Free Elizabeth Mansfield by Mother's Choice Page A

name," she said. "Nor that of this kind gentleman."
    "That's because I haven't told it to you," Jeremy reminded her gently.
    "But I knew it before, did I not? And the names of the ladies who were just here? I must have, for one of them said she was my daughter!" She looked up at the doctor, her eyes distraught. "I've had six visitors so far and was unable to recognize a single one of them."
    "Ah, but you counted them. That means you can still calculate."
    "Calculate? I merely counted to six. A three-year-old child could—"
    "Not so, ma'am. With a blow of the sort you suffered, you are lucky you can calculate at all. And not only can you calculate, but you seem to have no trouble remembering words. That's another good sign."
    "Is it?" she asked doubtfully.
    "Very." He loosened her grip on Jeremy's lapels, sat down in his place and, with gentle fingers, measured the size of the lump on her cranium. It was even more swollen than it had been before. "Head still hurting?" he asked.
    "Like the very devil."
    The doctor nodded understandingly. "Be patient, my dear. This memory lapse is temporary, I promise you, and so is your pain. I'll give you another dose of laudanum. Sleep's the best curative for concussion."
    Despite his hearty optimism, Cassie's anguish was not eased. She watched him prepare the potion—mixing a glass of water with some opium powders taken from his bag—but when he offered it to her, she turned her head away. "I don't want to sleep," she said, reaching out and taking Jeremy's hand for support. "I had dreadful nightmares all night long."
    Jeremy took the glass from the doctor's hand, sat down beside her and held it to her lips. "Nightmares are only dark dreams," he said gently. "Wisps of nothingness. They can't hurt you."
    His voice and his nearness soothed her. She drank the concoction and sank back against the pillows. "If I didn't have this blasted headache, I'd think this was a nightmare," she muttered.
    "So it is, in some manner," said Dr. Swan, closing up his bag. "Well, I shall be on my way. Will you come along, my lord, and see me out?"
    Jeremy started to rise. Cassie, experiencing a sudden flood of terror at the thought of being left alone with her pain and her despair, raised herself from the pillow and threw her arms about Jeremy's waist. "Don't leave me," she whispered into his chest.
    Jeremy could not keep himself from cradling her in his arms. He had the strangest feeling that she belonged there, tight against him. Her closeness, the softness of her, the silken touch of her hair against his cheek, her tremblingly innocent need of him, all combined to arouse in him a feeling of tenderness that was beyond what he'd ever before experienced. If it were only possible, he thought, to take on himself all her pain and her fears, he would do it. He had an overpowering yearning to keep her safe forever, to offer her his protection from all of life's hurts.
    But of course he could not encourage these feelings, not in himself and not in her. He was the man whom she'd expressly instructed to stay out of her life. When her memory returned, and she learned his true identity, he would be the man she would wish never to see again.
    Realizing that he must not encourage her to cling to him, he loosened her hold on him. "You will not be alone," he said, urging her gently back against the pillows and smiling reassuringly. "I'll send Mrs. Stemple in to stay with you. You'll find her a most comforting companion."
    Jeremy and Dr. Swan hurried down the stairs to face Lady Beringer's family. They found the ladies sitting at the table, attended by Charles and Hickham, but in spite of the number of dishes placed before them, they had evidently not touched a bite of breakfast. Eva and Cicely jumped to their feet as the two men entered, their eyes tense and anxious. Jeremy introduced the doctor and suggested that they all sit down.
    "Well, Doctor, what did you find?" Eva asked as soon as they were seated.
    "I found a patient