"I like the quiet in here, too," Serenity said as she ran her fingers along the raised wood that made a diamond pattern crisscrossing the wall.

"I guess that is why you are called Serenity," Melanda said, her voice again sharp, as it usually was when she addressed anyone but Felix. "Too much quiet starts sounding far too loud."

Timothy chuckled under his breath as Melanda and Felix walked away to look at the fire pit. "They are two of a kind."

"Not happy unless they are enjoying the entertainments of Town?" Serenity asked.

"Exactly." He leaned back against a tall stone stand that she guessed would hold a plant or a statue during a party. "Grandfather should be grateful that they tore themselves away from Town long enough to come here."

"But there is so little to do in Town during the holiday season."

His eyes narrowed. "You say that with true authority, Serenity."

"I wish," she said, wrapping her arms around herself, "that I could claim it was a fragment of memory coming to the surface, but it seems that it would be something anyone might know."

"You are probably right. How do you endure not remembering your past?"

"I do not endure it easily."

"I should think not. I honestly thought you would have recalled the whole of it by now."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I had hoped that I would. Now I wonder if it ever will return completely."

When he did not answer, she discovered him staring at the far side of the ballroom, as if he expected to discover all the answers imprinted on the wall.

"Timothy?" she whispered.

His gaze moved to her, and she saw regret in his eyes. Regret? For what?

"'Tis not your doing," she said quietly.

"Mayhap I should have heeded my instincts rather than Felix's idea. If I had arranged for you to be in a familiar place, you may have regained your memories with more alacrity."

She put her hand on his sleeve. "But what place would have been familiar? The inn was not." As her fingers glided along his arm, the flashes of heat returned to glow in his eyes. "Leaving me there would not have helped."

He grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Nor would we have had this opportunity to become acquainted." His voice softened. "Serenity ..."

Holding her breath, she gazed up at him. The hunger in his voice burned in his eyes and deep within her. The sample of ecstasy in their interrupted kiss honed the desire for another, this one continuing until they were sated. But would a single kiss ever be sufficient when she was utterly addicted to this pleasure?

Melanda's laugh trilled around the room again. Serenity looked hastily away from Timothy's enthralling expression.

Bending, he picked up the lamp and gave her a wry grin. "Shall we find out what is so amusing?"

"Yes," she said, even though she yearned for this interlude to linger, holding them together for another pair of heartbeats.

Felix threw out his hands to emphasize a point and struck Timothy's arm. Serenity gasped as the lamp flew out of his fingers. No one moved when it shattered against the fire pit, the light vanishing to leave them in a blanket of darkness. Melanda's shriek hurt Serenity's ears.

Quietly Timothy said, "No need for alarm, Melanda. Allow your eyes to adjust, and the moonlight will be enough to guide you to the door. You should have left the door ajar, Felix."

"I thought some privacy would be nice," he grumbled.

Serenity bit her lip to keep from laughing as she heard Melanda's sharp intake of breath. Mayhap Felix and Melanda had not intended to intrude on her and Timothy. Mayhap, instead, they had been seeking a private place for a rendezvous. She could not forget how Theodora had spoken of seeing them kissing by the duck pond.

"I think we should take our leave while the moonlight remains," Timothy said. "With its help, we should have no difficulty reaching the door."

In spite of Timothy's rea.s.suring words, he grasped Serenity's hand as they edged around the fire pit. She glanced at him and saw the faint sparkle of his smile in the dim light. For a moment she thought he was simply amused by his cousin and Melanda. Then, as he laced his fingers through hers, she saw that muted sparkle widen. She knew the truth. He had been as beguiled by their kiss as she was.

Fearful that everyone else could hear the sudden thunder of her heart, she held that thought close to cherish it. She was glad to think neither of the past nor the future, but to enjoy this moment when his thumb's clandestine caress against her palm sent bolts of delight through her.

Timothy opened the door and said, "I shall get someone to clean up the broken gla.s.s." He hurried along the hall.

Felix mumbled something before turning to Melanda, who sank to a nearby chair, her face as gray as if she had already succ.u.mbed to the vapors. When Melanda began to lament, Serenity wondered how she could be so distressed about something so incidental. n.o.body had been hurt, save for the lamp.

