Come the Dawn by Christina Skye Page B

you want to know what happened to your sister. It was footpads,” she explained. “There were twenty of them at least. The earl fought them all off with his bare hands. Your sister helped, too, of course,” she added quickly. “She must have beaten off ten by herself, which makes her very brave, don’t you agree?”
    Ian looked at India, pale but smiling on the bed. “I think this is probably the bravest woman in the world.”
    Alexis nodded gravely. “You are nice. I think both of you are nice.” Then she turned, suddenly commanding. “We can go now. Lady India will wish to be alone with her brother.” Alexis looked at Herrington, standing uncomfortably in the doorway. “I think you had better come with us, too, my lord.”
    The ‘earl’ nodded and took Alexis’s hand. “Why don’t you tell me more about this favorite day of yours?” he said gravely. “While you do, we’ll go down to the kitchen and find out what Cook has in the way of cookies. Would you like that?”
    Alexis’s face brightened. “I’d love it more than anything. And if they’re very nice, we’ll let Andrew and Marianne come along, shall we?”
    “Of course.” Herrington laughed as he led the children from the room.
    After the others had gone, Ian stood for a long time studying his sister. Her face was pale but composed. Only he would have noticed the faint haze of tears in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. Uncertain where to begin, Ian held his tongue, leaving the explanations up to her.
    Her fingers pleated and unpleated the edge of the bed linens. “Don’t scowl, Ian.”
    “Was I? So sorry.”
    “Where can I start?” she said finally. “It was Dev, of course. It happened in Brussels, and suddenly everything was — out of my control. I meant to tell you, but you were always away on some mission or other. Then there was Waterloo.” Her eyes locked on the doorway. “When it was over and I knew I had lost him, I couldn’t bear to speak of it. Perhaps I thought if I didn’t say the words, they wouldn’t be true and he might still come back to me.”
    Ian’s heart twisted when he saw her cheeks, slick with tears.
    “But now he has come back and it doesn’t make any difference. He’s forgotten everything, Ian. He might as well be a stranger. How can I possibly bear it?”
    Her voice broke and her brother bent low, putting his forehead against hers. His hand ran gently across her cheek. “It can’t be forever, India. Surely the memories will return.”
    “Perhaps,” India whispered. “But I don’t think I can bear to wait. How can I look into his eyes and see nothing but the flat, indifferent gaze of a stranger? Especially after all we were to each other?” She caught a ragged breath and brushed awkwardly at her cheeks. “Now you’ll think I’m a disgrace for spoiling your beautiful jacket this way.” She brushed Ian’s exquisitely tailored broadcloth.
    But her brother snorted fondly. “You’re no such thing. A hoyden and a minx, but never a disgrace.” Then his smile faded. “And as for Thornwood, I think you must learn to wait. He has come back to you, his body intact at least. We can only pray that his mind will return also. And now,” he said gravely, “I want to know exactly what you were doing wandering about the streets last night and how in heaven’s name you managed to get yourself shot by a pair of footpads.”
    “I had to see him, Ian. I couldn’t bear that we would run across one another among a crowd of strangers outside the British Museum or in a crowded ballroom. And it was worse than I could have imagined. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his face. I thought his death had destroyed me, but this — this is like a waking death.” Her hands tightened on the linens. “I know I need to rest while this wound heals, but I don’t know if I can stand the pain of staying here and seeing him like that.”
    Her brother frowned. “You shouldn’t be up and about for several