“Lawsy, Miz Lierin. Ah di’n know yo was up an’ about,” the woman apologized in an elated tone.
“Yes, I’m feeling much better now.”
Willabelle gave a little cackle of glee. “De massa be happy to hear dat. He been nearly ’side hisse’f, wantin’ yo to be all right.” She began smoothing the sheets on the bed. “Would yo be wantin’ somepin to eat now, missus?”
Lierin replied with a tentative smile: “Actually, I was wondering if it might be possible for me to have a bath…I mean, a real one that I can soak in…”
Willabelle grinned broadly. “Yas’m, dat sho’ is pos’ble.” She retrieved the velvet robe that had fallen from the end of the bed and held it while the girl slipped into it. “Yo jes’ rest yose’f right here, missus, whilst Ah goes downstairs an’ fetches some things.”
When the woman returned, it seemed a whole procession of servants accompanied her. Some carried boxes tied with fancy bows, other toted buckets of hot water, and the last servant entered bearing a brass tub in his arms. A bath was prepared, and as the servants left, Willabelle laid out fresh linens and placed vials of perfumed oils and a porcelain dish of scented soaps on a small table within easy reach of the tub.
Lierin thoughtfully sampled the fragrances of the vials until she found one of a pleasing flowery essence, then dribbled it into the bath. A scent of jasmine filled the room as she flicked her fingers through the steaming liquid, and she closed her eyes in pleasure as she savored the smell. Rolling up her hair into a massive knot upon her head, she eyed the boxes over her shoulder with a good measure of curiosity. “What are those?”
“Dem’s from de dressmaker, missus. De massa ordered yo some mo’ clothes a few days ago, and dey arrive las’ night. Ah’ show dem to yo whilst yo soak in de tub.”
Willabelle immediately turned to the matter of helping her disrobe and showed a gentle concern for her condition. Even though the housekeeper had seen the bruises before, their appearance had grown even more unsightly with the yellowing tones mingling with the purple and blue. Others which had gone unnoticed had blackened and were clearly visible against the creamy skin. The slash across her back had taken on several small scabs and widened as the contusions became more evident.
“Lawsy, chil’, yo look like yo was run over by both de team an’ de coach.”
Lierin sank into the soothing liquid and released a sigh as the heat banished the last of the chill. “I was sure that I had been.”
The black woman chuckled. “If’n it di’n smell so bad, ah’d fetch some hoss liniment to rub on yo, but wid all dem fancy clothes de massa bought for yo, we cain’t have yo smellin’ like a hoss. Ah’ll put some salve on dat place on your back though. It ain’t a mite pretty.”
As Lierin soaked away some of her soreness, Willabelle flipped open the couturier’s boxes and displayed several delicately worked chemises, a stiff-boned corset, silk stockings, and lace-trimmed petticoats to her new mistress. A few fashionable gowns were taken from the larger boxes and draped over chairs, while matching slippers were also presented. In preparation for Lierin’s leaving the tub, the housekeeper laid out a lace-embellished nightgown on the bed, then came with towel in hand to lend assistance to the young woman.
“Did Mr. Wingate select all those clothes by himself?” Lierin asked as the housekeeper gently patted her skin dry.
“Ah ’spect so, missus, an’ Ah say he done a mighty fine job of it, too.”
“Yes, he apparently has no difficulty selecting the right apparel for a woman.”
Detecting a slight satirical inflection in her voice, Willabelle paused briefly, giving her a quizzical stare. “Don’ yo like de clothes, missus?”
“Of course! It would be difficult not to. I mean, everything has been chosen so well.” She pulled the nightgown over her head, speaking through it as she added, “Your master appears to be very talented at dressing a woman.”
Willabelle smiled to herself as a small ray of understanding dawned. It was not uncommon for a wife to be suspicious of the way her husband gained such knowledge, especially when the man was as good-looking as the master. “Yo don’ need to fret yose’f about Massa Ashton. Ah ain’t never seen a man so taken wid a lady as he is wid yo. Reckonin’ yo was dead nearly kilt him.”
