Anne Barbour Read Online Free PDF

remember the names of any family that I might have.”
    “I see. Are you aware that England is at war?”
    “Oh, yes. With France, under the leadership of Napoleon.” The man chuckled. “Or, rather, the Corsican Monster, as I believe he is called.”
    The catechism went on at some length, until at last, the doctor leaned back in chair, apparently satisfied.
    “As far as I can tell,” he said somewhat portentously, “your amnesia seems to fit the parameters of the affliction, at least in as far as I am familiar with it.”
    “Can you tell me how long it will be before I regain my memory?” The question was asked with an almost painful intensity, but the reply—as the man had expected—was not encouraging.
    “Nn-no, I’m afraid not. Little is known about the condition, neither what causes it—for it can come on with mental trauma as well as from a blow to the head—or what causes it to go away—for, there is no real cure. We must rely on Mother Nature to heal your unfortunate condition, as I’m sure she will sooner or later.”
    “Let us hope it is the former rather than the latter,” said his patient dryly.
    There was a moment’s hesitation before Dr. Beech continued. “I noticed a horse in the stable, a stallion. Apparently, he is yours.”
    There was another long pause as the patient once more searched within his mind. A horse? A stallion? A great black shadow flickered in his mind, and the sound of a soft whinny and huge teeth pulling at his pockets for sugar. Desperately, he fastened on the fragmentary image, but in the next instant it was gone. Damn! The little piece of his memory had been so close, it was as though he could have grasped it with his fingers. Now, his mind was just a bottomless blank again. Damn!
    “I suppose he might be,” he murmured cautiously. “I don’t know.”
    “It seems strange,” said the doctor meditatively, “that you carried no identification on you. No cards, no letters addressed to you, nothing of that sort.”
    “Unfortunate,” said the man.
    “Well, then.” Adam Beech rose and picked up his bag. “Let us hope that a few days’ rest will heal your mind as well as that foot.” He moved to the door, only to find Catherine waiting in the corridor. With her were Lady Jane and Mariah.
    “Good God,” said Adam. “I was not expecting a reception committee.”
    Catherine smiled with a hint of apology. “Grandmama is anxious to meet our guest.”
    She ushered the old lady into the chamber, and allowed Mariah to precede her, but when she would have followed, Adam laid a hand on her arm.
    “It is not necessary for you to wait on him any further,” he pronounced. “Mariah can do all that is necessary for him.”
    “Do you not trust me in the same room with an unattached male?” she asked, her irritation warring with amusement.
    “Trust has nothing to do with it,” Adam relied stiffly. “Except that in this case it is the male I do not quite trust. He seems a pleasant fellow, but I find that he speaks with the accents of a gentleman, while his clothing seems to place him several ranks lower. There are so many rogues about that I would not wish to see you exposed to trickery.”
    “Now, see here, Adam,” said Catherine, “the man is a guest in my house, and I shall decide how much attention he needs and from whom.”
    Adam was still protesting when she pushed past him into the room.
    From his bed, the injured man listened to the altercation taking place at the doorway. With some interest, he sat up and, patting himself into a semblance of respectability and drawing the comforter about him, awaited events.
    As he had surmised, the doctor proved no match against his determined hostess. In a few moments, Miss Meade hove into view behind the other women, Mariah Something?—and a very old woman, small and spare and leaning heavily on a cane. Dr. Beech brought up the rear, disapproval writ large on his face.
    At that moment, the man caught Miss Meade’s eyes