“Once your agent in London is informed of what happened, he should be able to handle routine business for a few days or weeks without your personal supervision. I’m sure you wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t honest as well as competent.”
“I suppose.” Adam ran his hand through his sun-streaked hair, leaving it boyishly tousled. “But I still can’t imagine why I ever wanted to work hard enough to earn all this.”
In spite of her comforting words, Antonia herself was perplexed. The Adam she had grown up with had not been particularly interested in money. He’d planned on a military career that might have won him glory, but would have yielded precious little gold.
Yet it was obvious to even the meanest intelligence that he must have worked with incredible intensity the whole time he was away to amass a fortune like this. When had her cousin decided that he wanted to be rich? And why?
* * * *
Over the next few days Judith saw little of Adam except at meals. Most of the time he spent with Antonia, and they were obviously on very easy terms with each other. While Judith observed no public expressions of affection, when Antonia was present the majority of Adam’s attention was always on her, though he was never less than polite to Judith.
Interestingly, Antonia was equally attentive to Adam. Judith tortured herself trying to decide if her mistress was showing the protectiveness of a woman with an ailing favorite relation, or the romantic affection of a woman with her intended husband. In either case, hour by hour Judith felt Adam slipping away from her, and her desperation grew proportionately.
Then help appeared in the guise of a note from Lord Launceston. He had just arrived in Buxton, and since he was unsure of his welcome at Thornleigh, he requested that she call on him as soon as possible. As Judith reread his words, she felt a wave of gratitude so intense that it weakened her. She needed an ally most desperately, and there could be none more welcome than Simon Launceston.
Chapter Nine
As soon as he received word that Judith Winslow waited in the private parlor. Simon hastened downstairs to see her. She had just removed her rain-soaked cloak when he entered. He thought irrelevantly that she had the true English mist-born complexion. “Thank heaven you came so quickly. Is Adam . . . ?”
“Alive and reasonably well,” she said quickly.
“Thank God,” he said, the relief like a breath of fresh air. “All that the innkeeper could tell me was that Mr. Yorke had been injured and that his life was despaired of.” Simon gave his visitor a melting smile. “That was incredibly rude of me. How are you, Judith? It’s good to see you again.”
“Well enough.” The fine-drawn tension of her delicate features belied her statement, but she refrained from saying more while a maid bustled in and set down a tea tray.
After the maid had left, Judith said, “While Adam’s life is no longer in danger, he is still suffering the effects of his injuries. He has lost his memory of everything before the explosion.’’
“Good Lord,” Simon said blankly as he sat opposite where Judith perched on an oak settle. “He remembers nothing?”
“Not a thing. Not his name, not Antonia, not me. Nothing.” Judith’s voice wavered, and she glanced down, lifting the teapot and pouring as if it were the most important task in the world.
It took time for Simon to assimilate the import of her words. At length he said softly, “Total amnesia. So he would not remember me, either.” At Judith’s nod, he asked, “I assume that a physician has been consulted about the prognosis?”
“Yes, there happened to be an excellent man within earshot of the explosion, and he tended Adam through the critical period. Antonia also summoned the best physician in Buxton after we returned from Macclesfield.” Judith spread her hands helplessly. “They both agreed that when a head injury causes amnesia, memory usually returns within a few days or weeks, but there is no way of knowing for sure until it happens. He may never remember his previous life.”
“Is Adam suffering any mental effects from the injury?” Simon asked sharply. The thought of his friend’s quick, questing intelligence being destroyed was almost as hurtful as the prospect of his death had been.
“No, he can read and speak and write normally, and he seems to recall all his abstract knowledge. Some things he forgot, but he relearns them almost instantly. It’s his personal life that is a blank.”
Now that his worst fears for Adam had been allayed, Simon was able to proceed to a topic of nearly equal urgency. “Does Antonia ever mention me?” he asked haltingly. “Do you think she would see me if I called?”
“If you had returned to Thornleigh before the accident,” Judith said slowly, “I think Antonia would have fallen in your arms. She was desperately unhappy after you left.”
