How to Wake a Sleeping Lady

by Wolf, Bree

“Speak your mind.”

  Frowning, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that—?”

  “I’ve known you a long time, remember?” he said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. “Say what you wish, and know that you’ve always done so. It’s one of those things I missed these past three years.”

  “All right,” Nessa finally said, thinking that perhaps it would, indeed, be better to clear the air before allowing false expectations to develop. “I can see the way you look at me,” she said carefully, not wishing to offend or hurt him, but needing to speak her mind nonetheless, “and I know that we were husband and wife. I hear what you’re telling me about our life together, and yet, I have no memory of it. It feels like hearing about the life of another.”

  His gaze darkened, grew clouded, overshadowed.

  “I can see that me saying this hurts you,” Nessa hastened on, “and I assure you that I have no wish to do so. Although I don’t remember you, I…I like you.” A small smile claimed her lips, and her heart skipped a beat when his gaze once more found hers, overwhelming joy shining through.

  “You like me?” he asked, his voice once more teasing.

  Without thinking, Nessa rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t say it as though it means nothing! As though it’s laughable!”

  Lifting his hands in apology, Grant shook his head. “I would never. I’m glad you like me. I admit that when we first met, I wasn’t entirely certain that you did. I’m afraid I have a way of overwhelming people.” He laughed. “The moment I saw you, I knew I needed to speak to you, and then the way you dared me, laughed at me, I…” Again, laughter flew from his lips. “I was head over heels in love with you within minutes. I told you right then and there I wanted to marry you, and you looked at me as though I’d grown another head.”

  Warmth spread through her middle at his retelling, and Nessa could not help but wish that she remembered. “What possessed you to do so?” she laughed. “Is it not customary to court a lady? Not shock her? Or am I wrong?”

  “You’re not. However, with you, I’ve always felt at ease to speak my mind.” He leaned forward. “I apologize if this overwhelms you, but I’m afraid I cannot help it.”

  “I do not mind that you speak your mind as long as you don’t mind that I do the same.”

  “On the contrary,” he replied, enthusiasm in his voice. “I welcome it. Say what you wish.”

  “And you will not hold it against me?” Nessa dared him, feeling more and more at ease in his company. “You will not get angry?”

  Her husband inhaled a slow breath. “I cannot promise to be fond of every word to leave your mouth. However, I believe it is the only way for us to get to know each other again.”

  “You still seem to know me very well,” Nessa pointed out, lifting her brows in a challenge for him to contradict her.

  “Does that annoy you?”

  “Of course it does!” she snapped. “It’s not fair. While I struggle to make out your character, to decide whether or not to trust you, you know all there is to know about me.” Throwing up her hands, she shook her head. “You tell me about myself, about what I used to do, what I still do. Things that I don’t know myself. It’s very unsettling.” She paused for a moment, feeling her hands tremble anew as she voiced her fears and concerns. “I know I am your wife and you’re my husband, and there is something about you that appeals to me.” Dropping her gaze, Nessa did her best to ignore the delighted grin that claimed his mouth. “But I’m hoping you do not expect us to…return to our old life.” Lifting her eyes, she met his. “At least not right away.”

  His gaze narrowed as he watched her, and she had the slightly unnerving suspicion that he could truly read her mind. “I would never force you into my bed if that’s what you’re afraid of.” His gaze held hers and, for a second, she feared he might reach for her. Fortunately, he thought better of it and stayed on his side of the carriage.

  A moment of silence lingered before he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and whispered, “Should you, however, find yourself curious about our…shared past, all you have to do is ask.” Grinning, he winked at her.

  For a moment, Nessa felt completely overwhelmed by his straightforward manner. Never had anyone spoken to her like this—at least not to her knowledge, which wasn’t saying much!

  Then laughter bubbled from her lips and, once again, she found herself rolling her eyes at him. “I do this a lot,” she remarked, frowning.

  Grinning, he nodded. “Oh, yes.”

