Come Love a Stranger

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Lierin!” The name echoed hollowly through the haze, and the tone was somewhere between plea and command. Still, it struck no chord of recall and only confused her more. She could find no anchor for her thoughts, no grappling hook that would snare her from the bleak, murky blackness of the unknown and bring her to a firm footing with memory intact. There was only this moment and the few brief ones since she had awakened. What she had seen and heard only set her at odds with herself. The room whirled about her in a dizzying gyre, and she braced her arms widespread against the bed to steady her careening world, but her effort was useless as she was hurtled through a dark and bottomless eddy.

  “Quickly!” Dr. Page gestured to Willabelle. “Fetch the smelling salts from my case.” He thrust up a hand to halt Ashton as he tried to step near. “She’s suffered a shock, Ashton. Give her time.”

  The younger man drew back and frowned in concern as he helplessly witnessed her ordeal. The doctor slipped a hand behind her head while his other brought a vial of powders beneath her nose. The sudden shock of searing fumes drove away the clinging cobwebs. Her eyes shot open, and she saw the room again with bright, clear, achingly intense vision. Each detail was etched in bold relief, and she saw her tormentor gripping the bedpost with white-knuckled strength, as if he were the one troubled and vexed.

  Weak and exhausted, she fell back upon the bed, unmindful of the fact that she had swept off the satin quilt and lace-edged sheet. Her skin was moist with perspiration, and she welcomed the stabling touch of coolness that seeped through her cotton gown, but beneath the man’s closely attentive gaze, she realized her gown provided no modesty beyond the thickness of the cloth. It clung to her clammy skin, boldly revealing the womanly curves of her body. Her cheeks flamed. Not only would this knave harass her, but it seemed that he would molest her with his eyes as well. Seeking the protection of the quilt, she rolled her head on the pillow and asked in a rasping whisper, “Could I have some more water, please?”

  “Indeed, child,” Dr. Page replied and reached for a glass.

  Politely rejecting his help, she took the goblet into her shaky grasp and sipped from it slowly as her eyes flicked back to the figure at the end of the bed. He was quite a tall man with wide shoulders and a lean waist. A finely tailored silk shirt showed the expanse of a hard, tapering chest, while the slim trousers displayed the narrowness of his hips and the long, muscular length of his thighs. He was neither thin nor massive, but appeared to be in superb physical form. Obviously he had much to be conceited about.

  She gave the glass back to the doctor, and feeling a need to set matters straight in her own mind, she inquired rather timidly, “Am I supposed to know anyone here?”

  Dr. Page’s jaw sagged in astonishment, and when he looked up at Ashton, he found his surprise shared by the one who had claimed her as his wife. Ashton was totally confused. He had been so sure that this was Lierin, the one whom he had loved and wed. Indeed, he would have staked his life on it. “Are you not Lierin?”

  Her brows came together in a slight frown. Disconcerted and yet reluctant to make an appeal for his sympathies, she responded with a confused shrug. “I…I…really don’t know who I am.”

  Tormented by uncertainty, she awaited his reaction, afraid he would judge her mad by her confession. She saw the first wave of shock register on his face as he stared at her. His companions seemed no less startled.

  Aunt Jennifer approached the bed and took the girl’s slender hand to pat it comfortingly. “There, there, dear. I’m sure it will come to you in a moment.”

  “Jenny, no one forgets her name,” Amanda chided. “The girl just needs some rest.”

  “Perhaps it’s something more than that, Amanda,” Dr. Page commented thoughtfully. “There’ve actually been several cases of memory loss recorded. Amnesia, I believe. From what I’ve read of it, it can either deal with a partial memory loss, where the patients forget a short phase of their lives or some event. Other times it’s more extended, and those affected forget their names, where they live, the entire history of their lives, only retaining their abilities to read and write and so on. A few have experienced a total loss, and these have no recollection of having even existed before the moment they awake.” The doctor spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I must confess I’m at a loss. I’ve never known one who suffered from it.”

