Marelda’s eyes grew cold and hard. “Lierin?” She managed a hint of a smile, but it held no more warmth than the frozen jet orbs. “I suppose she remembers just enough to identify herself as Ashton’s wife, but has conveniently forgotten everything else.”
Ashton lifted his cup to the waiting servant and pointedly ignored Marelda until Willis had filled it with the steaming black brew; then he reluctantly lent his attention to the woman. “Lierin couldn’t even remember that much,” he stated. “I had to tell her what her name was.”
The green monster of jealousy stabbed Marelda to the quick, and it was difficult for her to feign any kind of caring reply. “You mean she can’t even remember her name? Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Amanda’s thin lips curved into a smile. “Don’t feel bad, Marelda. Franklin never had a patient with those particular symptoms before today.”
“They’re so farfetched I can understand why. The idea of forgetting one’s own name. Why, the very thought is ridiculous.”
“Not as farfetched as you might think, Marelda,” Dr. Page said. “At least we have a name for it in the medical field. Amnesia may not be very common, but we do know that the condition exists.”
“How can you be sure she has this…this…amnesia?” Marelda argued. “I mean, she could just be pretending.”
The elderly man responded with a slow shrug. “I guess I can’t really be certain of anything, but I see no reason as yet for the pretense.”
“And you may never see a cause if she’s clever.” Marelda noticed the tensing of Ashton’s features and had to yield herself to a more subtle approach to ease his irritation. “But then, the woman’s plight could be very real.”
“No need to doubt the girl at this point,” Dr. Page said and, placing his hands flat on the table, gave a nod to Ashton and to the two older women. “I must beg to be excused. After such fine fare, I am reminded of my lack of sleep last night. I’ll be nodding off in the buggy before I reach home.” He got to his feet. “I’ll come back later to check on Lierin. See that she gets plenty of sleep and as much nourishment as she can take. That is the best advice I can give at the moment.”
Ashton rose from his chair. “I’ll think about that matter we were discussing. I have to go into Natchez anyway, and I might as well make some inquiries, although I see no point in it.”
“I hope it comes out well, Ashton,” the doctor said sincerely.
Marelda was piqued that Ashton had not seen fit to inform her of his intentions and could not resist a snide inquiry: “Are you going to leave your precious little flower all alone?”
Ashton half turned and gave her a lightly mocking smile. “My dear Marelda, I was sure you’d be adequately entertained here at Belle Chêne while I’m away, but if you insist…”
The thrust of his mockery did not miss its mark, and feeling its light sting, Marelda corrected him haughtily: “I was referring to the one upstairs, Ashton dahling.”
“My apologies, Marelda.” He gave her an abbreviated bow, then left the room with Dr. Page.
In their absence Marelda petulantly picked at her food and sighed. “I do wish Ashton would listen to reason.”
“Listen to reason?” Aunt Jennifer was clearly bemused. “How so, my dear?”
Marelda waved her hand toward the upper floor. “Ashton brings that strange little tramp into his house.” She ignored the startled gasps of the women as she forged ahead with her diatribe. “He puts her in a fine bed, treats her like an honored guest.” Her distress was apparent as her voice raised in pitch and fervor: “And then actually claims that she is his long lost wife.”
Aunt Jennifer rose quickly to her nephew’s defense: “My dear, you know Ashton would never insist that she’s his wife unless he’s totally convinced that it’s true.”
“I say the girl is an opportunist who looks like his wife,” Marelda charged.
“Whatever she is,” Amanda replied, “she has been badly hurt and deserves at least a few days’ rest.”
Dramatically Marelda lifted her hands and face to the ceiling and made her plea to some mystical force. “Oh, wicked fate, how oft must I be pierced by your cruel barbs? Is it not enough that I’ve been cast aside once? Must you punish me twice, or even thrice? How much am I to bear?” Her voice quivered with a barely restrained sob, and closing her eyes, she leaned her brow against her knuckles, missing the dismayed look Jennifer directed toward her sister, who responded by raising her hands to mime a soundless round of applause.
