Awakening Amelia by Kate Pearce

the father of a large and growing family, and his wife is a shrew.”
    “So she might be the one pushing for this change.”
    “I would imagine so.” She sighed. “She is only doing what she thinks best for the future of her family. I can’t say I blame her.”
    “You are too kind.” He stood up. “Do you still wish to go to the vicarage or do you intend to write your letter first?”
    “I’d rather go for a walk than sit here and worry.”
    “Then I’ll put on my boots.”
    Within the quarter hour, Marco was strolling alongside Mrs. Smith enjoying the freshness of the sea air and the sense of freedom. Whatever had happened to him in the past few years, he knew that such peaceful habits such as walking in the countryside had been denied him. He’d never again forget to appreciate the smaller things that made life bearable.
    And perhaps revisiting the village where he had been found might jog his mind into remembering something important, like why he’d been left there or who he was. The frustration of knowing nothing was grating on his nerves. If he could only regains some sense of self he might leave the sanctuary of Dove Cottage and make his own way in the world again. If he stayed much longer he might never want to leave…
    “The Sherringhams are a nice enough couple. He tends toward pomposity and she has a tendency to blurt out the first thing that comes into her head, but they mean no harm.”
    He smiled at her, jolted out of his desperate thoughts. “You are remarkably forthright, Mrs. Smith.”
    “I survived in a company of soldiers for far too long. I forgot how to be anything else but blunt and to the point.” She shrugged. “I do try very hard to be polite to everyone.”
    “Apart from me.”
    She glanced up at him. “You are a soldier and a blunt man yourself. Sometimes when I’m with you I forget to act like a respectable widow.”
    “I’m glad of that.” He hesitated. “I’m still finding it hard to get my bearings in English. Deciphering what people mean as opposed to what they say is proving more difficult than I anticipated.”
    “Then perhaps I should stop teasing you as well.”
    “Please don’t.” He let his gaze follow along the rutted path, automatically accessing the possibility of an ambush. “You speak the truth to me. I value that immensely.”
    Ambush…
    He stopped walking as the memory of discharging rifles in an echoing mountain pass and the screams of his companions shuddered through him in minute bloody detail.
    “Marco?”
    She had taken his clenched fist between her hands and was rubbing his fingers.
    “I just remembered something.”
    “What?”
    “There was an ambush in the high mountain pass. I don’t remember anything after that.”
    “Perhaps that’s when you were taken prisoner.” She kept holding his hand. “Do you wish to return to Dove Cottage?”
    He took a deep breath. “No, I think I’m fine now.” He started walking again and automatically tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’ve learned not to force my memories. It seldom helps, and I end up with a headache.”
    “How horrible for you.”
    The vicarage came into view beside the tall steeple of the grey stone church. The house was built of the same stone, but was of much later date. Mrs. Smith unlatched the gate and waited for him to join her on the path.
    “It is a fine church.” Marco tried to speak normally.
    “The original is Norman and the steeple is a recent addition. I’m not too fond of it myself, but the parishioners seem to like it. The vicarage was rebuilt by Mr. Sherringham who is sure to mention to you that he is the fourth son of the cousin of an earl, so do prepare yourself to be suitably impressed.”
    Marco found himself smiling. “I will remember that.”
    “After we’ve paid our visit here, we can go into the village proper to post Aunt Betty’s letter and see if we have any mail.”
    “That sounds most agreeable, Mrs. Smith.”
    She glanced up at