How long he stood at the foot of the bed, he could not say. Finally he doffed his robe and, leaning down, braced his arms on either side of her, realizing that her eyes had opened and she lay watching him. She pushed the sheet away from her, then her arms reached up to encircle him. As his naked body lowered upon her own, her lips moved hot and eager beneath his kiss. Once again the ecstasy began, just as it had that night when he had found his love.
A tiny rosewood box was borne inconspicuously on the serving tray as Ashton brought his wife breakfast in bed. A small vase of yellow flowers obscured it until Lierin lifted the bouquet to test the fragrance of the blossoms. Discovering the ornately carved cubicle, she searched the hazel eyes for some clue to the mysterious box, but they gleamed back at her above mute, smiling lips. Quite carefully, as if she held a great treasure in her hands, she lifted the lid and stared in amazement at what the box contained. Nestled within a bed of velvet was an emerald and diamond ring of unique and extraordinary beauty.
“Oh, Ashton…” Tears gathered to blur her vision as she looked at him. “It’s so very lovely.”
“I was rather rushed when I bought the first wedding ring. I hope this will make amends.”
“There was no need for amends. My joy is being your wife.”
Ashton lifted her hand and slid the jeweled circlet upon her finger while his eyes caressed the soft visage. “With this ring I thee wed….” His face descended, and Lierin’s lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. “And what God has joined together,” he breathed, “let not man put asunder…ever again.”
Though the rich foods, luxurious accommodations, and festive sights provoked no memory of bygone events, Lierin bloomed beneath the care and loving attention of her husband. The azalea and camellia shrubs could not equal her radiance, and as was its wont when moments are pleasurable, time flew past on quicksilver wings. Soon the month was behind them, and the River Witch took them upriver once again. There they settled with effortless ease into the daily routine of master and mistress of Belle Chêne.
A grand fête was planned to introduce Lierin to family friends and to the community at large. It was to be a festive occasion with food and refreshments aplenty. A pavilion was erected on the lush grounds, and there the musicians would play their lively tunes and romantic waltzes for the dancers. Invitations were spread by word of mouth and by notices on every posting board in the county. Soon the countryside was aflutter with preparations. Seamstresses worked day and night as the ladies prepared their finest or ordered new, depending on their status.
The frenzy increased as the appointed date drew nigh, and the hive of activity was centered around Belle Chêne. A wide variety of confections were made, and crocks of fermented wines and kegs of cider were brought out of storage. Sides of beef and pork were turned on spits above trenches where aromatic woods burned with a low, steady heat. As the time waned to a matter of hours, whole spits of fowl, goose, and turkey were added to the fires, and fruits were carried to the tables.
The first carriages began to arrive, and soon the sprawling lawns were filled with running children and strolling couples. Lierin braved the throng on her husband’s arm and approached the first few introductions hesitantly. She took heart from the jovial well-wishers and their open acceptance, and, with a growing sense of belonging, greeted them with gentle warmth. The couple pushed through a rapidly growing crowd to greet others until at last they could only stand and let newcomers advance as best they might. In a moment of respite Ashton wondered if he could think of any particular acquaintance who was not in the crowd that surrounded them. He felt a minor sense of irritation when he recognized a few he had hoped would not attend. Still, he was hardly surprised to see Marelda. She came on the arm of M. Horace Titch, who approached the reception line with considerably less zeal than she portrayed. Indeed, he seemed downright fearful. He twitched nervously as Ashton made the presentations and then stumbled away in clumsy haste. Marelda jerked the squat man’s arm, disappointed that she had not been permitted enough time to taunt the couple with subtle gibes, and began to berate him soundly on his lack of manners.
“I really don’t understand you, Horace. You act as if we don’t have any right to be here, and everyone knows that Ashton invited the whole countryside to this affair. Why are you such a coward?”
M. Horace Titch flinched beneath her ridicule and glanced about sheepishly to see if there were any witnesses to this verbal abuse. Sometimes the pain of being with Marelda was almost too much to bear, yet adoring her as he did, he could never deny her smallest request even when she carelessly stripped him of his pride.
Throughout the introductions and the feast Lierin became aware of the unswerving regard of a man who had made no effort to come forward and present himself. She felt a vague sense of recognition and finally realized he was the same man she had shocked by kissing Ashton outside the inn. She made an effort to dismiss his bold interest as something his fantasies had fermented, yet it was hard to ignore his unrelenting stares.
