He woke up with the light shining through a window he didn't recognize.
He lay in bed for a long moment and took an assessment. His head pounded and the light hurt. His stomach felt tied in knots. He dimly understood that these were symptoms of the morning after a long night of drinking, but he did not believe he'd overindulged the night before. Had he? The fact that he could not remember where he'd been the night before was likely further evidence of too much drink.
He sighed and decided to roll over to sleep the rest of this off, but then there was a rap at the door.
The sound entered his head like a needle. He swallowed a groan. "Come," he said, but it came out hoarsely.
A woman entered the room. He did not know her, though something in the back of his mind said he would like to. She was quite pretty, albeit plain; her brown hair was swept off her face and tied into a twist at the base of her head. She wore a pale-blue dress that hugged her bosom in a way he found appealing. Her face was nicely drawn, with thin eyebrows and a slightly pointy nose and plump lips pressed into a line of concern.
"How do you feel, sir?" she asked.
"Like I was run over with a curricle. I apologize, but where am I?"
"Yes, of course. The apologies are mine. You were largely unconscious when we escorted you in last night. You are in the residence of the Countess of Sweeney."
"Sweeney?" It seemed like a name he should know, but as he cast about his mind for a face to pair with the name, he could not do it.
"Yes. I will grant you, the countess is no longer quite a grand dame of the ton, more a wilting rose, although do not tell her I said that. And the house is, unfortunately unfashionably close to Regent's Park rather than Mayfair, but we can't all be dukes." The woman chuckled and shook her head. "Ignore me. My manners are ghastly."
"Are you… her daughter?"
"Oh, no. Apologies again, sir. I am Lady Adele Paulson. I am the countess's companion. Wilton and I, that is the butler and I, were getting some fresh air outside last night when you were tossed out of a carriage. You must have hit your head."
"I must have." He touched his hair, taking stock again. There was quite a lump on his crown.
"And you are, sir?"
He opened his mouth to tell her, but then realized he could not remember.
"Perhaps I should have begun with a simpler question. What is the last thing you remember?"
He closed his eyes, but his memory seemed a thing shrouded in gray clouds.
"I do not know," he said. "How can it be that I do not know?"
"I'm sure it will come to you in short order."
Her tone indicated she did not find this turn of events nearly as alarming as he did. He sat up in bed and realized he'd been stripped of all but his drawers.
"I do apologize also for absconding with your clothing last night, but I turned them over to the housekeeper for cleaning. In the meantime, I've found a few garments that once belonged to the current earl that I believe will fit you. As he's taken up residence at some pile in Yorkshire, I do not believe he will miss them. The current earl is the countess's son, so don't be concerned that these clothes are too terribly old fashioned." She walked out of the room and returned with a parcel wrapped in brown paper. She placed it atop a chest of drawers in the corner. She patted the parcel, so these were clearly the clothes.
It was like his thoughts were blocks he couldn't make fit together. "I am sorry, but I do not…" He gestured around him. "I cannot remember anything. Not where I was last night, not where I was three days ago, not even my name." Panic started to crowd into the edges of his mind.
The woman, Adele Paulson, stared at him for a long moment. It occurred to him that Adele was a lovely and somewhat unusual name, but he pushed the thought aside.
"You are serious," she said.
"I'm afraid so."
She frowned. "'Tis a good thing Doctor Willis is coming here this morning to attend to the countess. If you'd prefer to stay abed, I can have him visit you as well."
He lay back down slowly. "That seems like a good idea."
"What shall I call you?"
"Pardon?"
"You may not know your name, but I still feel like I may need to refer to you in some way."
"Let me think on it. Maybe I just need a few more minutes to recover my memory."
"I do hope so. All right. You must eat, so I will instruct Cook to send a tray up for you. Doctor Willis should be here within the hour, so I will send him to check on you after he sees to the countess. Does that seem agreeable?"
"Quite."
She nodded once. "All right. I will leave you. There's a bell pull to your right should you need anything."
She left the room, leaving him to sit and contemplate his situation. It was as if someone had erected a wall between himself and his memories. He glanced at the bell pull. It was a familiar object, in that he could recall seeing one before, although the handle was tarnished. Would one inside of his own home be thus? Was his home clean? Where was it? Miss Paulson had rambled about this neighborhood being unfashionable, had she not? But this was the home of a countess?
And how was it that he could recall social ranks but not his name or address?
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was somewhat relieved when a servant girl came in, left a tray of food on the bedside table, and left again with only a bow of her head. He was not certain he could endure speaking.
The offerings were modest: a few scones, a small bowl full of jam, a pat of butter, and a cup of tea. So he could identify food, but not himself.
He sighed, sat up straight, and tucked into his breakfast.