Lierin tied the satin cords of the dressing gown about her narrow waist as she asked, “Are you sure I’m really his wife?”
“De massa says yo is, and dat’s good enough fo’ me. An’ if’n yo gots any doubts, take a gander at dat dere paintin’ again. Dat oughta convince yo if it ain’t done so already.”
“Miss Rousse seems to think differently. I understand she was engaged to Ashton when he went down to New Orleans and got married.”
“Humph!” The black woman rolled her eyes. “If Miz Marelda reckon herself engaged to Massa Ashton, it was mostly in her mind. Dat woman been ataggin’ aftah him ever since she was a young kid comin’ here wid her pa. Her folks died some five or so years ago an’ left her wid dat big ol’ house in town. It jes’ seem like she got real anxious to be married aftah dat. ’Tain’t hard to figger she’s itchin’ fo’ Massa Ashton ’cause she’s out here all de time. If Ah knows her at all, she be around fo’ a spell more, even wid de massa sayin’ yo is his wife. Seems like dere ain’t no nice way to tell her to go.”
“Mr. Wingate may not wish her to leave. She is a very beautiful woman.”
“Dat’ll be de day when de massa cain’t make up his mind,” Willabelle mumbled beneath her breath.
“Do you think I should be cautious about leaving my room?” Lierin queried. “Miss Rousse does seem to resent me.”
Willabelle grunted. “Don’ yo be scared ’bout dat, missus. In fact, Ah’m thinkin’ yo better venture out jes’ as soon as pos’ble ’cause if’n yo don’, she gonna have de idea she gots Massa Ashton all to herse’f. She been like a cat runnin’ up de walls dis whole week.”
“Are you suggesting that I chase after him, too?” Lierin inquired in astonishment. “Why, I hardly know the man.”
“Well, honey chil’, if’n yo don’ mind some advice from one who knows de man, yo ain’t gonna find another like him fo’ some time to come. He’s a man, all right, an’ yo is a mighty fine-lookin’ woman, but like yo said, so is Marelda.”
Lierin did not feel inclined to argue with the housekeeper. Neither would she be goaded into running after a man who was still very much a stranger to her. There were serious matters to take into consideration. Once she lifted the barriers between them and accepted him as her husband, she would have to face the matter of going to bed with him, and at this point in time she was not willing to run headlong into a situation she had some reservations about. She would just as soon take it slowly and avoid what mistakes she could. Hopefully the problem would soon be solved by the return of her memory.
Still, she was intrigued by the one who called himself her husband. He was an exceptionally good-looking man and comported himself well. This was made evident once more when he came to visit her in her bedchamber, which had become his morning custom. In gentlemanly decorum he waited at the threshold as Willabelle announced his presence, and Lierin noticed how her own heart quickened its pace with the knowledge of his presence. The warmth in her cheeks could hardly be dismissed as lack of interest.
Willabelle had let the door swing back, allowing Ashton full view of the room, and his gaze found Lierin framed in the morning light spilling through the crystal panes. Her long hair seemed ablaze as it tumbled in loose array around her shoulders, and when their eyes met, a hesitant smile touched her lips.
“I must thank you for your gifts,” she murmured. “They’re very lovely. You’ve been very generous with me.”
“May I come in?” he inquired.
“Oh, surely.” She was amazed that he should require her permission.
Willabelle slipped from the room as he entered, announcing as she swung the door closed, “Ah’ll fetch y’all some vittles.”
Ashton moved acro
ss the room, drawn to his wife much as a freezing man is lured to warmth or a starving man to a feast. Her beauty filled his hungering gaze and lighted a fire in his blood, sending the cold chills of uncertainty fleeing from his vitals. Was it madness to awake in a world where nothing bore the touch of familiarity, where every face was that of a stranger, where even the bed she lay in and the clothes she wore bore no hint of her own world? Or worse yet, not being able to say what her own world was and having no recall beyond that moment of awakening? How could he even entertain the idea of madness when he gazed at her?
