Awakening Amelia by Kate Pearce Page A

him. “Your manners are quite exquisite, Marco. I suspect Mrs. Sherringham was correct, as you aren’t a common man at all. Do you remember where you went to school?”
    He considered the questions as she knocked on the front door. Had he been to school?
    “I believe I went somewhere. I have vague memories of other boys and being beaten…” He stopped talking as other more recent memories of savage beatings overwhelmed him. He grabbed hold of the doorframe and pressed his fingers hard into the wood to stop himself from falling into the blackness.
    “Marco?” He shivered as a cool hand touched his cheek. “I’m so sorry, are you quite well?”
    He concentrated on digging his fingernails into the wood until they hurt and took several deep breaths.
    “I’m fine. I apologize for worrying you.”
    The door abruptly opened, and he found himself staring down into the worried face of a young maid in a crisp white cap.
    “Ooh, is he all right, Mrs. Smith?” the girl asked.
    “I believe the walk has tired him out a little, Mabel. Perhaps we should get him into the drawing room.”
    Mrs. Smith took his elbow in a firm grasp and led him into a large, gracious room facing the back of the house.
    “Good afternoon, ma’am.” Marco could hardly hear her quiet voice as she lowered him into the nearest chair. “May I crave your indulgence while I attend to Marco? His strength has momentarily deserted him.”
    “Oh dear!” He looked up as a small woman fluttered toward him, her hands clasped to her bosom. “He isn’t sickening for something, is he? Because I do have my darling children to consider.”
    “No, he isn’t sick. Just rather overcome by the heat. I’m certain he’ll be just the thing in a moment or two.”
    He wished he had Mrs. Smith’s confidence in his ability to recover. All he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, pull the covers over his head and pretend the world no longer existed. After a moment or two, he managed to raise his head and forced himself to acknowledge the others in the room.
    “I do apologize,“ he murmured. “The walk tired me more than I anticipated.”
    A cup of tea was placed beside him, and Mrs. Smith patted his shoulder. “Have some tea, sir. You will feel much better in a moment.”
    He did what she told him simply to have something to occupy his hands. But after a few sips of the highly sweetened tea, he began to feel better.
    “Thank you.” He risked as smile at his hostess who sat anxiously regarding him from the edge of her chair. “That is most welcome. I do apologize again, Mrs. Sherringham.”
    “I am just pleased that you are all right, Mr. Marco.” She shuddered. “How horrible would it have been if you had collapsed on the walk when poor dear Amelia was the only person with you?”
    He assumed Amelia would’ve found a way to save him, but he refrained from saying so and simply agreed with his hostess. After another cup of tea he was able to sit up and take more part in the conversation, which consisted mainly of Mrs. Sherringham’s complaints and Mrs. Smith’s commiserations. He’d met many women like Mrs. Sherringham, beautiful, but rather empty headed, her focus on her family and husband rather than the more complicated aspects of politics or wars. Most men preferred their womenfolk to be like that. He’d always preferred a woman who spoke her mind. Like his grandmother…
    Another clue to his former existence, an image of a woman who looked rather like him, which instantly disappeared. She’d like Mrs. Smith. He was quite certain about that.
    After a while, the vicar arrived to shake his hand and exclaim over his recovery. He was also offered a selection of recent newspapers to take back to the cottage with him, which he accepted with the necessary gratitude. It was still hard to read without getting a headache. Even worse, sometimes the words floated around and made no sense. But he needed to understand what was going on in his world; it would make