carriage pulled up to a large red-brick town house.
‘We are here,’ Lucien said.
A footman emerged from the building and opened the carriage door. Lucien climbed out and turned to help her disembark, then he reached in and picked up the two small parcels that contained their meagre belongings.
They wore the clothes that the Molloys had found for them. The clothes they wore in the shipwreck were gone. The footman looked them up and down with haughty contempt, no doubt due to those plain clothes of a simple fishing villager.
‘Your luggage?’ the footman said with a sneer.
‘We have none.’ Lucien turned to the coachman and paid him out of some coins he took from his pocket.
The man grinned. ‘I thank you, sir!’
Lucien then straightened and glared at the footman with an expression that would make any man quake. ‘We require two rooms and I am well able to pay.’
The footman nodded curtly. ‘Follow me.’
They entered a large hall with marble floors covered in part with a brightly hued floral carpet that looked like it came from the looms at Axminster.
Axminster? Somehow she knew such carpets were made at Axminster. That was not a memory, though. It was knowledge.
Along the walls were pale green sofas and tables with brass embellishments. It was all quite opulent and Claire had the sense she’d never seen anything go grand.
But that was not a memory, was it? More like an absence of memory.
There also was an impressive mahogany desk and a finely dressed man rising from its chair.
Lucien strode over to him. ‘Mr Castle.’
The man peered at him for a moment before gasping. ‘Captain Roper? You are returned.’ He continued to look puzzled.
‘Unexpectedly,’ Lucien replied. ‘Forgive our simple clothing.’ He turned to Claire. ‘Lady Rebecca, let me present Mr Castle, the hotel owner. I stayed here when previously in Dublin.’
Before the shipwreck, he meant.
‘Mr Castle.’ Claire curtsied.
Lucien turned back to Mr Castle. ‘This is Lady Rebecca Pierce, the Earl of Keneagle’s sister. We will need two rooms, Mr Castle. And a great deal more.’
Mr Castle’s gaze darted between them. ‘Your luggage?’
Lucien was quick to reply. ‘We have none. Our ship to England foundered. We survived, but lost everything.’
‘Foundered?’ Mr Castle turned to her, an expression of sympathy on his face. ‘Oh, my. Were you on the Dun Aengus? We heard it wrecked. What a terrible ordeal. The hotel will assist you in any way we are able.’
‘We are most in need of clothing.’ Lucien gestured to the plain brown, ill-fitting coat he wore.
‘I will make enquiries as to how we might attire you quickly.’ Mr Castle took keys from a drawer in his desk.
‘That would be so kind of you,’ Claire said.
Mr Castle smiled and signalled to the footman to escort them to their rooms on the second floor.
Their rooms were again next to each other. Lucien would not be so far away.
He stood in her doorway. ‘I will leave you here to rest. There is time for me to visit the bank.’
Her stomach fluttered.
How silly to have nerves simply because he was leaving her alone. This was not some wilderness—or the open sea—but a respectable hotel.
She could try to do something useful. ‘Perhaps I should write to my brother. There is bound to be pen and ink somewhere.’ She began opening drawers until finding the one with paper, pen and ink. ‘What should I say? I don’t have his direction.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘Or his given name. He will think me odd to call him Lord Keneagle.’
He remained in the doorway.
She turned to him and made herself smile. ‘But you must go.’
He hesitated longer before finally speaking. ‘I will write to your brother, if you like.’
‘Would you?’ Her muscles relaxed. And she hadn’t realised she’d been tense. She caught herself, though. ‘I cannot ask you to do so much for me.’
‘I offered.’ He shrugged. ‘I will write it before I go to the bank and have it sent by messenger.’
* * *
Lucien returned to his room and opened the desk there, removing a pen, ink and paper.
It made sense for him to write the letter, even if it was to the descendent of the man who’d created the genesis of his mother’s unhappiness.
Perhaps his own, as well.
Neither he nor Lady Rebecca had anything to do with that event, however. They’d not even been born. It was his mother who’d kept the angry fires burning all these years.
He uncapped the ink and dipped the quill into it. As concisely as he could, he described the shipwreck, Lady Rebecca’s amnesia and their whereabouts in the weeks since.
The Earl would send for her, Lucien was certain. Would he send someone to accompany her? Without a memory it would be hard for her to travel alone. Perhaps Lucien would be compelled to go with her and see the estate that had reaped the benefits of his family’s financial demise.
He finished the letter and wrote its direction on the envelope.
Leaving his room, he made his way back to Mr Castle’s desk. ‘There is something you can do for me, Mr Castle.’
‘I am at your service.’ The man smiled.
He handed Castle the letter. ‘Send this by messenger. To the Earl of Keneagle. Make certain it reaches his hands.’
Mr Castle took the letter. ‘It will be done.’
Lucien left the hotel and walked the two miles to Number Two College Green, the Bank of Ireland.
The clerk he had dealt with before greeted him with the same level of surprise Mr Castle had shown. ‘Captain Roper? I thought you were already in England.’
Lucien repeated the story of the shipwreck, explaining his duty to see the Earl of Keneagle’s sister back safely to her family. He did not mention her amnesia.
‘I need access to funds,’ Lucien explained. ‘All was lost in the shipwreck.’
As well as seeking funds for his own use, he arranged for generous rewards to be sent to Captain Molloy and his fishermen. And to Molloy’s cousin and his wife as well. When everything was settled, he returned to the hotel.
* * *
When he entered the hall, Mr Castle called him over.
‘I hired a messenger for you. He has started the journey.’ He handed Lucien a piece of paper. ‘And I procured the name and direction of a second-hand shop that sells clothing that should meet your standards. I can arrange a hackney coach to take you there today, if you like.’
They desperately needed clothes. What Lady Rebecca wore now was serviceable, but certainly inappropriate for an earl’s daughter.
‘I am very grateful, Mr Castle,’ Lucien responded. ‘I will ask the lady what she wishes and have your answer directly.’
He hurried up the stairs and knocked on her door.
She opened it. ‘Lucien. You are back.’
Had she expected he would leave her alone all day? ‘Mr Castle has found a shop where we might purchase clothing second-hand. We can go there right now, if you desire it.’
Claire