“May I say, madam, that you’re looking exceptionally beautiful this morning?”
“Even with the bruises?” she queried dubiously.
“My eyes have been so long starved for you, I barely notice them.” His fingers lifted to brush her cheek lightly. “Besides, they’re fading now and will soon be gone.” He lowered his head near the curling mass of gold-lit auburn and closed his eyes as her fragrance spiraled down through him with intoxicating effect, snaring his mind and his senses and blending them with memories of old.
Lierin felt his nearness with every stirring fiber in her being, with every tingling wave that washed through her body. Her eyes flicked hurriedly downward as the warmth of his breath touched her ear, and she stared in fixed attention where his shirt gaped open, partially revealing a firmly muscled, darkly matted chest. As he leaned closer, her nerves jumped, and she placed a cautious hand against that firm expanse, but the contact was explosive. It set her pulse leaping out of control. Feeling the heat of a blush in her cheeks, she stepped quickly away, rubbing her palm as though it had been scorched.
“I’m overwhelmed by the clothes you bought me,” she stated breathlessly, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder as she lengthened the distance between them. It was safer that way. “I’ve been thinking that I must have some clothes of my own somewhere.”
“It doesn’t really matter if you have,” he replied, contemplating her from beneath his brows. “Outfitting you with a wardrobe isn’t going to put me into debtor’s prison. We’ll have to attend to its completion when you feel up to leaving the house.”
Lierin experienced some bemusement of her own. “Aren’t you afraid I’m only after your gifts and your wealth? Especially when there’s still some doubt I’m your wife?”
Ashton laughed softly. “Who prattles about doubt?”
She answered with a tiny shrug. “Some think you’re being fooled.”
“Marelda has come to visit you?” he inquired and, at her reluctant nod, captured the wide, emerald eyes by the intensity of his stare. “Marelda never saw you before the other night, and she’d be the last person to admit that you’re my wife.”
“I wish it were as settled in my mind as it seems to be in yours.” Turning away, Lierin pressed her fingers against her temples and shook her head in frustration. “I know the memory is there, waiting to be brought to the surface, but there seems to be a barrier that prevents it. There are so many things I need to know about my life.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m a stranger even to myself.”
“I can tell you a few facts,” he murmured, moving near. “But our time together was so brief I fear they’re not very significant.”
She faced him and searched his face. “Please…tell me everything you can.”
A warm glow came into the smoky depths as he stared down into her troubled face. He reached out a hand and gently smoothed an errant strand from her cheek. Then he stepped away, relating the facts as if he had memorized them. “You were born twenty-three years ago in New Orleans and named Lierin Edana Somerton. Your mother, Dierdre Cassidy, was of Irish descent, and your father came from England. You have a sister, Lenore Elizabeth Somerton, who was also born in New Orleans….”
“Which of us is older?”
Ashton paused, glancing back at her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my love. I was so enamored with you, some details were left wanting.”
The endearment and statement brought the color rushing back to her cheeks. Her voice was barely a whisper as she urged, “Go on.”
Ashton stepped to the windows and, pulling the draperies aside, looked out over the grounds. “When your mother died, she left you and Lenore a coastal home in Biloxi. You also have a house in New Orleans bequeathed to you by your grandfather. The will was drawn up while you stayed with him, and although he died believing you had drowned, it was never changed.” Dropping the silk panel over the window, he faced her, folding his hands behind his back. “So you see, madam, you have possessions of your own, and with your father a rich merchant in England, you’re quite independent of my wealth.” A slow smile touched his lips. “Indeed, were I a fortune seeker, you would be a very prime target for my attentions.”
Her spirits responded to his humor, and in a half-shy manner, she gave him retort: “I’ll have to consider that as a possible cause for your insistence in claiming me as your wife.” She grew steadily braver as he returned a roguish smile to her. “I do perceive that you’ve been something of a rake.”
“Madam?” His brow slanted up.
Her eyes briefly marked the gifts on the bed. “You certainly seem to know how to dress a lady.” She gave him a look askance. “Or should I say undress?”