  “And you still don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” he assured her. “To me, it has come to mean that no matter how much I antagonize you, you still love me.”

  At his reminder, the smile died on Nessa’s lips. Seeing her face, he too sobered. For a long moment, they simply looked at one another, acutely aware of the chasm that now stood between them, each of them trapped on the opposite side with no way across.

  Nessa wondered if there was truly a chance for them. After all, her memories did not appear to have any intention to ever return. While there were moments when something felt familiar, Nessa could not say if that might simply be wishful thinking. So far, at least, she did not remember the man across from her. She liked him and found his manner appealing—though shocking at times—but the love he spoke of did not live in her heart. That it had not returned upon seeing him, did that mean that it never would?

  “I shall fight to reclaim your heart,” her husband suddenly spoke into the stillness, “and then we’ll live happily-ever-after, the way we should have from the beginning.”

  Touched by this deeply sincere vow, Nessa could not help but sigh, overwhelmed that someone had loved her in such a way, so utterly and completely. It stole her breath and warmed her heart. “Please do so,” she whispered, “and I hope you’ll succeed.”

  “As do I,” he replied, his green eyes dark as he looked at her, warmth and devotion in them that spanned the distance between them.

  “Tell me about the moment we met,” Nessa said, curious to learn more about the man she had married and the woman she had once been.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Family’s Welcome

  Grant could not remember the last time he’d laughed quite like this.

  Seated comfortably in their carriage, he told Nessa of their shared past, of the moment they’d met, of the many times he’d proposed—

  “You cannot be serious!” she’d exclaimed, her cheeks flushed from laughter. “No man would propose that many times! Why did you not give up?”

  “Because I loved you,” he’d replied, the simple truth falling from his lips with such ease that she had stared at him in amazement. “As you can see, you’ve always been reluctant, but I didn’t give up then, and I won’t give up now.”

  “Are you calling me reluctant?” she’d demanded, once again rolling her eyes at him as only Nessa could. “It’s not my fault that I lost my memory.”

  Now and then, a word had led to a sadder topic as he had told her of the day they’d lost her—at least as far as he knew. She, in return, had shared her experiences upon first waking at the abbey and the life she had led since then. Grant was relieved to hear her speak so openly to him as it was proof that his Nessa lived deep inside the woman seated across from him. She had her mannerisms, her attitude, her strength and directness. Perhaps if he fought hard enough, she would one day remember that her heart was his and they would once again be whole.

  When the carriage finally rolled up the driveway of Wentford Park and toward the house, Nessa’s eyes went wide as they swept over the expansive, two-story building. Vines climbed the southern wall, their bright green harmonizing with the warm, brown sandstone. Large windows allowed in the bright sun, and a wide front door welcomed family and guests alike. The gardens were neatly trimmed and in full bloom, bright colors peeking out in-between different shades of green. Bees hummed in the distance, and water gurgled in the small fountain centered in the circular drive.
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  “It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed as she craned her neck to see it all. “So peaceful.”

  “I’ve always thought so,” Grant agreed, offering her his hand as she made to step out of the carriage. “May I?”

  For a moment, her gaze lingered on his and he could sense her hesitating. Then, however, a determined smile came to her face, and her hand slid into his. Grant wondered if she felt a similar sense of determination. He could not imagine what it would be like not to remember one’s past.

  “Nessa, my dear!”

  At the sound of Maynard’s voice, Grant froze, his gaze swiveling toward the front door where his father-in-law stood upon the stoop, his eyes wide and his hands clasped over his mouth as he stared at his daughter.

  Grant swallowed and quickly turned toward his wife, a slight frown upon her face. “This is your father,” he whispered, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “I’m sorry. I should have known he would await your arrival.”

  “It’s all right,” she replied calmly. Her hand tightened ever so slightly on his as her gaze lingered on the father she did not remember. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and Grant could see the slight tremble that gripped her chin. “He’s my father,” she spoke as though to remind herself. “My father.”

