Page 64 of Dangerous Exile
He really hadn’t remembered anything past the night his parents died. She’d hoped sleep would help him. He’d been so quiet the previous night about everything that was going on in his mind, that she hadn’t wanted to badger him with a lot of questions about what he did and did not remember.
She forced a neutral smile on her face. “You were one of the grandsons of the Earl of Washburn. Yourcousin, Harriet, she was my friend, and she was why I would always be so happy to visit this place. I’m sorry, but I don’t recall how many grandchildren there were or who her parents were or who your parents were—I was so young and I didn’t pay attention to all the adults. And then after your parents’ funeral, we no longer visited. I do not know why we stopped. I wish I had paid more attention, could remember more to help.”
His eyes closed for a long moment as he nodded. His face suddenly scrunched tight in a long wince. “My father—there was a uniform.”
Ness looked to the manor house, searching her memory. There had been so many adults there when her family visited and the adults rarely interacted with the children.
A faint recollection perked into her mind. “Yes, maybe. I partly remember a man in a red uniform. I believe he may have been in the army?”
Her head shook as her eyes closed. “I’m sorry I don’t remember more. I remember the funeral for the three of you, we traveled here for that, but there were so many hushed tones of people talking about what happened to your family, and I didn’t understand any of it. Just that Harriet was so sad and scared she barely spoke two words to me. I never heard what happened to you three, just that you all died in a horrible accident. We didn’t visit again. And I missed it, missed Harriet, missed you. I’m trying to remember more and I hate that I cannot.”
“It’s not up to you to piece my life back together for me, Ness.”
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, worry on his face. Worry for her when he should only be worried about his own mind.
She gave him a bright smile. “I just want you to know where your place in the world once was. That you were happy here. I knew that about you. You laughed too easily back then to have been troubled. Real laughter. Your laughter was so light and carefree. It was a rare thing. Even I understood that at that age. Wondered at it.”
A distance in front of them, a carriage pulled up from the far side of the manor house and stopped at the front door of the home. Anyone exiting the manor house was blocked from view, but Ness could see through the open space under the carriage dark boots and skirts shuffling about. Then the coach was on the move, clipping down the drive toward them.
Talen shifted his horse off to the side of the lane and Ness followed suit, tightening the reins to still her horse until the carriage passed.
The finest of carriageswith a partially faded coat of arms—a lion opposite a dragon surrounded the shield—passed Ness and Talen with the curtain drawn. Just as she was about to nudge her mount forward, the coach stopped abruptly, sending the team of horses neighing, pawing at the ground at the intrusion to their pace down the hillside.
The driver turned around in his perch and motioned to Talen and Ness to move to the coach.
Talen gave Ness a sidelong glance with a raised eyebrow, then clicked his horse into motion to align next to the carriage.
The curtain pulled aside and the small window slipped open. An elderly woman with a turquoise turban wrapped atop her head, but not covering the tufts of white hair that curled out along the edges, popped into the opening of the window.
Talen tilted his hat to her.
“You, young sir”—the woman pointed at Talen, her white glove wagging into the air just outside the carriage—“take off your hat.”
Blunt and bordering on rude, but the woman didn’t seem to take note, her tone almost frantic.
Talen glanced at Ness, then removed his top hat from his head. “Ma’am?”
The elderly woman poked her head fully out of the window, her eyes squinting as she studied Talen’s face. Then her cheeks went pale. Paler. Paler.
Her lower jaw dropped, a whisper on her tongue. “No, no, it couldn’t be.”
Talen stiffened on his horse. “Did you have something you needed to say to us, ma’am? We were just about to make it up to the main house to inquire as to who is in residence. We have some inquiries to make on the history of the place.”
“Inquiries, what sort of inquiries?” Her look went sharp on him.
“I am told I have history here that I am attempting to uncover. Might you know who currently resides here?”
The older woman bristled, her gloved hand gripping onto the lower edge of the window. “I reside here—I’m the Dowager Countess of Washburn, and you are, sir?”
“I am Talen Blackstone.” Talen turned to motion to Ness. “And this isMrs. Docherty.”
“Mrs. Docherty.” The woman rolled the name over her tongue several times, but couldn’t tear her stare off of Talen. “Mrs. Docherty. I should know that name. Where should I know that name from?”
Her eyes squinted harder at Talen. “But you. You I know. Your eyes.”
Talen stilled. “You do?”
“I do. I do. Why do I know your eyes, young man?”