For Love of a Vampire

Chapter 6

The inn was surprisingly close to Duncan's family estate. I soon found myself immersed in a deep copper tub filled with soothing lavender scented water, while the heat of the fireplace sent warm waves over my exposed flesh.

I was in heaven.

I'd learned from various covert conversations that the woman they mistook me for was Margaret-Jane Bush. I found this interesting since my given name was also Margaret–Jane and I'd shortened it to Jane. She'd shortened hers to Margaret.

It was remarkable enough that we shared a name, but the fact that we looked the same topped the scales of uncanny.

I found a small portrait of Lady Margaret and was amazed by the resemblance. It could have easily been me who'd sat for the artist. Not only did we look alike, but I soon discovered we wore the same size when Elizabeth helped me dress for dinner. I marveled over the fit of the yellow dress with orange underlay. The delicate embroidered flowers trailed down its front, encouraging the eye to admire the matching embroidered slippers. It would have been considered garish in my lifetime, yet quite in style there. After the baroque style wig was fitted to my head, I looked at myself as best I could in the thick, hazy mirror and smiled. I looked and felt like the lady they'd labeled me to be.

I can't tell you how many times I wanted to ask about the label of "lady", but each time I hesitated. Although I was being accepted as an amnesiac whose memory was slowly returning, I didn't know how far I could carry the ruse. Instead, I kept my eyes and ears opened for verbal and visual clues that seemed to be everywhere.

Although this was Duncan's home, I got the impression Lady Margaret spent a tremendous amount of time there. This was good. It meant she knew Duncan and my concerns of how to get close to him were over.

I was greeted by Lord Collier as I descended the broad, curved staircase to join him for dinner. He'd brought the party from the inn with him and I could hear them conversing merrily in the dining room as we approached. No one paid us much notice as he led me to my seat next to his. I caught a bit of conversation here or there as we made our way up the twenty-six-foot mahogany table, but, in truth, I was so in awe of the massive table with its exquisite table settings and the elegantly decorated room that could probably fit my entire apartment in that I paid them as little attention as they paid me. Clearly the earl was a man of wealth and he wasn't afraid to show it.

As I settled into my seat, he called the table to attention.

"My distinguished guests, please welcome Lady Margaret back to our table," he said in a calm, steady voice while he smiled and nodded toward me. "Lady Margaret has experience trying times and has suffered amnesia as a result. Of course 'twill not last. While it exists, we shall do our best to assist her with recall at every opportunity." He raised his glass and continued to smile while he looked at each and every one of his dinner guests. "Now, a toast to our beloved, Lady Margaret."

I raised my glass in reply to their toast and savored the sweet fruity wine as it slid down my throat. It was the first drink of quality I'd had since I'd arrived. My entire body responded with a warm 'thank-you'. I was just about to dive into the tomato onion bisque one of the servants spooned into my bowl when my attention was captured by a small raucous at the other end of the exceedingly long table.

"I do not give a damn who she is or how dear my uncle thinks her," bellowed a high pitched female voice. "She was wrong for the mission and you know it. 'Twas I who should have gone. Damn you, Samuel, you know 'twas I who should have gone, but would you speak on my behalf? No! Damn you to hell!"

I followed the words to the end of the table until my eyes settled on the hostile face of the petite beauty who spat them at her nearby dinner companion. Even with her pinched up anger, her almond shaped, sapphire blue eyes sparkled against high cheek bones that framed a perfect aristocratic nose. Her lips were pursed in anger, but I could tell they were well formed and probably a bit pouty when relaxed. Her eyebrows hinted of dark hair beneath her elaborate wig. She would have been all the rage in theater. Since I'd struggled against beauties just like this one for every part I managed to scrape up, I resented her on principle alone and the hairs went up on the back of my neck.