It had been a week since I had woken up here, another week since I appeared, apparently.
And I had kept careful count of every single day.
Life within the estate had quickly fallen into routine after that. Each morning began with Mildred forcing bitter herbal remedies into my hands, followed by slow walks through the corridors as I rebuild my strength little by little. The dizziness had lessened now, though sudden movements still sent sharp pain through the back of my skull.
Beyond recovering physically, I had devoted myself to learning.
Listening carefully whenever servants spoke. Memorizing the cadence of their speech. The formalities expected within noble households. The customs. The hierarchy. The way women lowered their eyes at the appropriate moments while men carried themselves with quiet authority.
Every day became practice, sort of like a performance.
Because if I wished to survive this place, I would need to blend into it for now.
Until I get to find Marcus and leave.
Truthfully, by the second day, I had already begun losing my mind from confinement alone.
Which was perhaps why Lord Gwrgenau—or Gen, as he had firmly insisted I call him in private—eventually decided to escort me around the lands surrounding the estate.
The manor itself resembled a far smaller, rougher version of the Cavendish estate I had once known centuries earlier. The foundations were unmistakably the same, but time had not yet transformed it into the sprawling aristocratic fortress it would eventually become.
This place was older, built more for defense than beauty.
Stone walls instead of polished marble. Timber structures reinforced against raids. Soldiers stationed openly throughout the grounds.
Yet despite its relative simplicity compared to the future estate, it still radiated immense wealth and power for this era.
Because in Roman Britannia, a lord possessing lands this vast, servants this numerous and armed men this disciplined stood only a few steps beneath kings themselves.
By the time dinner came each evening, it had become routine for Gen to escort me personally to the dining hall, always offering me his hand. And if I refused to take it, he would merely grin and remark that we could always dine privately in his chamber instead.
Considering how restless confinement had already made me, I reluctantly accepted his arm every single time.
The dining hall itself was smaller than the grand room I remembered from the modern Cavendish estate, yet no less imposing for this century. Long wooden tables stretched beneath hanging oil lamps while servants moved quietly through the room carrying roasted meats, bread, figs and watered wine.
And Gen—dressed more casually for the evening in his dark linen tunic, the firelight softening the shaper edges of him, turning his blond hair almost golden beneath the dim glow.
If it were not for everything his bloodline would eventually become...if history were kinder...I thought perhaps I might have genuinely liked him.
As a friend.
He was intelligent in a way that surprised me constantly. Not merely educated about warfare or land management like most noblemen of his era, but curious about everything. Literature. Philosophy. Languages. Trade routes across the empire.
I've seen him casually switching between Brythonic, Latin and Greek within the same conversation without effort.
Pippa would have adored him.
The thought tightened painfully around my chest the moment it surfaced.
God, Pippa.
I wondered constantly how much time had passed back home. Whether she thought I was dead. Whether they knew where I was, how I ended up here.
And beneath it of it remained the same desperate thought clawing at me endlessly. How do I leave? And more importantly, where was Marcus? Is he okay?
"The Romans," I said carefully, picking absently at the roasted meat on my plate while choosing my words with caution. "Who are they truly? You seemed...displeased when Mildred mentioned their arrival."
Gen's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
"Nothing worth troubling yourself over," he answered after a moment, lifting his chalice for a sip of wine. "They simply bring unrest wherever they go."
The cup touched the table harder than intended once he set it down, a crack of irritation beneath his composed demeanor.
Then slowly, he leaned slightly closer toward me across the table.
"It is unfortunate that you lost your memories, Helena," he murmured, his eyes drifting briefly to my lips before returning to my gaze.
The intensity of it nearly made me cower, but I forced myself to remain perfectly still.
"I would very much like to hear the story of your journey," he continued quietly. "Wherever it is you came from. How you arrived upon my lands." His gaze sharpened slightly. "And who inflicted such injuries upon you."
The question settled heavily between us.
Dangerously.
Because the man who hurt me had his face.
I lifted my own chalice for another sip of wine, pretending not to notice the way Gen still watched me from across the table, studying me.
It was unnerving how focused his attention could feel. Like he was constantly attempting to solve something hidden beneath my skin.
"About that," I began carefully, settling the chalice down, "would it be possible for me to visit the town with Mildred?"
One of his brows lifted slightly.
"The town?" he repeated.
His lips curved faintly as he leaned back against his chair, folding his arms loosely over his chest.
"And how exactly did you learn there was a town nearby?"
Panic flickered briefly through me.
Right.
I had to remember myself constantly here.
Every careless assumption could expose me.
"I merely assumed there would be one," I answered smoothly. "Surely people must trade somewhere."
His amused expression deepened slightly.
"The market, then," I corrected.
Gen held my gaze for another long moment before letting out a quiet hum.
"There is no market this week," he said. "Not in the usual sense."
I frowned faintly. "Why?"
"A festival."
The fire crackled softly between us.
"The villages surrounding these lands gather every few moons to honor the old gods." His fingers tapped idly once against the wooden table. "Offerings. Music. Bonfires. Trading." His eyes drifted over me slowly. "Drinking."
Something about the way he said the last word made warmth creep unpleasantly into my face.
"And dancing?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His mouth quirked immediately.
"Yes," he murmured. "That as well."
The atmosphere between us shifted subtly into something dangerous. Because for the first time since arriving here, he no longer looked at me merely like a mystery to solve.
He looked at me like a woman.
"I could take you there myself," he offered casually. "For a price."
I blinked at him.
"A price?"
His mouth curved slowly, amusement flickering in his eyes.
The words should have sounded harmless. Instead, something in the way he said them made my pulse falter slightly.
"You need not trouble yourself," I replied quickly.
Gen tilted his head slightly.
"You truly believe it wise to wander into a festival alone?" he asked. "Surrounded by drunken men?"
Heat crept into my face immediately.
"I would not be alone. Mildred would be with me."
"Mildred is seventy."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
His expression softened with faint amusement, though there was still something serious beneath it. "A woman as beautiful as you, would attract attention," he said quietly. "Not all of it welcome."
The fire crackled softly between us.
I hated that part of me knew he was right. But still.
"What exactly is this price, then?" I asked carefully.
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
"A kiss."
My breath caught instantly. For one terrible second, I forgot how to speak and Gen looked entirely too pleased by my reaction.
"You cannot be serious."
"Oh, I am very serious."
The dim firelight flickered across his features as he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering just enough that it felt almost too intimate now.
"In truth," he said quietly, "I find I rather enjoy your company, Helena."
God. He truly did resemble Garrick too much.
I forced myself to look away first.
"I thought you only kept me here because you believed I was suspicious," I murmured.
"That was true at first."
The honesty of the answer startled me enough to glance back toward him, only to find his gaze already waiting. Steady.
Warm now, instead of cold.
"But lately," he continued softly, "I find myself less concerned with who you were...and far more interested in who you are."