The rich hues of the sunset had spread over the sky when servants began setting out lamps and lighting lanterns. As if by some unspoken command the guests grew quiet, and all eyes were drawn to the portico of the mansion. There, they found the couple they had come to honor. The two had changed to evening attire, and for once, the elder ladies of Belle Chêne were struck to dumbness and could only admire their charges in silent awe. Willabelle loudly sniffed and wiped at her eyes with a knuckle, while Luella May stood off to one side, her palms pressed together with the fingertips touching her lips, as if she prayed that nothing would destroy the poignancy of the moment. Ashton’s proudly smiling eyes caressed Lierin’s face for a brief moment, then he moved forward, leading his lady slowly down the steps and giving all an ample opportunity to admire her grace and beauty. The guests gave way before them as he escorted her across the lawn and up the steps of the large pavilion. At his nod the musicians began a waltz, and with an arm about her seemingly fragile waist, he swept her in the opening steps of the dance. Bathed in the rosy colors of the sunset and the security of their love, they swirled about while the guests gathered around the perimeter to watch and murmur in admiration. When the last notes of the music finally ebbed, the onlookers erupted in an enthusiastic applause. Ashton held his wife’s hand at arm’s length while she dipped into a deep and gracious curtsey. His voice rang out with pride as he began the announcement.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and friends. I would like to present my wife, Lierin….”
“Sir…” a man’s voice intruded. “I think there’s been a dreadful mistake.”
The tall, sandy-haired stranger elbowed his way through the midst of the guests and came to stand near the steps of the pavilion where he drew the confused stares of the Wingate couple. Ashton frowned down at the man, troubled by his statement. The stranger cast a glance over his shoulder at the puzzled faces that surrounded him, and then once again addressed his host.
“I fear, sir, you are under the wrong assumption. This woman whom you have introduced as your wife is not Lierin….”
Startled gasps came from all who listened, and Lierin clutched at Ashton’s arm, feeling suddenly weak.
“She is Lenore Sinclair, the twin sister of your late wife….”
“No! That is impossible!” The denial exploded from Ashton. “She is Lierin!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the stranger apologized crisply. “The mistake is yours.”
“How can you possibly know?” Ashton demanded. “Who are you?”
“I am Malcolm Sinclair,” the man stated boldly. “The lady’s husband.”
Lierin’s breath left her in a rush, as if someone had struck her a fierce blow, and she sagged in a dizzy faint. Trails of light swirled about her as the pavilion reeled in a drunken orbit. She hardly knew the moment Ashton lifted her in his arms, but distantly she was aware of a flurry of confused conjectures sweeping through the guests. Somewhere in the crowd feminine laughter peeled with the sound of triu
mphant victory, and she assumed it was Marelda, gloating. Ashton carried her to a chair and she sagged weakly against its tall back. Dr. Franklin Page had separated himself from the crowd and came to lend his assistance, producing a vial of smelling salts. As Lierin turned her face away from the caustic fumes, she found herself staring into the brown eyes of Malcolm Sinclair as he stood a step or two beyond Ashton.
“Are you all right?” Ashton whispered in anxious concern as he pressed a dampened cloth to her brow.
“Is it true?” Her question was barely audible. “Am I really his wife? Or am I yours?”
Ashton squeezed her hand reassuringly, then straightened to face the man. His jaw was set, and so was his mind. “I know this is Lierin,” he stubbornly declared. “I married her three years ago in New Orleans….”
“It cannot be.” Malcolm Sinclair was equally adamant. “Your wife drowned in a riverboat accident those same number of years ago, sir. I tell you now this is Lenore, the woman I married. She was taken from our home by force, and after a careful search I found the trail led here to Natchez. I couldn’t find her, and I thought she was lost to me forever until I happened upon you two outside the inn. The shock of seeing my wife kissing another man overwhelmed me, and I was too stunned to tell you then.” Turning to Lierin, he spread his hat and hand in pleading supplication. “Lenore, my love. Set this thing to rest. Tell them you’re my wife.”
“I…I cannot….” Lierin stammered, her mind a maelstrom of confusion. “I know…I mean…I think…I really think…I am Lierin.”
“Your sister is dead,” he insisted. “Don’t you remember?”
“No,” she whispered miserably. “I can’t remember anything.”
“What has he done to you?” Malcolm cried. He whirled on Ashton in an angry heat. “I don’t know how you managed this….”
“Ashton had nothing to do with her loss of memory,” Dr. Page interjected almost calmly and squinted up at the young man. “But what she says is true. She can’t remember you or anything else…and she may never recall her life before the accident.”
“Accident?” Malcolm seemed bemused. “What accident?”
Ashton offered the information reluctantly: “She was struck by my carriage.”
“I didn’t know,” Malcolm murmured and faced Lierin again, his eyes dark and troubled. “As I stand here, I swear to you that you are Lenore Sinclair. My wife.”
Lierin twisted her hands in her lap and turned away from his pleading gaze as tears began to stream down her face. She fought against her mounting fears and the building pressure that threatened to send her sobbing across the lawns.
“Have you something to substantiate your claim?” Ashton challenged. “You obviously know something about the Somerton family, but what proof do you bear? I say she is Lierin, and you vow she is Lenore. Am I simply to take your word that she is Lenore?” He laughed caustically. “You will pardon me, sir, if I will demand more evidence than just your word.”
“I have nothing with me….”
Ashton smiled sardonically. “There could be a very good reason for that.”
“I do have proof!” Malcolm Sinclair insisted. “If you will allow me to return, I shall present enough evidence to convince you.”