“Marelda dear, have you considered going on the stage?” Amanda asked. “You have such a flair for expressing yourself.”
Somewhat deflated, Marelda sank back into her chair and pouted. “I can clearly see that I’m the only one who hasn’t been taken in by that little tramp.”
A brittle light flickered in Amanda’s eyes as she raised her gaze to the woman, and her hand shook with suppressed anger as she dabbed a napkin to her lips. “Please refrain from applying such names to the girl. From all indications I would say that you are quite possibly defaming the character of my grandson’s wife, and you should know by now that my loyalty to this family overrides everything else, even our friendship, Marelda.”
Even in her zeal to set aright an injustice only she could see, Marelda recognized that she was in danger of losing a valuable ally. She was not so unwise as that. She put a hand to her brow and began to weep. “I am beside myself with the thought of losing Ashton again, and I have let my fears goad me into foolishness.”
Amanda silently agreed, but considered that it was best to change the subject, lest they have another display of dramatics.
The woman who had taken on the name Lierin held up her hands in front of her face and stared at the thin fingers. On the third finger of her left hand she wore a thin, golden band, giving proof of her status as a married woman. It gave her no peace of mind, and she wondered how she could ever accept the man’s declaration when she did not feel at all like a wife.
The drapes were still drawn over the windows, preventing the intrusion of the morning light and making the room seem cold and gloomy. She had a sudden desire to feel the warm sunshine on her skin, to bask in its light and let her anxieties be washed in its soothing rays. Ever so carefully she edged her way to the side of the bed. The pain of moving did much to convince her that she was being torn asunder, but she tightened her jaw in stubborn resolve and pressed on. She struggled to a sitting position, then rested a moment, pressing shaking fingers against her temples until the pounding in her head ebbed to a dull ache. Cautiously she eased her weight to her legs and leaned against the bed as her reeling senses threatened to overwhelm her. When the room stopped its insane writhing, she moved toward the end of the bed. Her progress was an unsteady shuffle as she walked her hands along the mattress to abet the hesitant gait of her feet. Once there, she wrapped both arms tightly around the heavy post while she rubbed her aching brow against the cool, smooth carving and waited for her strength to return. When it did, she plucked up her courage and boldly slid her foot outward and away from the four-poster. Her knees were inclined to wobble, and it took a true test of will to keep them firmly beneath her. Refusing to be daunted, she set progressively distant goals to encourage a cautious advance across the room.
Once at her goal she pushed the double layer of drapes aside and shielded her eyes against the glare as light poured through the crystal panes. The sun touched her like a warm, caring friend, and she felt its heat within her breast, momentarily putting her fears to flight. She rested her head against the shaded sill and let her gaze wander outward to the vast, neat lawn. High above the grounds, lofty branches formed huge airy canopies through which the warming sun penetrated. Though winter had stripped the limbs bare and sapped the verdant color from the lawn, it was immediately evident that great care went into maintaining the grounds. Neatly manicured brick walks meandered through a maze of trimmed shrubs and trailed around ivy-covered beds that had been formed around massive tree trunks. Only the upp
er part of an ornately roofed gazebo was visible behind carefully shaped evergreen foliage. Well protected from prying eyes, it was a place suited for lovers.
Carefully Lierin turned and braced a hand on the back of a nearby chair as she moved toward the bed. As she stepped free of the furnishing, a movement to her left caught her eye. Somewhat startled, she turned her head quickly, forgetting the sharp harrows that were ready to rake her brain. The piercing barbs of pain stabbed into her skull, making her pay dearly for her reckless movement. She grabbed for the chair with one hand and clasped the other tightly over her eyes until the tormenting spikes retreated and coherent thought was once more a possibility. When she could open her eyes again, she found herself staring at her own image reflected in a tall, standing mirror. Curiosity drew her toward the cheval glass, but the effort of further activity demanded more than she could cede. She relented to her growing fatigue and paused some distance away to consider her image, hoping she might glean some knowledge about herself that would encourage a return of her memory. She was not greatly impressed by what she saw. Indeed, she came to the conclusion that she looked as bad as she felt. What color there was in her cheeks was only on one side and that a light purplish blue. Her brow bore the same discoloration, only heavier, contrasting sharply with her fair skin. With her hair wildly tossed and her deep green eyes wide with worry, she looked very much like a bewildered waif. Although her mind gave her no hint of age, the body beneath the clinging flannel nightgown bore the curving shape and the upthrusting fullness of attained womanhood, while it also boasted of a slender firmness that bespoke of an active life.
