“Almost a fortnight ago,” she said.
“You came looking for me?”
“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t—that is to say, I would not be so foolish to cross an ocean to look for a man who was missing.”
“And yet you are here.”
“Thomas was injured,” she reminded him. “He needed me.”
“So you came for your brother,” he said.
She regarded him with a frank, open stare, as if she was wondering if this was an interrogation. “I was led to believe I would find him in hospital.”
“As opposed to me.”
Her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Well, yes. I did not—that is to say, I did not know you were missing.”
“General Garth did not write to you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe he had been made aware of the marriage.”
“So . . . wait.” He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. He felt very twitchy, but something didn’t make sense. The timeline was off. “Did we marry here? No, we couldn’t have done. Not if I was missing.”
“It—it was a proxy marriage.” Her face flushed, and she looked almost embarrassed to admit it.
“I married you by proxy?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Thomas wanted it,” she mumbled.
“Is that even legal?”
Her eyes grew very wide, and he instantly felt like a heel. This woman had cared for him for three days while he was in a coma, and here he was implying that they might not even be married. She did not deserve such disrespect. “Forget I asked,” he said quickly. “We can sort all that out later.”
She nodded gratefully, then yawned.
“Did you rest yesterday?” he asked.
Her lips curved into the tiniest—and the tiredest—of smiles. “I believe that is my line.”
He returned the wry expression. “From what I understand, I have done nothing but rest these past few days.”
She tilted her head, a silent touché.
“You did not answer my question,” he reminded her. “Did you rest?”
“Some. I rather think I’m out of practice. And it was a strange room.” A lock of hair fell from her coiffure, and she frowned before tucking it back behind her ear. “I always find it difficult to sleep the first night in new surroundings.”
“I’d wager you have not slept well in weeks, then.”
At that she smiled. “Actually, I slept very well on the ship. The rocking motion agreed with me.”
“I’m jealous. I spent most of my crossing puking up my guts.”
She smothered a laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“Just be grateful you weren’t there. I would not have seemed such a matrimonial catch.” He considered this. “Then again, I’m no prize right now.”
“Oh, don’t be—”
“Unwashed, unshaved . . .”
“Edward . . .”
“Malodorous.” He waited. “I notice you do not contradict me there.”
“You do have a certain, ah, fragrance.”
“And do not forget that I am missing a small corner of my mind.”
She instantly stiffened. “You should not say such things.”
His tone was light but his eyes were straight and direct on hers as he said, “If I don’t find something to mock in this, I shall have to cry.”
She went very still.
“Figuratively,” he said, taking pity on her. “You needn’t worry. I shan’t break down in tears.”
“If you did,” she said haltingly, “I shouldn’t think the less of you. I—I would—”
“Care for me? Tend to my wounds? Dry the salty rivers of my tears?”
Her lips parted, but he did not think she was shocked, merely perplexed. “I did not realize you were such a devotee of sarcasm,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure I am.”
She went a bit straight as she considered this, her brow puckering until three lines formed in the center of her forehead. She did not move for several seconds, and only when a little whoosh of air crossed her lips did he realize she had been holding her breath. It came out with a bit of her voice, resulting in a pensive noise.
“You seem to be analyzing me,” he said.
She did not deny it. “It is very interesting,” she said, “what you do and do not recall.”
“It is difficult for me to view it as an academic pursuit,” he said without rancor, “but by all means, you should do so. Any breakthroughs will be much appreciated.”
She shifted in her seat. “Have you remembered anything new?”
“Since yesterday?”
She nodded.
“No. At least I don’t think so. It’s difficult to tell when I don’t remember what I don’t remember. I’m not even certain where the memory gap begins.”
“I’m told you left for Connecticut in early March.” Her head tilted to the side, and that mischievous lock of hair fell out of place again. “Do you remember that?”
He thought about this for a moment. “No,” he said. “I vaguely recall being told to go, or rather that I was going to be told to go . . .” He scrubbed the heel of his hand against one of his eyes. What did that even mean? He looked up at Cecilia. “I don’t know why, though.”
“It will come back to you eventually,” she said. “The doctor said that when the head is concussed, the brain needs time to recover.”
He frowned.
“Before you woke up,” she clarified.
“Ah.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then, with an awkward motion toward his injury, she asked, “Does it hurt?”
“Like the very devil.”
She moved to stand. “I can get you laudanum.”
“No,” he said quickly. “Thank you. I would rather keep a clear head.” Then he realized what a ridiculous statement that was, all things considered. “Or at least clear enough to recall the events of the last day.”
Her lips twitched.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Laugh.”
“I really shouldn’t.” But she did. Just a little.
And the sound was lovely.
Then she yawned.
“Sleep,” he urged.
“Oh, I couldn’t. I just got here.”
“I won’t tell.”
She gave him a look. “Who would you tell?”
“Fair point,” he conceded. “But still, you obviously need to sleep.”
“I can sleep tonight.” She wiggled a little in her chair, trying to get comfortable. “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a moment.”
He snickered.
“Don’t mock me,” she warned.
“Or you’ll what? You’d never even see me coming.”
She opened one eye. “I have outstanding reflexes.”
Edward chuckled at that, watching as she returned to her expression of repose. She yawned again, this time not even trying to cover it.
Was that what it meant to be married? That one could yawn with impunity? If so, Edward supposed that the institution had much to recommend it.
He watched her as she “rested her eyes.” She really was lovely. Thomas had said his sister was pretty, but in that offhand, brotherly sort of way. He saw what Edward supposed he saw in his own sister Mary: a nice face with all the pieces in the right spots. Thomas would never have noticed, for example, that Cecilia’s eyelashes were a few shades darker than her hair, or that when her eyes were closed, they formed two delicate arcs, almost like slivers of a waxing moon.
Her lips were full, although not in that rosebud way the poets seemed wild for. When she slept, they didn’t quite touch, and he could imagine the whisper of her breath passing between them.
“Do you think you will be able to leave for the Devil’s Head this afternoon?” she asked.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I told you, I’m just resting my eyes.”
In this she was not lying. She did not so much as lift a lash as she spoke.