Her Brooding Duke (The Worthington Legacy #7)

Chapter Three

P ain pulsed in Louisa’s head with every beat of her heart, radiating through her entire body as if she’d been crushed beneath a heavy weight. Even her eyelids ached as she struggled to open them. When she finally managed a squint, confusion set in. Had she died and gone to Heaven? Why else would she be in such a luxurious room, dressed in warm, clean nightclothes and nestled between soft sheets on a bed that felt like a cloud? The scents surrounding her were foreign—everything smelled too clean, too fresh.

A low moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes again—the simple act of breathing sending sharp stabs of pain through her chest. What had happened to her? Her mind was a fog, offering no answers, only a heavy emptiness where memories should have been.

Suddenly, a soft, soothing voice broke through the haze, accompanied by a gentle touch on her fingers. The kindness of the moment lulled her into a brief, peaceful sleep, but she was soon stirred awake by a new sensation—a tantalizing scent wafting through the room. Food.

Her stomach growled hungrily, the smell of fresh bread teasing her senses, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d last eaten anything at all. “Come now, dearie. Open your eyes,” the kind voice prompted her.

Louisa blinked and slowly opened her eyes. The room wasn’t as bright as it had been earlier, thank goodness. The older woman leaning over her wore a servant’s black-and-white attire, with a white mobcap covering her brown hair.

“Let’s sit you up, shall we?” The servant helped to adjust Louisa by stuffing pillows behind her.

Louisa clenched her teeth, trying to suppress the wave of sharp pain that surged through her with each movement. But once the pillows were adjusted beneath her, offering much-needed support, the intensity of the pain eased just enough for her to take a shallow breath. As her body relaxed slightly, she glanced down at her arms, momentarily transfixed. The delicate sleeves that covered them were pristine—whiter than anything she had worn in years—and adorned with intricate lace embroidery that seemed far too beautiful for her reality.

This has to be a dream. Her mind struggled to accept what her eyes were seeing. It couldn’t be real. How could she, a ragged, starving girl, be swathed in something so fine, so elegant?

“How are you feeling, dearie?” the older woman asked, amber eyes narrowing with worry.

“I—I—” Louisa cleared her dry throat a couple of times before the servant brought up a cup of tea for her to sip. She closed her eyes and savored the taste. Wonderful .

When the servant took the cup away and set it on the stand next to the bed, Louisa cleared her throat again. “I ache all over.”

“That’s to be expected from the dreadful accident, or so the doctor explained.”

Louisa’s head throbbed harder. What accident? She didn’t remember any accident. “I do not understand, ma’am. What accident are you referring to?”

“Why, the accident you had last night when His Grace hit you with his horse and curricle.”

Fright surged through Louisa, tightening her chest and making her head throb with unbearable intensity. Why couldn’t she remember?

Panic clawed at her insides as she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to her aching forehead. Try as she might, she couldn’t recall being struck by a horse and carriage—or anything else, for that matter. Her mind was a void, terrifying in its emptiness. Who was she? The weight of that question was crushing.

Her gaze drifted toward the unfamiliar woman standing beside the bed. Desperation took hold as Louisa raised her cold, trembling hands to cup her own cheeks, as if trying to ground herself in the present, trying to find something real. Tears brimmed in her eyes, blurring her vision, while a thick knot of emotion swelled in her throat.

Her voice, broken and raw, finally escaped. “I—I—I don’t remember,” she whispered, her voice quivering as the enormity of her fear settled over her like a suffocating blanket. The sense of loss—of not knowing who she was—was more than she could bear.

“Hush, dearie.” The servant sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Louisa’s hair. “The doctor mentioned you would be disoriented a bit when you awoke. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Louisa shook her head. “You don’t understand. I cannot remember anything .” A tear slid down her cheek. “I’ve no memory of what I did last evening, or before that, or the day before that.” Her voice rose in panic.

“Shh… Not to fret, my dear. Calm yourself, and I’m certain your memory will return.”

Louisa lowered her hands to her lap. “Do you truly believe so?”

The servant nodded. “Yes, I’m certain. My name is Mrs. Smythe. I’m the housekeeper here at Kenbridge Hall. I shall take care of you until you are better.”

Louisa nodded, trying to take the woman’s advice and calm her fears. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Smythe. My name is Louisa…” Her memory stopped. Once again, fear flared inside her, bringing a state of panic with it. “Oh, no. I—I do not even recall my name!”

“Good heavens, child.” Mrs. Smythe took Louisa’s hands. “You do not remember your own name?”

She shook her head. “Just Louisa.”

Mrs. Smythe rose from the bed, wringing her hands against her middle as she switched her gaze from the door to Louisa. The older woman’s amber eyes widened. “I need to inform His Grace about this unexpected turn of events. I think we should have the doctor return posthaste.”

