Page 26 of My Duke, The Stranger
It was a strange relationship that he felt with his head steward. He remembered nothing about him. He was a stranger, as much as any man one might cross on the street. But in him, Cassiansensed someone who truly cared for him, and who would move the heavens if he thought it would help.
He also rather liked him. Perhaps he was a little strict at times, and his sense of humor was severely lacking. But there was a paternal kindness in the man that Cassian could not ignore, and he was glad that he had someone like this in his life.
Surely, that alone is proof that I was a good man before all of this? I could not possibly instill such loyalty in someone like Mr. Pemberton otherwise…
“On your feet, Your Grace.” Doctor Monroe indicated for Cassian to stand. “Let us check for any lingering signs of vertigo.”
Cassian sighed but did as he was told. “You know, I spent the entire morning walking the estate. Surely, that is proof enough?”
“Better to be safe than sorry.”
“Again, well said,” Cassian chuckled, which brought another strange look from Mr. Pemberton.
On his feet, Cassian slowly crossed the small office, sure to walk slowly and look to his left and right as Doctor Monroe had told him to do the last time he’d asked.
“Any nausea?” Doctor Monroe asked. “Loss of balance?”
“Should I break into a dance?” Cassian joked as he reached the end of the office, spun quickly, and started back. “Funny that I do not remember what I did last week, but know that if asked, I could dance as I have likely been doing my whole life.”
“It is the same as knowing how to use a fork,” Doctor Monroe said. “Or knowing how to speak. We believe these memories are stored in different parts of the brain, meaning they are not connected to your short memory.”
“A good thing then,” Cassian said with a grin. “Imagine if I had forgotten how to put my own breeches on. Mr. Pemberton, I wonder if you would be so kind to me then?”
“I would endeavor to do my best, Your Grace.”
Cassian was determined to keep his spirits high, even if he was nowhere near as cheerful as he might seem. If he was being truly honest, frustration was what he felt, embarrassment also, and a lingering sense of helplessness as if he was drowning with no land in sight.
How was this possible? To have no memories of who he was or where he had come from. Worse, while those memories were gone, there was a sense somewhere deep within that they were near… just out of sight… but close enough that it was as if they mocked him.
And more than once, he would get a hint of an old memory that he did not understand. A smell that was familiar. A word spoken that rattled something, even if he did not know what it was. Timeand time again, he felt as if his memories were ready to pour back through his mind, only to be blocked at the last second.
Truly, his jokes and his good cheer were all that he had left.
And that alone must be proof that this is who I am. How could I feel this way if it is not the real me?
But was it him? Again, too often, there were signs of a past life that he was scared to learn more about. The way the staff looked at him. The reactions from Mr. Pemberton. And even Isolde seemed reserved and unsure when he had pressed her earlier…
“Is there anything else?” Mr. Pemberton asked when Cassian reached where they stood.
“For now, no,” he said. “But tomorrow, I would like to see you again. Every day, in fact, until your memories have returned.”
“Well, I can’t say this has been fun.” Cassian clapped his hands together and smiled. “But if you are letting me go…”
“Ah, Your Grace, I was hoping you and I might talk for a moment.” Mr. Pemberton looked at him with a sense of concern. “Regarding Miss Isolde…”
Cassian sighed and rubbed his eyes. While he did like Mr. Pemberton, he had not failed to notice how cold the man was toward his betrothed. No doubt, he did not approve of herlineage, and Cassian wondered if this was an age-old argument that had been had a hundred times before.
“Later, Mr. Pemberton,” he said.
“But—”
“I intend to dine with Isolde this evening,” he said, hardening in his voice in a way that he hoped was commanding. “As I will be for the rest of my days. I do not know why you are so…” He clicked his tongue. “You do not like her, Mr. Pemberton. And do not deny it.”
“I only worry about you, Your Grace.”
“As does she,” he said, knowing it was true. “And as she worries, her presence alone is a tonic that cures me of my woes and makes me feel as if I am not so alone in a world that I do not know or understand.” He raised an eyebrow at the steward. “You want me to heal, yes?”
“That is all I want.”
