Cecelia concentrated on setting her off-kilter breathing to rights. She dragged air in and out of her shrunken lungs while she contemplated all the implications of this shocking news. “Mr. Hunt? Oh, my goodness. Peter? I mean … what’s his name?”
“I believe it’s Adam,” Mary offered tentatively.
“He’s not a duke?” Cecelia groaned.
“No, but his brother is.”
Cece squeezed her eyes shut. That explained so much.
“But Adam … Mr. Hunt seems ever so kind, Cece. He’s been good to me. And to you.”
Cece made her way back over to the settee and sank onto the cushion. She hid her face in her hands. “Oh, my goodness, Mary. I’ve been calling him Peter all this time. I told him he was my betrothed. He didn’t deny it.”
“You’ve been calling him the Duke of Loveridge, too,” Mary replied.
Cece groaned.
“Apparently, you thought you were Lady Magnolia and he was the Duke of Loveridge.”
The last two days flashed through Cece’s mind, every single misguided, mistaken moment of them. “For heaven’s sake, I wrote a letter to a rabbit.”
“What?” Mary’s blue eyes were filled with confusion.
“Never mind. Why didn’t they tell me I was mistaken?” Cece asked, her face still hidden and no doubt flaming with her shame. A flash of anger surfaced as well. “Everyone lied to me.”
Mary sat next to her and patted her on the back. “Dr. Archibald asked Mr. Hunt to pretend along with you. He said it would be best not to upset you, and to hope your memory returned on its own. They might have lied to you, but they did it on the orders of a doctor.” Mary dissolved into a coughing fit.
“Oh, Mary, you shouldn’t be out in this air in your condition.” Cece pulled her sister close to her. The flash of anger immediately passed. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault that she’d sustained a head injury and believed she was a fictitious future duchess. It was kind of them to play along and keep from frightening her, actually. Not to mention they’d generously allowed a complete stranger to reside in their home the last two days.
“I’ve been looking for you day and night,” Mary replied, her coughing subsiding.
“Yes, I—” Cece sat up and pressed a hand to her chest. Just like that, it all hit her. The dream that seemed so real slipped from her grasp. She wasn’t Lady Magnolia Makepeace and the man she’d been referring to as her betrothed, the man she’d kissed, wasn’t Peter Peregrine, the Duke of Loveridge. “Who … who is this family?” she asked, already dreading the answer.
“You’re in the town house of the Duke of Claringdon. His youngest brother, Mr. Hunt, found you on the street. It was awfully fortunate they took you in.”
Cece groaned. “Oh, good heavens! The Duke of Claringdon? The war hero duke? Why, this family must think I’m a complete loon.”
Mary patted her back again. “They seem to like you, Cece.”
Just then, another awful thought struck Cece. Though it would certainly explain the butler’s odd behavior. “Is Lucy truly married to Derek?”
Mary nodded. “Yes.”
“Oh, my goodness. I’ve been flippantly casual with a duchess for the last two days? This couldn’t be any worse, could it?” She glanced at her sister, and the look in Mary’s eyes made Cece’s heart drop. “What? What is it, Mary?”
Mary wrung her hands. “Uncle Herbert has been beside himself. He posted the banns for your wedding to Percy the day you disappeared. Apparently, he’d already been intending to do so. When you were missing, he assumed you discovered what he’d been planning and you ran away.”
Cecelia pulled her sister into her arms again. “I’d never run away from you, Mary. I’d never leave you behind.”
Mary continued to speak through her renewed bout of tears. “I knew you must have had a good reason, Cece. But the wedding is still planned. It’s to be three weeks hence. Uncle Herbert has been turning up the town looking for you. I don’t think he ever expected you to be so close. I never told him about Mr. Cornwall.” Mary reached down and clasped Cece’s hands. “Please tell me. Did you sell your book to him?”
Cece searched her memory. Every bit of her awful encounter with the publisher came flooding back. She gulped. “No, darling. No. I did not.”
Mary pressed her lips together and raised her chin, obviously making a valiant effort to stop her tears. She nodded bravely.
Cece dropped her head into her hands again. Reality seeped into her brain. She was not a fine lady betrothed to a duke. She was an imposter, imposing upon a family that was apparently too kind to kick her out onto the street. Lucy had been so kind and Peter, or Adam, had been so … but wait. She lifted her head. He had kissed her back, hadn’t he? Knowing she wasn’t his betrothed. Was it possible that he had some true feelings for her? Oh, God, no. How could the brother of a duke want anything to do with her?