  “If you’re at a loss, Franklin, think of this poor child,” Amanda declared, somewhat beside herself. She had thought the matter of identity would be quickly solved when the young woman woke and could only worry how this would affect Ashton.

  “Now, Amanda, you can hardly expect me to know everything,” the elderly man replied.

  “Don’t make excuses, Franklin,” Amanda admonished, patting his shoulder in the manner of one reproving an irresponsible student. “Just find out what the girl’s problem is and cure it.”

  “I fear it will not be as simple as that, Amanda,” he acknowledged. “There are several things that cause it. Shock. Illness. In this case I would venture to say it was brought about by the accident, but to my knowledge there are no determinate cures.”

  “But surely it will pass,” Ashton pressed.

  Dr. Page shrugged. “I’m sorry, Ashton. I really can’t say what will happen. Perhaps after a few days when she’s had a chance to rest, her memory will come back to her. Then again, it might take a while…or it may never return. Only time will tell. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  The patient stared at the bearded doctor. It all seemed like some terrible nightmare from which she could not escape. “Do you mean I could really be Lierin and not be aware of it?”

  “Ashton insists that you are Lierin Wingate,” Dr. Page informed her gently. “None of the rest of us can say because we never met her.”

  She cast an uncertain glance toward the younger man as she directed her question to the elder. “Is he supposed to be Ashton?”

  “He is Ashton,” Amanda stated. “Of that I’m sure.”

  The young woman turned to Ashton, and her consternation was evident as she asked, “But are you sure about who I am?”

  The hazel eyes were soft as he made his reply. “Can a man forget his own wife?”

  “Wife!” The word came out in a startled rush. She experienced a rising panic as she realized precisely the predicament that position placed her in. If what he said was true, she was married to a total stranger. She raised a shaking hand to cover her face and, accepting the darkness behind her lowered lashes, banished him from sight. “But I don’t even know you!”

  “Madam, may I introduce myself?” His warm reply won her attention. A long moment passed as his gaze probed the dark, translucent depths; then abruptly he grinned and gave her a brief bow. “Ashton Wingate, at your service, my lady, and this is”—he swept a hand to the two women—“my grandmother, Amanda Wingate, her sister, Jennifer Tate. And this is the housekeeper”—he indicated the black woman—“Willabelle.” He assumed a more serious mien as he continued: “I believe Aunt Jenny and Willabelle will vouch for my identity as my grandmother as already done. They can also tell you that three years ago they were informed of my marriage to Lierin Somerton.”

  Her bewilderment deepened. What he related seemed inconsistent, and she gave voice to her doubt: “But if we’ve been married for three years and your relatives live here in the same house with you…then why can’t they identify me?”

  “’Tis simple really. They never had the opportunity to meet you.”

  She raised a delicate brow, then reconsidered as the action intensified her discomfort. As she waited for him to continue, she wondered what kind of game he played with her. After all, he was the only one who said he could identify her.

  Ashton recognized her skepticism and tried to soothe whatever fears she had. He did not fully understand her condition, but he was confident she was the same woman he had cherished enough to wed. “We were traveling up here when the steamboat was attacked by pirates. During the fight you wer
e swept overboard, and I was shot. My men didn’t realize you were gone until I regained consciousness. They searched the river and along the banks for more than a week, but you were not to be found. We presumed you had drowned.”

  “For three years you say you were under that assumption?” she queried.

  “It was only last night that I realized otherwise.”

  She had no wish to be blindly obstinate, but there were other views to consider. “Perhaps your wife did die, sir, and I am someone else who bears a likeness to her. Three years is a long time to remember exactly how a person looks.”

  “Ashton, dear, show her the portrait of Lierin,” Aunt Jennifer suggested. “Perhaps it will help convince her.”

  He complied, taking the painting from the table and holding it for the young woman’s perusal. He was not greatly heartened by her look of perplexity.