Several languages came quickly to her tongue, and numbers flowed with ease through her thoughts, but the origins of both seemed almost mystical. She knew the proper setting of a table, the correct utensil to use, the form of a graceful curtsey, and the intricate steps of several dances, but it was beyond the capacity of her battered brain to identify the source from which she had received this knowledge.
“Lierin Wingate?” she breathed. “Are you truly the one I see?”
Her mind gave her no answer, but her dilemma ended when she became distracted by footsteps in the hall. When a light rap came upon the door, Lierin searched about for the nearest haven, having no wish to receive guests in her nightwear. Her throat was too constricted to issue more than a weak and raspy croak, making her attempt to call out ineffective. It was not enough to forestall intrusion, for the portal swung open without further ado. She came around with a gasp of surprise, but her sudden movement played havoc with her tenuous stability. The room dipped and through a hazy, swirling motion she saw Ashton halt in the doorway, no doubt surprised to see her up and about. She closed her eyes against the sickening erosion of balance, feeling as if she were teetering on the edge of a dark, bottomless crater that was drawing her down into its gaping maw. She stumbled, and the room swooped into a new, confusing orbit; then she became overpoweringly aware of strong arms closing about her and drawing her against a broad chest. They were alone in the room, and she realized her weakened condition made her extremely vulnerable to his whims. She tried to twist free, acutely conscious of the brush of his hardened thighs against her own and the manly feel of his body branding her through the light layer of her clothing, but he held her in a unrelenting vise of steel-thewed arms. His gentle but tenacious grasp put roots to her fear. She no longer questioned her sanity, but his! He was surely mad to accost her beneath the noses of his kin!
She pushed at his chest with one hand and, straining away, feebly pummeled him with a fist. “No! Please! You cannot!”
Her puny resistance was as naught against his strength. Her feet swung free as she was lifted clear of the floor. The bed swam before her heavily lidded eyes, and she envisioned the struggles that would soon take place there and surely result in her rape. Roweling fear assailed her as she was lowered to the mattress. She clenched her eyes tightly and, catching her hands in the edge of the blanket, clutched them beneath her chin in desperation.
“If you take me, it will only be by dent of strength,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I shall not yield myself to you, monster.”
She heard a distant chuckle and felt a cool hand brush the hair from her brow. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself gazing up into laughing hazel eyes. He smiled down at her and sat beside her on the bed.
“My dearest Lierin, ’tis my fondest fantasy that we might once more share the cup of passion. When it happens, it will not be a matter of taking. Until then, madam, I urge you to take better care of yourself. Your strength has not yet returned, and should you persist in this activity, you will at the very least delay your recovery.”
Sensing she had nothing to fear, she breathed a trembling sigh of relief. Ashton considered the pale features, noting the dark shadows around her eyes and the slight frown that hinted of a persistent ache. He dampened a cloth in the washbasin, waved it through the air to cool it, and placed it across her forehead. She sighed pleasurably as the pain abated, and for a long moment she enjoyed the comfort; then a thought came to her, and she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her with an expression so intensely loving and caring that she felt a softening in her heart toward him.
“When you spoke, you said, when it happens,” she murmured in wary questing. “Don’t you mean if?”
He raised the cloth and flipped a wet curl from her brow, then pointedly delayed his answer as his finger lazily traced her cheek and moved along her chin. He braced an arm on the other side of her and leaned slightly forward. Though his tone was light, she could see no humor in his face as he drawled a belated reply: “My dear madam, I am not given to a loose tongue, and I usually manage to say what I mean.”