So they had both been desperately unhappy. Why had he decided to give her several weeks to recover her temper? Why had he gone as far as London just because he wanted some new books? “I should never have left Derbyshire,” Simon burst out. “I should have been here to help Antonia. Even with you to support her, it must have been the very devil of a time.”
“It has been, and for more reasons than you can imagine,” Judith agreed, her voice laced with pain. “Adam’s injury has changed everything.” She paused, as if groping for words, then said baldly, “After the accident, Antonia informed me that she and Adam have an understanding.”
Simon stared at her, unable to accept the usual meaning of that simple phrase.
“She told me that they had decided to marry,” Judith elaborated.
The teacup in Simon’s hand jerked so badly that scalding liquid splashed on his hand. “How could Antonia turn around and fall in love with Adam so quickly?” White-faced, he set the cup on a table. “It has only been a fortnight since I left. Good God, she always thought of him as a brother. How could she?” Then, with bitterness, “How could
he
?”
“Something havey-cavey is going on,” Judith said bluntly. “I heard nothing about their betrothal until after the accident. I think that Antonia invented it.”
“She couldn’t possibly lie about something so important.” Simon’s usually precise mind seemed numb as he tried to make sense of Judith’s words. “I understand that Adam offered for her in the past. Perhaps he renewed his offer and in a moment of loneliness she accepted him.”
“No. I would wager anything I own that he did not renew his offer to her.” Simon looked up, wondering at her vehemence, and saw that Judith’s gray eyes were drowned with tears. Her voice breaking, she cried out, “I know because, before the accident, Adam was betrothed to me.”
In her face was an agonized reflection of his own pain. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly. Rising, he went to Judith and enfolded her in his arms as she shook with sobs. So she had suffered through the misery of Adam’s accident not just as a friend, but as a woman who loved him. And in the aftermath, not only did Adam not remember her, for some unknown reason he had been claimed by Antonia.
Eventually Judith’s weeping diminished and she pushed away from Simon with a wavery smile. “I’m sorry to behave like such a watering pot, but the last week has been dreadful, and there has been no one I could confide in.”
She stopped to dig a handkerchief from her reticule and repair the ravages of her tears before continuing in a more controlled voice. “Adam and I had reached an understanding just before you and Antonia ended your engagement. She was so miserable that we decided to keep silent for a while.” Judith shook her head in disbelief. “Even though our betrothal had not been announced, I can’t believe Adam would have offered for Antonia when he had just asked me to marry him.”
“You are right, he would never behave so despicably.” Simon leaned against the settle, his brows knit. “I had noticed that you and Adam always seemed to be together, and I even remember thinking that the two of you would suit very well. I was so happy that I wanted all my friends to be as well.” He swallowed. “But why would Antonia pretend that there was an understanding between her and Adam? And why didn’t you tell her the truth right away?”
“I think I know the answer to your first question.’’ Judith poured more tea and took a revivifying sip. “You know how fond Antonia and Adam have always been of each other. She may have decided that if she couldn’t have you, she might as well take Adam, who said just after he returned to England that she could always marry him.”
“I assume that that was before he had a chance to know you,” Simon interposed.
Judith gave him a grateful glance. It soothed her lacerated spirit to have someone take her seriously. “Exactly. He was half-teasing when he said that, but he was also half-serious. Perhaps right after the accident, when she was feeling so distraught, she decided to marry him if he survived.”
“And if that happened, she wouldn’t let a little thing like amnesia stop her,” Simon said dryly. “Lord, why did I have to fall in love with such a headstrong female?” The question was rhetorical. Her heart-stopping beauty and charm were sufficient answers. “But why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“How could I? Adam doesn’t remember me and seems willing enough to believe Antonia. And however confused her motives for wanting to marry Adam, she certainly seemed sincere.” Judith absently pleated the fabric of her cambric gown. “Besides, Antonia is the best friend I have ever had. I couldn’t bear to call her a liar to her face, not with all she has had to endure.”