  Holding her hand tightly in his own, Grant led her toward the door, unable to tear his gaze from father and daughter as they looked upon one another for the first time in three years. Tears stood in Maynard’s eyes, and Grant worried that the joy of seeing his daughter after all this time would be too much for his heart. Still, he stood there as though his feet had hardened in cement, his eyes almost unblinking as tears slowly rolled down his cheeks.

  Step by step, Grant and Nessa climbed the few steps toward the front door until they came to stand face to face with Maynard. His pale blue eyes shifted over Nessa’s face, and his hands clasped together tightly. “W-Welcome home,” he whispered, his voice barely audible and heavy with emotions he was desperately trying to contain. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, my dear child,” he suddenly exclaimed, and his arms flew forward, reaching for Nessa, before he suddenly jerked them back. “I’m so sorry. I know you don’t remember who I am and I promised myself that I would not overwhelm you. I hope you can forgive an old man.” A shy smile rested on his face, and Grant doubted that Nessa would be able to resist her father’s kindness for long.

  Not surprised, he found her smile at Maynard and then take a tentative step toward him. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied, her hand still holding his, and Grant wondered if she was even aware of it. “Grant told me of all the letters you sent, and I want to thank you for not giving up.”

  A sob escaped Maynard’s lips and tears trickled down his face as he shot forward and enfolded Nessa in his arms, unable to help himself. Fortunately, Nessa did not seem repulsed by her father’s display of affection and returned his embrace in a gentle manner.

  Jerking back, Maynard once again apologized profusely. Nessa’s delighted laugh, however, eased the tension quickly and Grant ushered them inside and into the drawing room. Unfortunately, just as he was about to close the doors to give father and daughter a quiet moment to themselves, his mother spotted him from down the hall.

  “Wentford!” she called, and hasty steps carried her closer as she craned her neck to see past him and into the room. “You’ve returned.”

  “I have,” he confirmed, stepping aside to allow his mother entry lest she push him out of her way in her curiosity to see her daughter-in-law returned. Perhaps if he allowed her to greet Nessa, she would soon take her leave and not interrupt the reunion between father and daughter.

  “Nessa,” he called, trying to catch her attention. When she turned to him, he took her hand and pulled her forward. “This is my mother, Catherine Barrett, Dowager Countess of Wentford.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Nessa said in greeting, her warm, hazel eyes curious as she looked at his mother. “I apologize for not recognizing you.”

  To Grant’s dismay, his mother scoffed. Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head in disapproval. “How silly to be introduced in such a way to one’s own daughter-in-law.”

  “Mother!” Grant warned as he felt Nessa’s hand tighten within his own. “You promised you would be civil.”

  “I am,” his mother snapped, her face rather pale considering the agitation that stood in her eyes. Her gaze lingered on Nessa’s as though she were the one needing to familiarize herself again with those she did not remember. “Can you truly not remember?”

  Nessa shook her head. “I cannot, and I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  Again, his mother scoffed. Then she turned to him. “I need to speak to you.” Her eyes momentarily shifted to Nessa. “Alone.”

  Fighting to hold back his anger, Grant nodded. “I do believe that would be a good idea.” As his mother bustled out the door, he turned to Nessa. “I’m sorry. She’s—”

  “Angry at me,” Nessa concluded, her gaze thoughtful as she watched her mother-in-law’s exit. Then her hazel eyes turned to him. “Do you know why?”

  Grant shook his head. Never had he been able to understand his mother’s disapproval of Nessa. However, she had never been outright rude to her. “I shall speak to her,” he assured his wife, meaning every word. He would not allow his mother to treat Nessa in this way, no matter how upset she might be with him for sending Eugenie away.

  The thought of his second wife brought a sense of guilt to his heart that Grant had managed to suppress while in Nessa’s mesmerizing company. He knew he ought to have told her about Eugenie, but he had not. The moment had not been right, and he had feared her reaction to knowing that he had, in fact, given up on ever finding her and replaced her by marrying another.

