The doctor proceeded to ask Tabetha additional questions about her symptoms, providing Stone with an opportunity to cross the room, palm the document, and tuck it into his pocket. More than likely, the next time she woke up, she’d remember everything. Dear God, he hoped so anyway.
What he didn’t need right now was for their cover to be blown. The Hettrick’s were kind enough now but would have all manner of questions if they discovered a certificate listing different names than the ones they’d checked in under.
“I’ll remember when I wake up?” Tabetha sought reassurance from the doctor.
Doctor Finch stepped back and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “In all likelihood. Sometimes these things take a little longer.”
“But I’ll remember eventually?”
“In all likelihood,” he repeated.
“You will,” Stone insisted. Because she had to. It was unthinkable that she would lose the details of her life—her family, her past. He rubbed the back of his neck and resisted the temptation to punch a hole through something. He never should have allowed her to leave the room.
“We’ll see about that, now won’t we?” This time, the doctor addressed Stone directly. I’ll check in on your wife in a few days. That is, if you plan on staying in town.”
Would they stay in town? Should they?
That had been his initial plan, but he needed to rethink it. With Culpepper’s men lurking about and Tabetha temporarily unaware of their, of her, circumstances, it was all the more imperative he keep her safe from the man she’d been willing to marry less than one week before.
“I’d appreciate that,” he answered. Because ultimately, if she wasn’t well enough to travel, he wouldn’t risk her health.
The doctor pursed his lips and turned back to Tabetha. “Rest easy then, Mrs. Chester. Sleep is always the very best medicine.” And back to Stone. “Would you mind seeing me out, my good man?”
Stone glanced back at Tabetha, who appeared as concerned as ever and before he could stop himself, he winked. “I’ll be right back, love.”
Love? Good God, was he the one who had hit his head?
Unwilling to contemplate the endearment, he followed Dr. Finch out the door, softly closing it behind him. Presumably, the doctor wanted to speak with him alone.
“I’ve only seen this sort of injury once.” The older man appeared far more serious than he had a moment before. “It is not at all common.”
“But she will improve?”
The doctor’s shrug was not very encouraging.
“If her memory isn’t restored by morning, I can’t make any promises.” He removed his spectacles and absentmindedly rubbed at a smudge on one of the lenses. “The more time that passes, the less chance she has for improvement. I suspect, however, that the brain is more inclined to remember if the patient is in a familiar environment. It’s better if she is in places, around people, who are recognizable to her. Her childhood home, her family, pets… You might consider this if she doesn’t show any improvement within the next twenty-four hours.”
Stone absorbed the information, the sick feeling in his gut growing heavier. “It is your recommendation, then, that if there isn’t improvement come morning, I take her home as quickly as possible?”
“Yes,” Finch answered, his head bobbing. “I believe that would be best. It is unfortunate if you’d planned to spend a few days celebrating your marriage, but yes, familiar surroundings are more likely to… nudge her memory in the right direction.”
Stone nodded.
“One other thing. Mr. Hettrick said he heard arguing coming from your chamber moments before she took her tumble—he thought the two of you might have had a lover’s spat. It’s none of my business how a man and wife get along, but for the next few weeks, anyhow, it’s best she remains calm. Quiet. Nothing overly rigorous or concerning. We must allow her brain to rest, so to speak.”
Stone shifted, feeling guilty.
“As far as other, ahem, aspects of newly married life. So long as you keep your ardor in check, you may proceed to have marital relations in as normal a manner as possible. It could be reassuring, might even spark her memory. But like I said—”
“Nothing overly rigorous,” Stone finished for him, feeling nettled, riled, for no reason at all.
It isn’t a real marriage.
He cleared his throat, doing his best to chase the image of conjugal relations with Lady Tabetha Fitzwilliam, rigorous or not, out of his head.
“I appreciate your advice.” Although part of him wondered precisely how much of a quack this Dr. Finch was.