Chapter 3
GRACE KEPT HER eyes shut half a moment longer than necessary when she woke.
Memories of the horrid headache she’d contracted just after dinner the night before assailed her, phantom pain throbbing at her temples.
Her eyelids tensed with recollection. Would the pounding return with light?
Would she ever be free of these newfound, horrid headaches?
But when she at last took in the dim. morning light of the room, no pain was there. Relief took a puff of air from her lungs, and she pushed to a seated position.
The room around her was familiar. And yet, not? Familiar, perhaps, as something she’d seen a time or two, long ago. But not yet comfortable.
It was disconcerting. Yet it was her new reality.
Her maid bustled in. The freckled, youthful face was only recognizable in that she’d served Grace for nigh on a week now.
After a series of extensive questions, the physician had determined that approximately six years of Grace’s memories were affected by the fall.
Which meant Grace had needed to be told of her family’s change in fortune.
She recalled a much smaller estate, overgrown gardens, and her youngest sibling as barely a babe.
Now, they were evidently wealthy gentry with manicured lawns flanking two new additions to the estate, and Margaret has just entered her sixth year.
The young maid bustled around while Grace rubbed a hand across her forehead, ghosts of the pain from the night before rearing their heads before she tamped them down. A knock came at the door while the maid laid out Grace’s gown. And before either she or Grace could react, Grace’s mama bustled in.
Her smile was wide, but something about it appeared brittle. Not false. But perhaps forced?
“Oh good,” she said, sweeping across the room, “you are up. And your… head?” Mama tucked a stray curl behind Grace’s ear, not meeting her eyes.
“Much better,” Grace responded, in part because she knew that was what her mother would wish to hear.
And she was correct; Mama’s gaze joined hers, her smile growing warm.
“Good. That is good.” She crossed the room to the maid, humming a little in satisfaction as she took in the light green walking dress.
“Tilly, prepare Grace’s maroon gown for tonight.
I do believe some of the embroidery on the hem has come undone, and it ought to be repaired. ”
Tilly nodded, sweeping across the room for the armoire, but Grace cocked her head, coming to her feet. “A gown? What for?”
“The harvest ball is tonight. The Ellisons have expressly desired your attendance.”
Grace balked. “I cannot go.”
Mama’s smile became tenuous again. “Oh, but you must. So many of our neighbors wish to see you. To ensure your… ah…” She abandoned the train of thought, crossing to Grace and gripping her hands in hers.
Mama was possessed of the same dark blonde hair as Grace, the same coloring, and the same nose.
Only twenty years older, they could almost pass as sisters.
But Grace felt no sisterly warmth from her just now.
Simply a sort of frantic emotion as her slim fingers wrapped around her own.
Grace had been home a week, and though much more was familiar here than at Aunt Elizabeth’s home in Dover, it was somehow more frustrating.
Her parents accompanied her home with genuine concern and incredible solicitousness, but then Father had left on business and now it seemed as if Mama wished the whole affair done with.
Easy for some to move on, perhaps. But Grace had entire holes in her memory. Gaping, black holes that kept her very much aware of what she had lost.
Or rather, unaware. Because she could not remember the things that were missing.
“You will do just fine, dear,” Mama said, in a tone that might have passed as calming, if she hadn’t seemed to be convincing herself as much as Grace.
“I do not know the dances.”
Her mother patted her hand. “I have an instructor coming today to go over the finer points, but I imagine you will remember more than you think!”
Grace shook her head. “It is nerve-inducing. I do not think I should enjoy it.”
Mama blinked at her, as if surprised that she was putting up such a fuss. Grace’s midsection dipped with guilt at how familiar that expression was becoming on Mama’s face. She did not like to disappoint her mother, and yet she felt as if she were doing so at every turn.
Not quite meeting her eyes, Mama patted her hand. “Do not worry yourself. I will be with you.”
Grace dipped her head, deferring to her mother as she seemed to end up doing in every conversation since her arrival home.
“Has Clara returned?” she asked. Her nearest sister was at a seminary in Kent, but Mama had written to bring her home as soon as her studies permitted.
Her younger brother, too, was at school.
And the only other siblings Grace possessed were in the nursery, not of an age to join them at the ball.
“Not yet. In a week, perhaps. She is to come through with your Aunt Dorothea.”
“And Papa?” Pressing business had pulled him away once she’d been settled in the house, when the physician had cleared Grace as being nearly healed. Nearly, only because much of her memory was still lost to her.
“He will be gone a fortnight at least,” Mama said. “But I am certain he would wish you to engage with the neighborhood as well.”
Grace tamped down her disappointment. She hadn’t a clue what emotion displayed itself upon her features, but it must have been positive to her mother, because she patted her hand once more and crossed to the door.
“There you are. We will mend the gown and have you all cleaned up by tonight. Never you fear.” With a last smile, she slipped from the room.
But the problem was that Grace did not wish to be cleaned up. No matter how much they patched up her outward appearance, she was still broken within.