Ashton protested her charge with a lopsided smile. “I’ve been a blessed saint, madam.”
“Hm.” Lierin strolled about, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. “I wonder.”
“Wonder no more, my love,” he advised her with a lively sparkle in his eyes. “I swear to you that I savored no other wench while your memory burned in my mind.”
“Burned in your mind?” She turned to him again with a quizzical smile. “Just how long did the fire of my memory last? A week? A month? A year?”
Ashton laughed with pleasure, cheered by the fact that he was seeing glimpses of a personality that was more like his Lierin. His gaze warmed as it raked her. “Were you not so badly bruised, my love, I would show you how desperate a man I have become.”
Her smile slowly faded. “You have no doubt charmed many women out of their virtue, sir. I only hope I do not find myself a victim of some ploy you’ve contrived.”
Ashton grew serious as he sensed that her worry was genuine. “What are you afraid of, Lierin?”
She heaved a wavering sigh and let a long moment pass before she replied: “I have this fear that I’m not really your wife, and if I let you become my husband, I will someday realize my mistake. By then, it might be too late. I could find myself with child. I might fall in love with you, and I’m afraid of being hurt.”
Ashton went to her and stood before her, resisting the urge to take her into his arms. “I love you, Lierin, and I play no games with your heart. I married you because I wanted you for my wife. Whatever children our love may bear, they will have a proper name and a claim to all my holdings. I promise you that.”
Though she wanted to hold him at arm’s length for her own good, she was becoming increasingly aware of him as a man. Her spirit was nurtured by the comfort he so easily bestowed on her, and she wanted to draw succor from his caring attention. “It’s difficult to accept the idea of being married, Ashton, when I know so little about myself.”
“That’s understandable, my love. We were together for such a brief period, you barely had time to get accustomed to the idea.”
“And yet,” she murmured thoughtfully, staring at the golden band on her finger, “I wear this ring. Do you recognize it?”
He lifted her hand and considered the circle of gold a long moment before replying: “I had no time to purchase anything but a plain band for you. If my memory serves me correctly, this is the ring I gave you.”
She felt the warmth of his gaze on her face and dared to glance up. “Perhaps we are married, Ashton, and I’m just letting my fears blind me to that fact.”
“Don’t torment yourself, my love,” he urged. “Hopefully, after further rest your memory will come back, and you’ll know the truth.”
“I await that moment anxiously.”
“So do I, my love. So do I.”
Chapter Four
THE parlor was the gathering place for the Wingate family before the evening meal. It was a time for conversation and restful pleasantries, a goblet of sherry or a small draft of a stronger beverage, a few more tapestry stitches, or a tinkling melody played on the harpsichord. Sometimes the rich, mellow sounds of the cello flowed through the house, either as part of a duet of the two instruments, or singly, as it was played this evening. Marelda’s hopes soared as she listened to the musical strains, for she knew Ashton was the only one in the household who could make the instrument come alive with such warmth. He was a man of many talents, a perfectionist who strove to succeed in all things.
Marelda paused in front of the hall mirror to give herself a last complimentary appraisal. Her black hair was artfully arranged to set off her sultry facade, having been swept in deep, lush waves to one side, where it was gathered in a cluster of ringlets that dangled prettily from behind her ear. She had worn the gown of dark red taffeta with the hope that Ashton would be at dinner, and now that she knew she would not be disappointed, she smiled smugly to herself. She considered the selection of the gown a stroke of genius on her part. The illusion of voluptuousness had been created by the use of padding sewn inside her chemise where it would press her small breasts upward. The shallow bodice seemed unable to contain the structured fullness and threatened to dip below the line of decency and reveal the darker hues of her bosom. A man would be hard pressed to ignore such a daring décolletage, and since Ashton was very much of that gender, she expected him to be susceptible. Of course, her display might shock the elder ladies, but if it succeeded in winning Ashton’s regard and arousing his manly lusts, then it would be well worth her exposure. She would not sit idly by while the redhead made so much of her invalid state.