How to Wake a Sleeping Lady

by Wolf, Bree

  Maynard chuckled. “Nessa or Cornelia?”

  “In this case,” Grant grinned, “the latter. Did she not hiss any threats when you saw her?”

  Maynard shook his head. “She was too overwhelmed at seeing Nessa.”

  Grant nodded, knowing that he deserved anything and everything Cornelia might throw at his head. He truly ought to have written to her sooner. Still, he could not deny that ever since Nessa’s loss, there had been a strange distance between them. The few times they’d seen each other in the past three years, Cornelia had eyed him with a strange kind of look in her eyes that Grant hadn’t been able to understand. However, at the time, he had not cared enough to ask her about it.

  Perhaps it had been nothing, only grief. Grant knew well that after losing Nessa he had not been good company.

  “What is all this noise?”

  At the sound of his mother’s voice, Grant noticed Maynard tense beside him and a dark cloud fall over his face. Still, the old man kept his anger carefully hidden behind a mask of indifference. Grant wondered what his mother had done now to draw Maynard’s anger, a man who always seemed at peace. If only his father-in-law had confided in him.

  Stepping around the corner, the dowager countess bore her usual expression; eyes slightly narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line and a look of haughty superiority on her face that spoke of great annoyance with the world in general. Had his mother ever been happy? Grant wondered in that moment. He couldn’t recall.

  “Wentford,” she exclaimed, hastening toward them. Her eyes traveled over her surroundings as though she expected someone to jump out at her and attack. “What on earth is all this racket about?”

  Grant took a calming breath. “I suppose you’re referring to Milly and Audrey. I admit their reunion was rather loud.”

  “Audrey?” she frowned, directing questioning eyes at him.

  “Lord Crawford’s daughter,” Grant supplied while Maynard kept silent, ignoring the woman before him with a commitment Grant could not help but envy. He wondered what the man’s secret was.

  When Grant directed his attention back to his mother, he noticed a slight widening of her eyes as she seemed to gaze over her shoulder. “Is Lady Crawford here as well?”

  Frowning at the slight catch in her voice, Grant nodded. “She is. She came to call on Nessa when she received my invitation to the ball.” He looked pointedly at his mother, daring her to speak her mind.

  Fortunately, she did not.

  “Do you think it wise to bring her here?” she asked instead, her voice taking on an odd tone. “Perhaps being confronted by too many people she does not remember will upset…your wife.”

  For a moment, Grant was too stunned to speak. Had his mother just now expressed concern for Nessa? Or had someone knocked him on the head and all this was merely a dream?

  “Since when do you care for my daughter’s well-being?” Maynard demanded, his voice a bit of a snarl as he tried his utmost to remain in control of his emotions.

  Placing a calming hand on his father-in-law’s shoulder, Grant addressed his mother. “I appreciate your concern, Mother,” he said, not certain if he ought to challenge that statement, “however, Cornelia is Nessa’s best friend. They grew up together, and few people know her as well as Cornelia does.” He sighed, glancing at Maynard. “I ought to have sent for her sooner. Perhaps it will do Nessa good to speak to a confidante.”

  “Yes, but—” his mother began, but was silenced as Maynard stepped forward, his pale blue eyes narrowed into slits.

  “Why do you pretend to care?” he demanded once again. “You know as well as I do how close these two women have always been, sharing everything with each other. Why, when Nessa received that urgent letter from Cornelia before her accident, it was you who urged her to hasten to Cornelia’s side, assuring Nessa that you would see to Milly and she was not to worry.” Maynard’s gaze narrowed further and he scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, it was the only other time I’ve ever seen you take an interest in Nessa’s life.”

  Hearing a hint of suspicion in his father-in-law’s voice, Grant wondered what was going on in Maynard’s head. As evidenced the other day when he had asked his mother for her assistance in planning the ball for Nessa, Grant knew that the dowager countess held no affection for his wife. Why, was beyond him. Still, it was odd that she would suddenly act concerned, was it not? Or was she trying to make amends for her earlier behavior?

  “If you do not care for my counsel,” his mother huffed, her skin paler than he remembered, “I might as well leave you to yourselves. And Wentford,” she added as an afterthought, “please remind your daughter how a well brought up lady is supposed to act. I must say that cousin of hers is not a good influence.” Ignoring the daggers shooting from Maynard’s eyes, she turned away and headed back from whence she had come. “Not good at all.”

  “No offense to you, Son,” Maynard growled beside him, “but I cannot say I like your mother. There’s something almost hostile in the way she looks at my daughter.”

  Grant nodded. “I suppose there is no use in pretending that is not true.” He sighed. “I’ve never been able to understand my mother.” He gave Maynard a reassuring smile. “Be assured that I would never take offense at your honesty. On the contrary, it is much appreciated.”

  A smile stole onto his father-in-law’s face as Maynard looked at him. “You’re a fine man. I’m glad my daughter accepted you all those years ago.”