As the servant hurried out of the room, moving as if snakes were snapping at her heels, Louisa’s fragile composure shattered. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, each drop heavy with the fear and confusion that overwhelmed her. The older woman had been her only source of comfort, gently soothing her rising panic with soft words and kind gestures. But now, even that small reassurance was gone.

Louisa’s chest tightened painfully, a new ache blooming beneath her ribs. This time, she was certain the pain had nothing to do with the accident—it came from something deeper, an unbearable weight of isolation and helplessness. The tears kept falling, and with them, the terrifying realization that she was truly alone in this strange, unfamiliar world, with no memory of who she was or how she had gotten there.

Within minutes, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, each thud growing louder, until suddenly, a large figure filled the doorway. Louisa’s breath caught in her throat. The man’s towering height stunned her, but even more striking was the concern etched across his chiseled, handsome face.

As he approached the bed with purposeful strides, the fabric of his crisp white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, highlighting his lean, powerful frame. His black trousers hugged muscular legs, making him appear every bit as imposing as he was graceful.

She had never seen anything—or anyone—so captivating in her life. Then again, maybe she had, but she simply couldn’t remember. Even so, something deep in her heart whispered that she wasn’t accustomed to looking at men like this one—men who exuded such strength, confidence, and quiet intensity.

Her pulse quickened, not just from his imposing presence but from the unsettling realization that she had no idea how to feel about him.

He stood above her, and she sank into the pillows, staring at him. “Your Grace?”

He nodded. “Mrs. Smythe tells me your name is Louisa.”

“It is.”

He pulled a wooden chair next to the bed and sat. Slowly, he stretched his arm out to touch her, then—as if changing his mind—quickly withdrew. “Louisa, please do not be frightened. We will take care of you.”

She managed a small nod.

“Mrs. Smythe also tells me you cannot remember anything.”

“All I can remember, Your Grace, is my first name… and that I don’t believe I have been in a room as grand as this or worn a gown so expensive.”

The lines around his mouth softened. “Be that as it may, the doctor told me you had a goose egg on your head. I can only surmise that is the reason for your unclear memory.”

Cautiously, she lifted her fingers to her scalp and brushed them across her head until she found the lump. She winced. “I trust the doctor knows what he’s talking about.”

“Yes,” he said. “I would not put my care in the hands of anyone else. Doctor Bryers is very good.”

She licked her dry lips and lowered her hands. His stare calmed her, and a warming blanket of comfort surrounded her. Strangely enough, the emotion seemed foreign. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He smiled, but somehow it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Until your health and memory have been fully restored, I think you should stay here and let us take care of you. Mrs. Smythe will have some delicious soup brought up. I assume you are hungry, correct?”

She nodded. “Famished. I think I could eat a horse… or two.”

Chuckling, he stood and motioned for the older servant to draw near. “Please keep me informed of her progress.”

“I certainly will, Your Grace.”

Just then, another maid walked into the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of milk.

His gaze switched back to Louisa. “Please rest until you are feeling better.”

“I shall. I thank you for your hospitality.”

He nodded, turned, and walked out the door.

Louisa’s heart softened, warmth spreading through her chest. What a fine man. A man who didn’t just help strangers—he went out of his way for them, without hesitation or expectation. But beneath that generosity, she sensed something more, something that tugged at her curiosity. He seemed to carry a quiet vulnerability, a hesitance that went beyond mere politeness. He’d avoided touching her, which she first attributed to gentlemanly restraint, but there was an unspoken depth to it. An invisible barrier, like he was holding back, guarding something within himself that she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Now, let’s sit you up a little more so you can eat.” Mrs. Smythe helped Louisa with lifting herself up until she could have the food tray placed on her lap.

“This smells wonderful.” She smiled, fairly salivating over the bowl of soup.

“It’s not a full course, mind you, but when you are feeling better, we shall serve you more. His Grace wants us to make you healthy.” The older woman tsked. “I fear you are nothing but skin and bones.”

Louisa glanced down at her thin wrists and fingers. “I wish I could remember why.”

“You shall in time, dearie.”

“Mrs. Smythe, you have all been so kind. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Oh, tosh. Not to worry, my dear. His Grace is very kind, and he will not ask to be repaid.”

Louisa glanced toward the door, hoping he’d come back and make her feel protected again. Strange how the loss of his presence left her empty inside. “Tell me about him,” she asked before shoveling some soup into her mouth. Ahh… chicken and dumplings.

“His Grace, the fifth Duke of Kenbridge, is the most caring man I have ever met.” Mrs. Smythe smiled widely. “I have known his family for many years. They are the best of the best.”

Louisa swallowed what was in her mouth before asking, “Is he married?”

A frown changed the housekeeper’s expression, and her amber eyes clouded with pain. “The duchess passed on nigh twelve months ago, I fear. The duke has not been the same since. Poor man, trying to raise his children without a mother.” She shook her head. “It takes a man with a big heart, to be sure.”

Perhaps that was the emotion Louisa had glimpsed in his eyes: mourning his wife. “Thank you for telling me. I shall not bring up the subject again.” She took a sip of her milk and silently sighed with satisfaction.