  Never would he forgive himself for that, and he feared—more than anything else—that she might not, either.

  Chapter Twelve

  A Father’s Open Words

  “I’ve never been fond of that woman.”

  Turning from the door that had closed behind her husband and mother-in-law, Nessa met her father’s frowning gaze. Still, a smile came to her face at his open admission. Did everyone in this family speak their minds? “Has she always disliked me?” Nessa asked, sitting down on the settee.

  Taking the armchair across from her, her father nodded. “She has, however, I cannot say if that is unusual for her as she seems to dislike everyone.” He chuckled, his gaze still clinging to her as though he feared she might disappear. “I’ve yet to see her smile at anyone. Perhaps it is simply who she is. Perhaps she simply does not love as we do.”

  Nessa swallowed, saddened by the thought of such a life. “Not even her son?”

  “She calls him Wentford,” her father replied, shrugging his shoulders, “what does that tell you?” Sighing, he settled into his chair, making himself comfortable. “Truth be told, I cannot justly say whether she loves or not. All I know is that it seems to be so. Please, do not take her words to heart. They have nothing to do with who you are and everything to do with who she is.”

  “I shall try,” Nessa assured him, relieved to find that her own father—whether she remembered him or not—was a truly affectionate man and cared for her deeply. “Grant told me that you live here as well.”

  Smiling, he nodded. “I do. You and Grant wouldn’t have had it any other way, and I must say I’m glad I raised such a stubborn daughter.”

  Nessa laughed. “I’m beginning to suspect who I got that from.”

  Her father shrugged, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Indeed, you’re my daughter, but your stubbornness you got from your dear mother.”

  Nessa’s joy sobered as she realized that she would never get the chance to meet the woman who had brought her into the world. Indeed, Sister Anne was right. Even if her memories were lost for good, there was still a chance to make new ones. However, that was not true for her mother. She was lost to her for good. And yet, the old Nessa had to have felt a similar sense of frustration
at the thought of her mother. “Grant said she died giving birth to me.”

  Her father nodded, a deep sadness coming to his eyes that told her more about her parents than words ever could. “She did,” he confirmed, his pale blue eyes once again misting with tears. “Her loss still pains me. I suppose it’s only right that it should as it reminds me the wonderful woman she was.” A wistful smile came to his lips as he brushed the back of his hand over his eyes. “Ever since then it has been only the two of us…until the night you met Grant.” A snicker rose from his lips, his eyes once again sparkling with joy. “He swept you off your feet, that one. Stunned you out of your mind, I should say.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “He promised he would call on you the next day, but you did not believe him. And when he told you he would marry you, you thought him mad.”

  Nessa smiled, finding her father’s way of telling this story charming and utterly engrossing. “He said he proposed to me seventeen times,” she said, still bewildered by her husband’s persistence, and yet, it made her feel warm inside. To be wanted with such determination was an overwhelming feeling. “Why did he not give up? I would have thought to be rejected countless times would have broken anyone’s spirit.”

  Her father chuckled. “Oh, but he loved you. I approved of him right away because he looked at you in that same love-struck way that I remember only too well from when your mother was still alive. It took one glance to know that he loved you.”

  “But he’d only met me the night before?” Nessa insisted, wondering why she was so persistent in doubting that her husband truly loved her.

  “You were the one for him, dear child,” her father whispered as though confiding a secret, “and then time doesn’t matter. He loved you, and he knew that you’d only rejected him out of doubt.”

  “Doubt?”

  Her father sighed. Searching for words, he brushed a handkerchief over his face. “You were always…at peace with yourself, my dear.” He smiled at her, and she could still see that disbelieving gleam in his eyes when he looked at her. “You never liked your name.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, but when your mother died, I wanted to hold on to her. I could not imagine never saying her name again and so…” Trailing off, he shrugged. “I’m sorry.”