He shook his head. “Just pondering the great questions of life.”
“Oh stop. What were you really thinking about?”
“Actually, I was thinking that we need to look into the laws of proxy marriages. We ought to know the exact date of the union, wouldn’t you agree?”
She tried to say yes. She couldn’t quite manage it.
Edward tugged on his cuffs, smoothing out his sleeves so that his coat lay smooth on his body. “You went second, so I imagine it was whenever you got the captain to perform your side of the ceremony.”
Cecilia gave a tiny nod—all she could manage with the boulder in her throat.
But Edward did not seem to notice her distress, or if he did, he must have thought she was just being emotional over the memory of her wedding, because he dropped a quick kiss on her lips, straightened, and said, “Time to greet the day, I suppose. I’m meeting with Colonel Stubbs downstairs in a few minutes, and I can’t be late.”
“You’re meeting with Colonel Stubbs, and you did not tell me?”
His nose wrinkled. “Did I not? An oversight, I’m sure.”
Cecilia did not doubt him in this. Edward did not keep secrets from her. He was remarkably open, all things considered, and when he asked for her opinion, he actually listened to her response. She supposed that to some degree he did not have much choice; with such a large hole in his memory he had to rely on her judgment.
Except . . . she could not imagine many other men doing the same. She’d always been proud of the fact that her father had left the running of the house in her hands, but in her heart she knew that he had not done so because he’d thought her especially capable. He just didn’t want to bother with it himself.
“Do you wish to join me?” Edward asked.
“For your meeting with the colonel?” Cecilia’s brows rose. “I cannot imagine he will wish to have me there.”
“All the more reason for you to come. I learn far more when he’s in a bad mood.”
“In that case, how can I refuse?”
Edward opened the door and stepped aside, waiting for her to precede him into the hall.
“It does seem odd that he’s not more forthcoming,” Cecilia said. “Surely he wants you to recover your memory.”
“I don’t think he’s trying to be secretive,” Edward said. He took her arm as they descended the stairs, but unlike the week prior, it was to be a gentleman and not because he needed her physical support. It was remarkable how much he had improved in just a few short days. His head still pained him, and of course there was the memory gap, but his skin had lost the grayish pallor that had been so worrying, and if he was not ready for a fifty-mile march, he was at least able to go about his day without needing to take a rest.
Cecilia thought he sometimes still looked tired, but Edward just told her she was acting like a wife.
He smiled when he said this, though.
“I think,” Edward said, still on the topic of Colonel Stubbs, “that it is his job to keep secrets.”
“But surely not from you.”
“Perhaps,” Edward said with a small shrug. “But consider this: He does not know where I was or what I did these last few months. It is almost certainly not in the interest of the British Army to entrust me with secrets just yet.”
“That’s preposterous!”
“I appreciate your unwavering support,” he said, giving her a wry smile as they reached the ground floor, “but Colonel Stubbs must be assured of my loyalties before revealing his hand.”
Cecilia was not sold. “I cannot believe he would dare to doubt you,” she muttered. Edward’s honor and honesty were so clearly intrinsic to his nature. She did not understand how anyone could not see this.
Colonel Stubbs was standing by the door when they entered the dining room, his face skewed into its usual scowl. “Rokesby,” he said upon seeing them, followed by: “Your wife is here too.”
“She was hungry,” Edward said.
“Of course,” the colonel replied, but his nostrils flared with irritation, and Cecilia saw his jaw clench as he led them to a nearby table.
“They make a fine breakfast here,” Cecilia said sweetly.
The colonel stared at her for a moment, then grunted something that might have been a response before turning back to Edward.
“Do you bring any news?” Edward asked.
“Do you?”
“I am afraid not, but Cecilia has been most helpful in my quest to regain my memory. We have traversed the town many times, searching for clues.”
Cecilia pasted a placid smile on her face.
Which Colonel Stubbs ignored. “I don’t see how you think to find clues here in New York. It’s the time in Connecticut that needs to be examined.”
“About that,” Edward said mildly, “I was wondering—did I have a uniform?”
“What?” The colonel’s voice was curt and distracted, and he was patently irritated by the abrupt change of subject.
“I had the strangest recollection this morning. It’s probably not even relevant, but as I was donning my coat, it occurred to me that I had not done so in quite a long time.”
The colonel just stared at him. “I don’t follow.”
“The coat at the hospital . . . This one, as a matter of fact,” Edward said, brushing his hand along his sleeve. “Where did it come from? It’s obviously mine, but I don’t think I had it with me.”
“I held it for you,” Stubbs said gruffly. “Wouldn’t do to be labeled a lobsterback in Connecticut.”
“Are they not loyal to the crown?” Cecilia inquired.
“Rebels are everywhere,” Stubbs said, shooting her an irritated look. “They are sprinkled like salt, and the very devil to excise.”
“Excise?” Cecilia echoed. It was a disturbing choice of words. She had not been in New York very long, but even she was able to discern that the political landscape was more complicated than the newspapers at home would have her believe. She was, and always would be, a proud British subject, but she could not help but see that the colonists had some legitimate grievances.
But before she could say anything further (not that she was intending to), she felt Edward’s hand on her leg under the table, its heavy weight cautioning her not to speak.
“I beg your pardon,” Cecilia murmured, casting her eyes obediently toward her lap. “I was not familiar with the term.”
It hurt to utter such a lie, but there was clearly some benefit in having the colonel think her somewhat less than brilliant. And the last thing she wanted was for him to think that she was not loyal to the crown.
“Might I inquire, then,” Edward asked, moving the conversation forward with smooth agility, “if my lack of a uniform in Connecticut means that I was there as a spy?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” the colonel huffed.
“What would you say?” Cecilia asked, biting her tongue when Edward’s hand tightened on her thigh again. But it was difficult to keep her mouth shut. The colonel was so aggravating, dropping bits of information here and there, never quite telling Edward what he needed to know.
“I beg your pardon,” she mumbled. Edward had turned to her with a cool glance, once again warning her not to interfere. She had to stop antagonizing Colonel Stubbs, and not just for Edward’s sake. The colonel knew Thomas as well, and though he had not proved helpful in her search thus far, he might in the future.
“Spying is such an unsavory word,” Colonel Stubbs said, nodding in reply to her apology. “Certainly nothing to discuss in front of a lady.”
“A scout, then,” Edward suggested. “Would that be a more accurate description?”
Stubbs grunted in the affirmative.
Edward’s lips pressed into a firm line that was oddly difficult to interpret. He did not look angry, at least not as angry as Cecilia was feeling. Rather, she had the impression that he was sifting through information in his mind, placing it in neat little piles for future reference. He had a very orderly way of looking at the world—a trait that must have made his memory deficit twice as difficult to bear.