  “Is that what I look like?” she asked, raising a bemused expression to his.

  “Dear child!” Amanda’s amazement was complete. “Do you mean you have no idea what you look like?” She took a small hand mirror from the dressing table and gave it to the girl. “Here you are, my dear,” she said, smiling with pleasure. “As you will no doubt see, you’re somewhat bruised from the accident, but quite lovely nevertheless.”

  The younger woman stared into the silvered glass, seeing there the countenance of a stranger. Though the bruises that marked the brow and cheek were familiar to her, at least by feel, the visage was not recognizable. Critically she perused the pale, oval face with its high delicate cheekbones and fine features. The light auburn hair, highlighted with gold, tumbled over her shoulders in wildly tossed disarray. The darkly translucent eyes were wide with curious wonder as they turned to consider the portrait. The painting offered substantial evidence that she was among people who had known her before the accident, for she saw a definite likeness in the thickly lashed green eyes, the slender nose, and the gently curving mouth. The resemblance was there, and although not perfected, it presented her with bold, irrefutable evidence of the man’s claim.

  “This is going too quickly,” she complained in a frail whisper. A deep fatigue seized her, and she leaned back into the feathery softness of the pillows, heaving a trembling sigh.

  “Rest yourself, my dear,” Dr. Page bade. “You are safe here and will be well cared for.”

  A cool, moist cloth was laid again upon her brow, half covering her hot and aching eyes, then the doctor pushed himself to his feet.

  “And now, Amanda, I believe you offered me some breakfast.” The three women followed as he made his way to the door. There he paused to look back at Ashton and, seeing the worry in the younger man’s face, had no heart to bid him leave. “Don’t be too long, Ashton.”

  The door closed behind them, and in the ensuing silence the two who remained stared at each other. There was more than a shade of uncertainty in the woman’s wary gaze. As he drew near, Ashton looked into the face that had haunted his dreams for so long and was struck by a strong desire to take her in his arms and crush her close against him. With remarkable restraint he lowered his weight to the edge of the bed and only took her hand.

  “My darling Lierin, I will await your recovery with a most eager heart. I know you are the one I have loved, and God willing, you will soon know it too.”

  Slowly, as if fearful of disturbing him, she withdrew her hand from his and pulled the bedcovers up close beneath her chin. “You call me Lierin, but the name stirs no memory. I do not recall beyond a few moments ago when I heard a voice calling to me. I must think on this….” Her finely arched brows came together. “But I have nothing to think about. I’m tired…my head hurts. The doctor said I should rest…and so I shall.” She could not interpret his fleeting frown and lightly touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. “I don’t know you, Ashton.” An unsteady smile wavered on her lips. “Perhaps this is my home”—her voice rose slightly to make the sentence a question as she glanced about—“…and what you say may be the truth. In my present state I cannot protest overmuch. If it would satisfy you, I will accept the name Lierin…until such a moment when I might realize it is not my own.” Deliberately she lowered her eyelids until the detail faded to a muted, indistinct background against which only his face could be seen. “I shall rest now, Ashton.”

  His hungering gaze fed upon her beauty and eased the yearnings of the past years when he had thought he would never look upon her again. Bending low, he brushed the lightest of kisses across her lips, then took himself across the room. He did not see the emerald eyes slip open and follow his departing back. When the chamber door was safely closed behind him, he braced an elbow high upon the passage wall and, pressing his brow against his forearm, struggled to subdue the trip-hammer beating of his heart. After a long moment he could breathe evenly again, and with slow and thoughtful tread he went to join the others in the dining room below.

  His grandmother glanced up as he entered the room, but waited until he had settled at the head of the table before broaching the subject that plagued her: “I’ve seen the portrait for myself and agree that you have good reason to believe the girl is Lierin, but do you have any misgivings whatsoever about her? Is there the slightest doubt in your mind that she is not Lierin?”

