Edward snorted and would have rolled his eyes except she chose that moment to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. His shirt was thin, almost threadbare, and he could feel the soft ridges and contours of her fingers settling against him with cool, quiet strength.
It calmed him. His temper did not magically evaporate, but he was able to take a long, even breath—just enough to keep himself from going for the colonel’s throat.
“He was not sure of the date,” Cecilia said, her voice gaining in certitude. “I believe he thought it was . . .” She looked over at Edward.
“Not June,” he said sharply.
The doctor frowned and took Edward’s wrist, nodding as he counted his pulse. When he was through he looked first into one of Edward’s eyes and then the other.
“My eyes are fine,” Edward muttered.
“What is the last thing you remember, Captain Rokesby?” the doctor asked.
Edward opened his mouth, fully intending to answer the question, but his mind stretched before him like an endless expanse of gray misty air. He was on the ocean, the steel blue water unnaturally calm. Not a ripple, not a wave.
Not a thought or memory.
He grabbed the bedsheets in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to recover his memory if he wasn’t even sure what he did remember?
“Try, Rokesby,” Colonel Stubbs said gruffly.
“I am trying,” Edward snapped. Did they think he was an idiot? That he didn’t care? They had no idea what was going on in his head, what it felt like to have a huge blank space where memories ought to be.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. He needed to get ahold of himself. He was a soldier; he had been trained to be calm in the face of danger. “I think . . . maybe . . . I was supposed to go to Connecticut Colony.”
“You did go to Connecticut Colony,” Colonel Stubbs said. “Do you remember?”
Edward shook his head. He tried . . . he wanted to . . . but there was nothing. Just the vague idea that someone had asked him to go.
“It was an important journey,” the colonel pressed. “There is much we need you to tell us.”
“Well, that’s not likely now, is it?” Edward said bitterly.
“Please, you must not put such pressure on him,” Cecilia intervened. “He’s only just woken up.”
“Your concern does you credit,” Colonel Stubbs said, “but these are matters of vital military importance, and they cannot be put aside for an aching head.” He glanced over at a nearby soldier and jerked his head toward the door. “Escort Mrs. Rokesby outside. She may return once we finish questioning the captain.”
Oh no. That was not happening. “My wife will remain by my side,” Edward bit off.
“She cannot be party to such sensitive information.”
“That’s hardly an issue, since I have nothing to tell you.”
Cecilia stepped between the colonel and the bed. “You must give him time to regain his memory.”
“Mrs. Rokesby is correct,” the doctor said. “Cases such as this are rare, but it is very likely he will regain most, if not all, of his memories.”
“When?” Colonel Stubbs demanded.
“I cannot say. In the meantime, we must afford him all the peace and quiet that is possible under such difficult circumstances.”
“No,” Edward said, because peace and quiet was the last thing he needed. This had to be like everything else in his life. If you wanted to excel, you worked hard, you trained, you practiced.
You didn’t lie in bed, hoping for a bit of peace and quiet.
He looked over at Cecilia. She knew him. He might not remember her face, but they had exchanged letters for over a year. She knew him. She knew that he could not lie about and do nothing.
“Cecilia,” he said, “surely you must understand.”
“I think the doctor must be correct,” she said quietly. “If you would only rest . . .”
But Edward was already shaking his head. They were wrong, all of them. They didn’t—
Goddamn it.
A searing pain shot through his skull.
“What is wrong?” Cecilia cried. Edward’s last sight before squeezing his eyes shut was her looking frantically toward the doctor. “What is happening to him?”
“My head,” Edward gasped. He must have shaken it too quickly. It felt as if his brain were slamming into his skull.
“Are you remembering something?” Colonel Stubbs asked.
“No, you bloody—” Edward cut himself off before he called him something unforgivable. “It just hurts.”
“That’s enough,” Cecilia declared. “I will not permit you to question him any further.”
“You will not permit me?” Colonel Stubbs countered. “I am his commanding officer.”
It was a pity that Edward could not bring himself to open his eyes, because he would really have liked to have seen the colonel’s face when Cecilia said, “You are not my commanding officer.”
“If I might intervene,” the doctor said.
Edward heard someone step aside, and then he felt the mattress dip as the doctor sat beside him.
“Can you open your eyes?”
Edward shook his head, slowly this time. It felt as if the only way to fight the pain was to keep his eyes tightly closed.
“It can be like this with a head injury,” the doctor said gently. “They can take time to heal, and are often very painful in the process. I’m afraid it does no help to rush things.”
“I understand,” Edward said. He did not like it, but he understood.
“That’s more than we physicians can claim,” the doctor replied. His voice was a bit quieter, as if he’d turned to speak to someone else. “There is much we do not know about injuries to the brain. In fact, I’d wager what we don’t know far outweighs that which we do.”
Edward did not find this reassuring.
“Your wife has cared for you most diligently,” the doctor said, patting Edward’s arm. “I recommend that she continue to do so, if possible out of hospital.”
“Out of hospital?” Cecilia echoed.
Edward still hadn’t opened his eyes, but he heard a note of panic in her voice.
“He is no longer feverish,” the doctor said to her, “and the wound on his head is healing well. I see no sign of infection.”
Edward touched his head and winced.
“I wouldn’t do that,” the doctor said.
Edward finally pried his eyes open and looked down at his fingers. He’d half expected to see blood.
“I can’t remove him from hospital,” Cecilia said.
“You will be just fine,” the doctor said reassuringly. “He cannot hope for better care than from his wife.”
“No,” she said, “you don’t understand. I have no place to take him.”
“Where are you staying now?” Edward asked. He was suddenly reminded that she was his wife, and he was responsible for her well-being and safety.
“I’ve rented a room. It’s not far. But there is only the one bed.”
For the first time since he’d woken up, Edward felt the beginnings of a smile.
“The one small bed,” she clarified. “It hardly fits me. Your feet will hang over the side.” And then, when no one said anything fast enough to stave off her palpable unease, she added, “It is a boardinghouse for women. He would not be allowed.”
Edward turned to Colonel Stubbs with rising disbelief. “My wife has been staying in a boardinghouse?”
“We didn’t know she was here,” the colonel replied.
“You’ve obviously known for three days.”
“She was already situated . . .”
A hard, cold fury began to rise within him. Edward knew the nature of the women’s boardinghouses in New York Town. It didn’t matter if he could not recall the wedding, Cecilia was his wife.
And the army let her stay in such questionable lodgings?
Edward had been raised a gentleman—a Rokesby—and there were some insults that could not be borne. He forgot the pain in his skull, forgot even that he’d lost his bloody memory. All he knew was that his wife, the woman he was sworn to cherish and protect, had been badly neglected by the very band of brothers to whom he had devoted the last three years.