  Warmth swept Grant’s heart, and he begged with every fiber of his being that she would do so again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A Matter of Heart and Mind

  Still seated in the drawing room with her cousin, Nessa spotted Milly and Audrey head toward the tree house. At least for a moment, her daughter’s happiness brought a smile to her face before Connie’s concerned voice drew her back to their conversation. “Perhaps you should speak to your father,” she suggested as her fingers curled around the teacup in her hand. “Perhaps you told him more.”

  Nessa sighed. “If that were the case, would he not have told me so?” As far as Nessa knew, her father had been nothing but forthright with her. Would it be right to doubt him now?

  Connie shrugged. “Perhaps he forgot or he did not think it important. Believe me, I would never suggest that he would withhold something from you intentionally.”

  “What about my husband?” Nessa asked, unable to curb her curiosity. “Do you think he would intentionally withhold something from me?”

  Her cousin’s eyes blinked rapidly before she averted her gaze, directing it at the liquid in her cup. “Before your accident, I would never have believed so.” Her eyes drifted over the lemon cake and to the faded parchment still lying on the small table, a constant reminder of all they didn’t know. “However, since I received your letter, I don’t know what to think. I’m sorry, Nessa. I wish I could be of help to you. Believe me, these past three years I’ve spent many sleepless nights considering every possibility.”

  “And what have you discovered?” Nessa asked, a part of her relieved that she was not alone in asking these questions.

  Connie sighed. “Nothing,” she replied, resignation in her voice. “I cannot think of a good reason why you would send such a letter. I cannot think of a good reason why your husband would act as your letter suggested. Nothing makes sense.”

  Nothing makes sense. That thought echoed in Nessa’s mind as it very neatly summed up her life. Without a past, the future was all but uncertain and even the present was far from tangible. Nothing makes sense.

  “There’s your father,” Connie exclaimed as her finger flew upward and she pointed out the terrace doors. “Perhaps it would be wise to ask him. Perhaps you spoke to him about the letter. Perhaps he knows something, and if he doesn’t, there’ll be no harm in it.”

  Turning her head, Nessa saw her father walking up the small slope toward Milly’s tree house. A certain distance away, he stopped, his gaze turned toward the little clus
ter of trees as though he could see the girls playing up there in their fortress.

  Nessa sighed. “I’m not sure if it would be right to concern him with this matter. If, indeed, he knows nothing, then he will know that I’m worried and that will make him worry as well.”

  A deep smile came to Connie’s face and her eyes shone brightly as she looked at Nessa. “You might not remember him, but you know him well. I can only hope that, in time, you will come to know me that well, too.”

  Returning her cousin’s smile, Nessa nodded. “I do hope so as well.”

  “Still, I think you should ask him. He would want you to share your sorrows with him, would he not?”

  Nessa rolled her eyes as she rose to her feet. “You seem to know him equally well.” With quick steps, she reached the door and pulled it open. Her gaze drifted from side to side before she called out her father’s name. She had to call out another two times before he heard her.

  When he saw her, a familiar smile came to his lips and he started toward her, his gaze narrowing as he no doubt took in her flustered expression. “Are you all right?” he asked as he stepped past her into the drawing room. “You seem…agitated.” Then his gaze traveled to Connie. “You both do. What’s going on?”

  “I need to ask you something,” Nessa began, her words coming fast before she could change her mind, “and I would ask you to answer honestly and not hold anything back in an attempt to spare my feelings.”

  Her father’s frown deepened and all humor left his face. “What’s happened?”

  Nessa drew in a deep breath. “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” he said, and she could see a shiver run through him as he swallowed hard, no doubt imagining what tragedy might have befallen her. “Of course, I promise. I’ve never kept anything from you, my dear. I hope you know that.”

  “That is precisely it,” Nessa replied. “I don’t know, but I believe you.”

  Understanding came to his eyes, and he nodded his head. “Come sit with me.” Taking her hand, he walked over to the settee and they sat down. “Tell me what has you so worried.”

  “Do you remember,” Nessa began, exchanging a look with her cousin, who seemed to hang on her father’s lips just as much, “if there was any…tension between me and Grant before the accident? Did we not get along? Was there anything standing between us?”

  Confusion came to her father’s face, and Nessa could not deny that she felt a twinge of relief that he knew not what she was speaking of. “Tension?” he mumbled before his eyes shifted to Connie and then back to her. “What do you mean? Of course, there was…great sadness,” he swallowed, “when you lost Oliver. Life changed then, but I don’t think that is what you mean. Please tell me what is on your mind, dear.”

  Swallowing, Nessa reached for the letter, handing it to her father. “Connie just showed me this. Apparently, I sent it to her just before the accident. It is this letter that prompted her to send me that one I received, the one that made me travel north.”

  With tense fingers, her father took hold of the parchment, his pale eyes flying over the page. Each word he read made his eyes grow wider and, once again, Nessa could not ignore the feeling of relief that swelled in her chest. Perhaps all this was a misunderstanding after all!

  “Do you know anything about this?” Connie asked, exchanging a tense look with Nessa. “Do you know why she wrote it?”

  “This is impossible,” Nessa’s father muttered as his eyes narrowed and he brought the parchment closer to his face. Squinting, he traced the lines until he reached her signature. “You didn’t write this.”

