“How long have you known, Mother?” “Nearly from the beginning,” she answered softly, stepping into the glow of light from the dying fire. “How long before the baron and I arrived did your memory return?” “Mere minutes.” He shrugged, staring into the soft amber in the brandy snifter. “Another blow on the head unlocked my mind as swiftly as the first one had locked it.” “Then you know why Mary led you to believe she was your betrothed?” His head snapped up at the cool question. He could almost smile at his mother’s calm approach. She instantly pierced to the very heart of any problem. “No.” The word burned in his throat, and he took a long drink of brandy to soothe it. “Logic would dictate that both Lottie and Ian know why Mary perpetrated such a misunderstanding. I, of course, understand your reluctance to question them about Mary’s motives.