  “I cannot imagine how she can be another,” he sighed. “When I look at her, I see Lierin.”

  “Dear, what do you know about Lierin’s sister?” Aunt Jennifer asked.

  Ashton paused as Willis presented a silver platter filled with ham and selected a slice. “Lenore is probably living on a plantation in the Caribbean by now. She was making plans for her wedding when I met Lierin, but I really can’t say what happened to her after they went back to England. I never heard of them again.”

  Amanda took a sip of coffee from her porcelain cup. “You must recognize that your haste to marry Lierin caused us all some distress, Ashton. I’m sure that it was a terrible shock for Robert Somerton to receive news of his daughter’s marriage and death in the very same moment.”

  “Proper amends were intended, Grand-mere,” Ashton replied, “but as you know disaster struck before they could be carried through.”

  “That leads me to a puzzling matter, Ashton: Lierin’s death. Why has it taken you so long to learn that she is alive? Why didn’t she try to find you? Where has she been all this time?”

  “Marelda has asked me those same questions.”

  “Well, you must admit they should be cleared up,” his grandmother replied. “Is this amnesia a recurring illness? Is that why she made no attempt to find you?” She turned to Dr. Page for an answer. “What do you say, Franklin?”

  “It seems doubtful.” The aging man dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee, then cleared his throat, as if embarrassed by what he was about to say. “All of you know that the madhouse burned, but are you aware that the authorities have yet to find some of the inmates?”

  Ashton lifted his gaze to the older man. “Latham mentioned that last night. What has that to do with Lierin?”

  The doctor leaned his arms on the edge of the table and pressed his hands together almost in a prayerful pose. He knew how deeply Ashton had mourned the loss of his young wife and hoped he could express himself without causing resentment. “When you consider the facts surrounding the accident, such as where it happened, the proximity to the madhouse, and Lierin’s state of undress, have you given thought to the possibility that she might have been fleeing from the asylum?”

  Ashton’s manner turned crisp. “Are you suggesting that my wife is mad?”

  Franklin felt helpless as he met the stony gaze of his host. “Who knows what happened three years ago, Ashton? Lierin might have suffered severely from shock.” Dr. Page saw the tensing muscles in Ashton’s jaw and knew he trod on treacherous ground. He rushed on, hoping to allay the storm. “Ashton, listen to me. Sometimes people are condemned to a madhouse for the simplest cause or even when they shouldn’t be. It’s very much like being buried alive. They can rot in th
at hellish place without relatives knowing they’re even there.”

  The click of heels sounded in the hall, and Ashton waved a hand, cautioning the doctor to silence. “It’s Marelda. I don’t want her to hear of this.”

  “You needn’t worry, Ashton,” Dr. Page assured him. “I brought that girl into the world, and I know her well enough to be cautious of what weapons I lay in her hands.”

  “Then we understand each other,” Ashton responded.

  The dark-haired woman swept into the room with a rustle of silk and paused in the doorway to allow the others to admire the results of her careful toilette. When all eyes came to rest upon her, she went around the table and placed a light kiss on the cheeks of the older women, then greeted her host with a smile as she slid into a chair close on his right.

  “How are you this morning, Ashton?” She rushed on, giving him no time to answer: “I assume, since Dr. Page is here, that you’ve been with your guest upstairs.” She bestowed her consideration on the doctor. “How is your patient anyway, Dr. Page? Has she come to her senses yet?”

  Franklin was slow to reply. “She is still suffering some trauma.”

  “Not anything too serious, I’d wager,” Marelda remarked with as much sarcasm as she dared.

  “Only time will tell.”

  Marelda was not appeased by the physician’s taciturn reply and glanced about the table at her companions, playing her longest stares on the women.

  Aunt Jennifer grew uncomfortable with the silence and attempted to explain. “What Franklin means is that Lierin is having some trouble remembering right now, and it might be a while before she regains her memory.”