  “What?” Nessa and Connie exclaimed at the same time, their eyes going wide in a way that betrayed their familial connection.

  Holding up the letter, her father pointed to her signature. “This is not your handwriting,” he proclaimed before he squinted his eyes yet again, once more examining the lines written there. “I admit it’s similar, but I do not believe that it was you who wrote it.”

  Nessa felt the blood in her veins run cold; even more so when she saw the look on her cousin’s face. While her gaze had been equally wide upon hearing her uncle’s observation, it then had changed as though it was not the first time she’d heard it. “You knew?” Nessa asked her. “Why did you—?”

  “I didn’t know,” Connie assured her, shaking her head vehemently. “Please believe me. I truly didn’t. It was simply one of many things that went through my head, trying to make sense of it. I remember thinking that some of the lines looked a bit too…forced.” Biting her lower lip, she sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it. After we lost you, I must have spent hours staring at this letter and, after a while, I took note of the small ink blotches in some of the lines as though they had been written very slowly and with great care in order to make them look the way they did.” Her gaze focused on Nessa’s. “As though they had been made to look like yours.”

  Nessa felt the breath catch in her throat at her cousin’s explanation. “Someone forged my handwriting. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Connie scoffed as though she did not believe her own conclusion. “So it would seem, and yet, it’s ludicrous. Who would do such a thing? And why? It doesn’t make any sense, and it didn’t back then and so I told myself that I was reading too much into this because I couldn’t accept that you were truly gone. I told myself that your handwriting looked a bit odd because you clearly had been upset when writing these lines. After a while, I began to believe my own words and so I put the letter in my reticule and simply kept it with me.” She swallowed. “But I no longer read it.”

  “Do you truly think this is not my handwriting?” Nessa asked her father yet again, annoyed that she couldn’t even tell if the signature was hers or not. “Can you be certain?”

  Seeing her agitation, her father placed a hand on hers. “I am…fairly certain, but I have to admit Connie’s theory has merit. Perhaps we’re reading too much into this.”

  Unable to keep still, Nessa rose from the settee, her feet carrying her around the room in a random pattern. Her gaze flew back and forth between her cousin and her father as the world seemed to be closing in on her. “What do I do now?” she asked, breathless as panic clawed at her heart. “What do I believe? What—?”

  “You need to calm down,” her father said as he rose to his feet and came toward her. His hands grasped hers, holding them tightly within his own. “And then you should speak to your husband.”

  Nessa flinched at the suggestion. “Do you truly believe that would be wise? What if—?”

  “No,” her father interrupted, utter conviction in his voice. “Do not distrust him because of such a letter. If, indeed, you did not write it, then it would suggest that the content itself is false as well.”

  Tears began to rise in Nessa’s eyes. “But what if I did write it? What then?”

  Her father looked at both women before answering. “Then it is important to remember that this letter represents only one moment. Perhaps you and Grant did have a spat and you were angry. Still, it does not mean you cannot trust him.”

  “How can you be certain?” Nessa asked as tears ran down her cheeks. Her hands trembled, and that sickening feeling of not knowing where to turn and what to believe washed over her all over again. A part of her had hoped she had left it behind. It would seem not.

  “I cannot,” her father replied as his hands tightened on hers. “But I know that the only way you’ll receive an answer is to ask for one. If you do not share your thoughts, you will always be left wondering.”

  “Perhaps you should sleep on it before making a decision,” Connie suggested as she rose and came walking over to them. “Right now, you’re too agitated to think straight. And if you like,” she glanced at her uncle, “we can go with you when you speak to your husband.”

  “Thank you.” With tears still rolling down her cheeks, Nessa smiled at her cousin. “Thank you so much.”

  Blinking back tears, Connie nodded. “What are cousins
for?” she whispered before she suddenly surged forward, crushing Nessa in a fierce hug. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

  Meeting her father’s smiling gaze over her cousin’s shoulder, Nessa returned Connie’s embrace with a heartfelt one of her own. “I don’t remember you, but I’ve missed you as well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Belonging

  There had been an odd look in Nessa’s eyes ever since her cousin had arrived the day before.

  Frowning, Grant watched her as they sat at breakfast. She had barely spoken to him since, and he felt there was something on her mind. Something that had to do with him. Something that stood between them.

  He felt his heart clench painfully at the thought that Nessa had come to look at him differently. Had Cornelia told her something that had somehow forced a new distance between them? What on earth could that be?

  The past few weeks had been so promising that Grant had allowed himself to believe that their final reunion was only a matter of time. That whether or not she regained her memories, she would still be his wife, the woman he loved and who loved him.

  Had he been wrong? Had their shared moments meant more to him than they had to her?

  The girls rushed from the breakfast parlor the moment their bellies were filled, prompting his mother to let loose another litany about proper behavior. Still, Grant wasn’t listening as his mind could not focus on anything else besides Nessa.

  To his surprise, she turned to him then. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” she asked, and his heart skipped a beat as joy coursed through his body. Still, he could not fail to notice the strain on her face and the almost painful absence of that unique sparkle in her hazel eyes. Did she have bad news to share? Grant wondered, feeling goose bumps crawl up his arms and legs.