Serenity wanted to take her leave as well, but she was unsure if Felix, who was wringing his hands as if he held a dishrag, would be able to help Melanda if she was consumed by a crise de nerfs. Glancing wistfully in the direction Timothy had chosen, she stood in silence and listened to Melanda bemoaning how she suffered through the darkness and how she would prefer to be anywhere but these desolate moors. Serenity was not quite certain what the moors had to do with a broken lamp and a shadowed ballroom, so she started to ease away. Melanda's voice was growing stronger and sharper with every complaint.

Just as she was about to excuse herself, Serenity froze. She gasped, "Are you talking about the Frost Fair several years ago in London? Did you attend, too?"

Felix's eyes slitted in that expression she was seeing too often lately when she mentioned anything about her past. "Too, Serenity? Are you recalling some more of what you have forgotten?"

"Just images." She frowned. "When someone mentions a word, I occasionally remember something. Nothing specific. Just something. When you said Frost Fair I was transported to the past for only a second. In that second I saw the colorful pavilions on the Thames, the crowds, and little else."

He shrugged. "That is of little use to you in remembering who you really are. Mayhap you have a reason for not wanting to remember the truth."

"Or mayhap she has recalled it," Melanda said with an abruptly gleeful smile. "She simply does not wish to own to that."

"If," Serenity replied in her coldest voice, "I am fortunate to remember anything of import, you may be a.s.sured that I shall announce it from the highest roof of Cheyney Park so that no one will fail to heed it."

"Save Grandfather." Felix's laugh again had a brittle edge. "You would be wise to remember that you agreed to keep that knowledge to yourself until after Grandfather's party."

"If you will recall, we all agreed to keep our counsel about this." She glanced at Melanda.

Felix's face turned an unhealthy crimson. Jerking Melanda to her feet, he steered her along the pa.s.sage in the direction opposite the one Timothy had chosen.

Serenity watched them walk away. Felix was distressed. How much more distressed would he be if she told him how she grew more certain with the pa.s.sage of each day that she had met him and his father before? But where? Under what circ.u.mstances? She could not accuse him of keeping the truth of that meeting from her when he had been unable to keep from divulging the truth of her masquerade to both his father and Melanda.

But he has kept the secret from his grandfather!

She wished that thought had remained silent. In the weeks she had been at Cheyney Park, she had come to know this family so much better. Yet Felix Wayne seemed even more a stranger than ever. His bonhomie covered emotions that she hesitated to confront.

She wondered what would happen if she did.

Twelve.

The wind swirled around Serenity, plucking at her bonnet and scouring her face. Sunshine was eye-wrenchingly bright on the snow. Pulling her bonnet forward, she squinted past the hedges that tried to civilize this garden that had been stolen from the gorse and gra.s.ses of the moor.

She tried to envision this garden when spring bedecked it with flowers. It was impossible, because her spirits were too mired to let her imagination soar. By this week's end, she would be looking at leaving Cheyney Park, and she had no idea where she should go.

You can stay here.

The memory of Timothy's words and the hope in his eyes when he spoke them were seared in her brain. Not even a carriage accident could erase those memories. Mayhap because they were truly not in her brain, but in her heart.

She put her hand over the b.u.t.tons on her dark blue coat. He could not be the first one in her heart, for she had had a family. A mother who had died, a father who might be alive or dead, and a sister and a brother who were as unseen as the notes of a song. These people must have a place in her heart, if only she could figure out a way to find them.

When the snow crunched behind her, Serenity looked over her shoulder. She smiled as her heart leaped at the sight of Timothy striding toward her. His dark cloak flapped behind him as if it were trying to fly away from the wintry day. Beneath it, his buckskin breeches and dark coat were molded to his strong body by the wind. He must have given up any attempt to keep on a hat, because his tawny hair swirled into his eyes.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?" Serenity asked as he came up to her.

"I was checking with the stables about the final details for arrangements for the horses and carriages of Grandfather's guests. I saw you walking out here." He grinned as the wind slammed into them, knocking her against him. "What are you doing out here in the cold?"

"I like these wintry days."

"I think I am beginning to." He chuckled as he put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. "I could get very fond of this wind."