Simon briefly laid his hand on hers. “Your sentiments do you credit.” He rose and restlessly crossed the parlor, thinking hard. “It’s a damnable situation, but when Adam regains his memory and recollects his feelings for you, the problem will solve itself. Certainly he would never break his word to you, nor do I think that Antonia would try to persuade him to do so.”
“What if he doesn’t regain his memory?” Judith had had longer to imagine the pitfalls than Simon.
“Or what if they become so involved that they must marry?”
Simon winced, not wanting to think about what she was implying. “Then we must do what we can to end their engagement as soon as possible.”
“But how?” Judith asked. “I’ve already said that I can’t bring myself to confront Antonia and call her a liar, and I can’t think of a better strategy.”
She watched as Simon paced around the parlor, avoiding furniture with his usual grace. It seemed unfair that worry made him look more handsome, the beautiful bones of his face more prominent under the drawn flesh. Judith knew that she herself merely looked haggard.
Half to himself, Lord Launceston muttered, “Ideally, Antonia would call it off by telling Adam that she had taken her fences too fast and they had not really been betrothed. The question is, what could persuade her to do that?”
As Judith watched Simon, she knew the answer to his question. “That’s simple,” she said. “The one thing that will surely undermine Antonia’s resolve to marry Adam is you. Antonia fell in love with you the moment she met you, and if she had not believed that you were gone for good, she would never have considered another man.”
Simon turned to her uncertainly. “Do you really think so? I’ve wondered if what she felt was temporary infatuation, not real love.”
He was too modest to believe that no woman could possibly resist him, so Judith only said, “I’m sure. Unfortunately, Adam stands between you and a reconciliation. If you went to Thornleigh and said that you still love her and want to renew your betrothal, Antonia would feel honor-bound to stay with Adam because of his injury. After all, he believes that they were already betrothed.”
Judith frowned, her thoughts uncomfortable. “I wish I knew how Adam felt about Antonia. He is very easy with her, but that may be partly because on some level he senses that they grew up together.’’ It was also possible that he was falling in love with his cousin, and that if she withdrew from their engagement, he would be deeply hurt, but Judith dared not think of that.
Simon considered, then shrugged. “All we can do is work on one problem at a time. First of all, will Antonia let me call at Thornleigh to see Adam, or am I still
persona non grata
?”
“She will certainly let you call on Adam, but we need some reason for you to run tame at Thornleigh again. The more she sees of you, the sooner she will set her nobility aside.” Judith smiled wryly. “But I have no idea how that can be accomplished. If you try to court her openly, she will show you the door from loyalty to Adam.”
Simon was staring abstractedly into space. “What if I called on her to ask about Adam, told her that she was quite right that she and I wouldn’t suit, and wished her happy with him? If she thought that I could not press my attentions on her, she would have no reason to feel threatened by my presence.”
“That’s well enough as far as it goes, but we still need a reason for you to call often. Adam is good for several visits a week, but that might not be enough.”
An expression of uncharacteristic deviltry touched Simon’s chiseled features. “That is simple enough. I’ll call on you.”
“What!” Judith positively squeaked. “Simon, have you run mad? Why would you be calling on me?”
“Why, for the obvious reason,” he said teasingly. “You are an attractive woman. Why should I not seek out your company? What objection could Antonia make without sounding gothic?”
“This is not a good idea,” Judith said emphatically.
His amusement fading. Lord Launceston came and knelt on one knee before Judith, his face pleading. “I know that we are grasping at straws, attempting to predict how other people will react. There is nothing very wise or honorable about trying to play God. But the alternative is to stand by and watch while Antonia and Adam’s betrothal develops so much inertia that it can’t be stopped.”
Distracted, Judith asked, “What is inertia?”
“The propensity of matter in motion to stay in motion or matter at rest to stay at rest, unless influenced by an outside force.” Not sure that his explanation had helped, he translated, “In other words, if we don’t try to stop them, the betrothal will take on a life of its own, and they will end up marrying even if it’s a mistake for both of them. Is that what you want to happen?”