Although Louisa had promised the housekeeper she wouldn’t bring up the subject of the man’s deceased wife, her curiosity gnawed at her. She couldn’t shake the urge to probe further, to ask the servants until her questions were answered. Besides, it would give her something else to focus on—something to distract her from the haunting memories of her own past. Those memories, if she let them in, would consume her, driving her toward the edge of madness. She needed something, anything, to keep her mind busy, something external that wouldn’t unravel her from within.

She eyed the soup again, its warmth and richness calling to her with an intensity she hadn’t anticipated. Each sip seemed to ignite a deeper hunger within her, a desperation that quickened her pulse. It wasn’t just the taste—it was the gnawing fear that this meal, as perfect as it was, might be her last. A forbidding sense of scarcity gripped her, as if the food could vanish at any moment, taken away without warning. Despite her rational mind knowing the duke would surely feed her again, her body refused to listen. With a surge of urgency, she lifted the bowl, tipping it to her mouth, as if she could protect herself from a world that had denied her too much for far too long.

“Oh, my…” Mrs. Smythe quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, her wide eyes watching in judgment.

“What’s amiss?” Louisa asked with her mouth full. A portion of the soup dribbled down her chin.

Quickly, the housekeeper brought a linen napkin to Louisa and wiped away the liquid before it fell to her clean nightgown.

“I fear… you are very hungry, my dear. But”—Mrs. Smythe pointed to the utensils—“there is a spoon for you to use.”

Louisa glanced at her hands dripping with soup. Embarrassment washed over her and she snatched the linen cloth to wipe away the proof of bad manners. “Forgive me for acting like I’m half starved.” Perhaps she was starved. Her thin arms definitely proved she needed to eat more, and if her stomach—which rested on her backbone—was any indication of how regularly she ate, she would have to fatten up a bit.

Mrs. Smythe’s expression changed from one of shock to humor as she winked. “You just have a healthy appetite. But I think if I ever find the person who was starving you, nothing will keep me from beating him with a whip.” Once again, the servant gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. This time, however, the color disappeared from her face.

Louisa arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. Why had the housekeeper acted so strangely? By all accounts, no one seemed to know her—so why did Mrs. Smythe give her the distinct impression that she did? There was something in the woman’s eyes, a flicker of knowledge, perhaps even suspicion, that Louisa couldn’t ignore.

Wiping her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, Louisa used the sleeve of her gown, an action she immediately regretted. Mrs. Smythe cringed, her disapproval evident, and quickly handed Louisa another linen napkin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Louisa mumbled, feeling awkward as she dabbed the napkin to her lips. She then attempted to blot the stain from her sleeve, and a flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks. What else had the housekeeper noticed?

“So, Mrs. Smythe?” She lifted her gaze to the servant. “Since I do not remember who I am, do you know me? Do I look familiar at all?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m really the wrong person to ask. If anyone will know, it’ll be His Grace.”

Frowning, she nodded. “True. I certainly hope someone will know me because I most definitely do not. And not having anything to think about all day will drive me absolutely insane.”

“I cannot even imagine. His Grace will provide you the best medical care available, and I shall assign a maid to stay by your side and keep you company.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smythe. Your assistance is much appreciated.”

Once the food settled warmly in Louisa’s belly, a deep, bone-weary fatigue crept over her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and each blink became slower than the last. The exhaustion that had been tugging at the edges of her mind now crashed over her in waves. All she wanted was to sink into the soft, inviting bed and let the comfort of the covers wrap around her, shielding her from the world. Sleep beckoned her like a gentle whisper, and she could no longer resist its pull.

“Here now, Miss Louisa.” The housekeeper removed the tray of food. “I think rest is the best medicine.”

Louisa yawned. “I believe you are correct.”

Even though her body ached with exhaustion, Louisa rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would finally claim her. But it didn’t come easily. Mrs. Smythe had dimmed the lamps, casting the room in a soft, shadowy glow, yet Louisa remained wide awake, her mind restless. Try as she might, the Duke of Kenbridge occupied her every thought. It wasn’t just his striking appearance that intrigued her—though he was undeniably handsome—it was the sorrow the housekeeper had hinted at, the sadness that seemed to cloak his very being.

Had she always been this curious? This need to unravel mysteries, to understand the hidden depths of others—was it simply in her nature? Perhaps. But there was something different about the duke. This time, her curiosity wasn’t just intellectual; it was something deeper, more personal. He fascinated her, not just because of the enigma he presented, but because of the way his presence stirred something within her.

As she lay there, eyes closed, her imagination began to wander. She envisioned him not just as a figure of mystery, but as someone strong, someone who might one day hold her with those capable hands. The thought brought a warmth to her cheeks, and before she could stop herself, her mind slipped into fantasy. It was a tempting reason to let herself drift, to dream of something—someone—who made her heart race in ways she hadn’t felt in a long time.