"'Tis not just the wind." She smiled. She stepped away and turned to admire the gardens. "With the fresh snow, everything looks brand-new. To everyone, not just to me."

When he offered his arm, she put hers through it. He led her toward the water garden. Although she wondered what he expected to find there, save for the reeds that were frozen into the ice, she matched her steps to his. She wanted to enjoy every moment of the few they had left to share.

"You are constantly amazing me with your comments, Serenity," he said, as he helped her down some stone steps that were edged with ice.

"How?"

"I don't know if I could be as accepting of losing all my memories as you are."

"You have said that before, and I have told you that I am not accepting of it. Not in the least." She laughed. "I have considered asking everyone for the same gift this holiday-the truth about what happened to me before that carriage accident."

"I wish I could tell you."

"You have heard nothing from London?" She paused to face him. The wind threw his cloak around her, so they were alone within its ebony shadow.

His smile vanished. "Nothing that will help you."

She put her hands on his coatsleeves. "What is it, Timothy?"

"Nothing to distress you. A setback with the start of the next factory."

"I am so sorry."

He stared at her, bafflement lining his face. "You are, are you not?"

"I know how important these projects are to you. You revel in the challenges and the escape they give you from the ton."

"I guess it is pretty obvious."

It is to the woman who loves you.

Serenity edged away from him and continued down another set of steps. Sweet heavens! Where had that thought come from? She could not be falling in love with Timothy. He was the heir to an earl, and she was ... She was no closer to knowing what she was than she had been the day she arrived at Cheyney Park.

"I did not mean to bore you with this discussion," Timothy said, taking the steps two at a time to catch up with her.

"It was not boring me."

"Then why are you running off?"

She forced a smile. It must have looked sincere, because he smiled back as she said, "If you have not noticed, my lord, it is downright cold. Standing still reminds me exactly how deeply the wind bites."

"I don't need a reminder of that." He put his arm around her shoulders. "This is just to keep warm."

"Really?" she asked when his eyes twinkled like the sunlight on the pond's ice.

"Yes, really, although it is an excellent excuse to stand close to you."

"You are being outrageous today." She hesitated, then asked, "Do you always do that when you don't want anyone to see that you are distressed?"

"Always."

"Then why has not anyone else figured out that you are distressed?"

He squeezed her shoulders as he had before. "Because they are caught up in all the plans for the holidays. Mrs. Gray told me yesterday morning that the cake for Grandfather's birthday will be four layers high."

"Five." She laughed. "She decided yesterday afternoon that four was not grand enough."

"Thank goodness she has not considered making it seven layers high, one for each decade."

"The cake is not done yet."

Timothy chuckled as they continued down the steps. She let the sound of his good humor surround her with a warmth that not even her cloak could match. While they walked through the winter garden, he pointed out where the flower beds would offer glorious color in just a few months. She slowly began to see the pattern of beauty that would be a joy for the eyes.

As they came around a corner of the curtain wall that extended into the garden, Serenity stared at a building that looked like no other building she had seen at Cheyney Park. Its roof arched up at the eaves, and it was hung with the tatters of paper lanterns that bounced mournfully in the wind.

"It is a Chinese building!" She peered closer at the carving on the walls. "Or it is supposed to be a Chinese building."

"Exactly right." He ducked his head to go through the low door beneath the odd roof.

When she followed, she found the room inside empty, save for benches ringing the edges. The weak sunlight poured down through clerestory windows that must be hidden in the roof, so no one outside the building could see them. Her fingers found carvings on the walls, but it was too shadowed to see what it was.

"A dragon over there," Timothy said, smiling, before she could ask. "I think there is a tree of some sort over here. Or mayhap this is the wall with a mountain and a river on it. I don't remember which is which."

"Your grandfather is fond of things of the Far East, is he not?"

"Actually it was my father who was." He sat on one of the stone benches, then stood with a grimace. "Dashed cold!"

Crossing her arms in front of her and slipping her hands under her arms, she mused, "So your father had this built? Did he travel to the East?" This place seemed oddly familiar, even though she could not guess why. It was the same sensation as when she had seen the temple lions ... and Felix and his father. She could not guess how they all had been connected.