Of a sudden her pallor became a crimson blush, and with an effort she took her eyes away from his steady gaze and made a valiant attempt to change the subject. “You were the one who brought me here?”
He nodded. “And laid you here as I did this moment past.”
She struggled to avoid making contact with that unrelenting regard. “What was I wearing when you brought me here?” Lamely she waved a hand about the room. “I see no other clothes.”
“Your gown was badly torn and muddy, so I bade them wash and fold it away, should you later want or have a need of it.”
She raised her brow prettily, then winced at the effort it cost her. “Gown?”
He reached his hand out and plucked at the sleeve of the flannel nightgown she wore, drawing her surprised attention.
“A nightgown?” she gasped in amazement. She pressed a hand over the simple yoke as she asked, “Like this one?”
His head moved from side to side, and a slow smile curved the corners of his mouth upward. “More…ah…shall we say, wifely…or rather…bridely…such as on the first night.”
Her consternation grew until it plowed a small furrow between her brows. “Bridely?”
With obvious relish, he went on to describe the garment in detail. “Much thinner. No sleeves and cut low here…and here….”
Her face darkened perceptively as her gaze followed the stroke of his finger. Though he did not touch her, the single digit came close enough to halt her breath.
“…With just a bit of lace here…and down on the sides here.”
She started to speak, but was forced to clear her throat before she was able to. “You…ah…bathed me?”
He stepped away from the bed and stood staring dreamily into the distance a moment before he answered with tongue in cheek. “No, sadly enough Willabelle came in and bade me leave before she performed the task.”
Lierin let out a long, slow breath to keep from sighing in loud relief. At least, she had kept some shred of dignity before this intrusive stranger.
He spoke over his shoulder as he crossed to the fireplace. “I’ll be away for several hours, but Willabelle will be here to see to things while I’m gone.” He took up the poker iron and began turning the logs in the fireplace. “If you need anything, just
tell her.”
Lierin’s world turned suddenly sour. A bitter bile of fear rose in her throat as something dark and slender ripped through the back of her memory. Her mind was suddenly filled with chaotic visions, and rising to the fore of these was a face twisted by terror and forever frozen by a soundless scream. She mewled and cringed away, wanting to escape the nightmare that pressed down upon her.
Hearing the whimpering sounds, Ashton glanced around in wonder and found his wife braced against the headboard with fear-glazed eyes.
“Lierin?” He took a step toward her, but she shook her head frantically, unable to extract herself from the apparition.
“Go away!” she cried. “Please!”
“Lierin…what is it?” Completely confused, he advanced several more steps, but halted when he saw her scramble across the bed.
“Go away! Leave me alone!” she sobbed pleadingly. “Please go away….”
“It’s all right, Lierin.” Ashton retreated. “I’m leaving now.” He replaced the poker iron in its stand and, as she collapsed in exhausted relief upon the bed, made his way to the door. He was completely undone by her abrupt change of mood, for he could find no plausible explanation for it. Stepping into the hall, he closed the door behind him softly and let his breath out in a long, wavering sigh. Only then did he become aware of his wildly thumping heart and the feeling of cold dread in the pit of his stomach.
The house took on a midafternoon tranquillity as the ladies retired to their respective rooms for a nap. It was an excuse Marelda used to be alone so she could think through her dilemma. Her mind was left to its own devices for the seeking of a solution, for the small, leather-bound volume of poems that lay open on the bedside commode had given her no special insight. Indeed, at the moment her thoughts pawed through the lyric love notes like a raging bull through a flower bed. Gathering the shawl tightly about her shoulders, she paced the length of the thick, soft rug that accommodated the generous dimensions of the room and pivoted with mounting vexation at the limit of each circuit. Pausing by the bedside stand, she snatched up the book and riffled through the pages, reading a phrase or two here and there. Her ire peaked, and with gnashing teeth, she hurled the offending tome from her, flinging it to the far side of the room.
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