duke, The Stranger
She tried to say these things, but the words caught in her throat.
Isolde looked around the small room. She listened to the storm that raged beyond its walls. She studied the duke closely, seeing him in ways that might have once been impossible but were now just as impossible to ignore.
By rights, she should have despised him. While he was not responsible for the parish’s hard times, he had not tried to help. Help that would have been easy to give, that would be right to do. So rich was he, so powerful, that a word spoken would save the parish, her family, and their future. Why, he might even have been able to bring her father back to health.
Lying before her, weak and barely conscious, the duke had never been so helpless.
Should I ask for his help? Would that be wrong to do, considering his state? And would he even remember, once he found his memory…
When Isolde had turned down Mr. Harwood’s proposal of marriage, she had promised her father that she would find a way to save their parish. She was the only one who could, and when she made that promise, she knew that there was nothing she would not do… whatever it took, because desperate times meant the measures taken had to be just as desperate.
Who knew how long it would take for the duke’s memory to return? What if he promised to help, and then he remembered who he was, and spurned her once again? What if the moment that he left this cottage, he chose to forget her…
Isolde’s pulse quickened as an idea started to form.
It was a wicked idea. It was a dangerous idea. But it was also an idea that would solve all of her problems if it worked. As wrongas it was, she reasoned that so much wrong had been done to her at the hands of this man that it was justifiable.
Please, forgive me…
“Who am I?” Her smile was warm and loving. “That you do not remember that, well…” A shake of the head. “I ought to be offended.”
He grimaced. “I am sorry, I do not…”
“It is fine.” She touched the side of his face and held her smile. “It will come back to you in time. But until it does, perhaps a little reminder.”
“Please.” He took her hand and held her eyes.
“I am…” She swallowed. “You know me as…” Her brow started to sweat. “I am your fiancée, of course. How else would you have ended up here?”
“Fiancée…” He said the word, and a light found his eyes. It was not shock or revulsion. It was a look of happiness, even relief, as if nothing had ever made more sense. “Of course you are.” His smile returned. “I should have known.”
“Do not worry yourself.”
“My fiancée…” He clicked his tongue. “As this is the case, might I have your name? To remind me further.”
“You may call me Isolde Whitmore, my love.” Her stomach twisted with guilt and shame.
“Isolde…” He repeated the name, and his smile grew.
“But that is for later,” she soothed him. “You have a fever, and you are surely tired. Go back to sleep, and I am sure that, tomorrow, your memories will have returned.”
“Yes…” Already, his eyelids began to droop, even as that smile remained on his lips. “Let us hope so…”
Isolde watched the duke fall asleep. He continued to smile, and she wondered if his dreams were now filled with images of her. She hoped they were not. In fact, she hoped that when he woke up, he would have forgotten this conversation entirely.
A lie told in the moment; an act of desperation that Isolde had succumbed to. And even if it somehow worked… even if the lie held for long enough to save her family, she knew as she knew anything that the guilt and shame she felt would never truly subside.
What have I done…?
Four
Isolde woke the following morning to the sound of horse hooves.
She started awake at the noise, and for a moment, she forgot entirely where she was and what had happened the previous night. It was like a dream… a memory that faded the longer she thought about it… and for a few brief seconds, she was able to convince herself that it was not real.
Only then…
“Isolde! Isolde!” Marianne came screaming into her bedroom. “You must come and see this!”