“I would be interested in seeing what you have,” Ashton stated. “Return at your convenience, but remember that it will take a great deal to sway me from my belief that she is my wife.”
Malcolm clapped his hat upon his head and, turning on a heel, strode through the guests as they opened a path for him. In the painful silence that followed his passing, Ashton stood with a hand upon his wife’s trembling shoulder, hardly aware of the guests moving away from the pavilion. Aunt Jennifer and Amanda came to give comfort, but words of reassurance seemed empty and without substance. The laughter was gone from the evening’s revelries, and only the smirking smile of Marelda Rousse greeted the couple as they made their way toward the house.
“I told you, didn’t I?” she taunted. She flung up her head and chuckled as she saw the turmoil twisting behind Ashton’s face. “What’s the matter, dahling? Have you lost your tongue? Don’t you have something to say?”
Seeing the tensing muscles in Ashton’s lean jaw, Horace Titch squirmed uneasily and tugged at Marelda’s sleeve. “We’d better leave now.”
The brunette tossed him an impatient glare. “Really, Horace, don’t you have any backbone at all?”
The short man shriveled in shame, unable to ignore this latest cut while Ashton Wingate was within hearing range. He stepped awkwardly away and patted his plaid coat, as if unable to decide what to do with his hands. Marelda sighed heavily and relented, taking his arm as she left with him. She had to consider that there was still much to be gained by keeping the man on a string.
Lierin returned to the master bedroom, and Ashton closed the door quietly behind them. She moved about the room as if in a daze and undressed as a matter of rote. His heart heavy with dread, Ashton sat in a chair and watched her, knowing she was confused, but unable to say more than what had already been said.
She came from the bathing room, her face freshly washed and her hair tumbling loose about her shoulders. The satin peignoir she had donned hugged the softly curving figure and dipped low between her breasts to reveal the enticing cleavage. Though she seemed oblivious to her dishabille, he was not. Its effect was perhaps even more devastating now that Malcolm Sinclair had cast a shadow of doubt between them.
“Do you think I played you false?” he murmured as she paused at the window to stare out in thoughtful reflection.
Lierin turned slowly, shaking her head. “Malcolm Sinclair hasn’t proved anything yet.”
She came to him, her eyes touching to the depth of his soul. His thighs parted to receive her as his arms slipped about her hips, bringing her close against him. He pressed a kiss upon the inner curve of her breast and then leaned his head back to savor the sweetness of her lips. The silken sash that bound her waist came free beneath his plucking fingers, and the robe fell open, allowing his mouth to roam the hills and vales of her scented flesh. She trembled as he awakened her senses, and for them life began again, thudding through their veins with renewed vigor and leading them on to greater heights than they had ever known before.
It was two days hence that Willis came to the parlor. The butler’s disquiet was obvious to the family members who waited tensely for him to make his announcement.
“Massa Ashton…” His dark, sorrowful eyes moved about the room, meeting the apprehensive stares that rested upon him. “Dere’s two men at de door wantin’ to have a word wid yo an’ de missus. One is dat Mistah Sinclair who comed here befo’, and de other says he’s Miz Lierin’s pa…’ceptin’ he says she’s Miz Lenore.”
A feeling of despair knotted within Lierin’s stomach and left her cold and shaking.
“Show them in, Willis,” Ashton bade, all humor gone from his face. “What they have to report can be said in front of the whole family.”
“Yassuh, Massa Ashton,” the black man replied solemnly and, with drooping shoulders, left the room.
Aunt Jennifer plied the needle to her tapestry, paying no heed to where she stitched, while Amanda carefully observed her grandson as he went to stand beside Lierin’s chair. The girl seemed frozen as she stared with fixed attention at the door. When Ashton’s hand came to rest upon her shoulder, the stiffness went out of her spine. She rubbed her cheek against his knuckles and gazed up at him with soft, liquid eyes. In the waiting stillness, the approaching footsteps sounded more like the roll of drums that heralded an execution. Immediately the starch returned to Lierin’s spine, and she raised her chin to meet the visitors with a serene air.
Malcolm Sinclair entered the parlor first, carrying a small bundle of papers in his left hand and in his right a rather large, cloth-covered painting. A step or two behind him came a white-haired, dapperly dressed gentleman. The elder man gazed curiously about the room until he saw Lierin, then he hurried forward to tak
e her hand in both of his. Searching her eyes, he struggled for composure as his mouth trembled and his features threatened to crumple; then with a single sniff he regained control and gave her a brave smile.
“I’ve been beside myself with worry, wondering what had become of you and not knowing whether you were alive or dead. All Malcolm knew was that you had been kidnapped, but we had no hope of ever finding you again.”
Lierin removed her fingers from the well-manicured hands and stared into the troubled gray eyes. She wondered if he had been weeping, for they were red and watery, and his nose bore the same hue. The thick mass of waving hair and the mustache that curled upward at the corners of his mouth were starkly white against the aging bronzed skin. He was nearly half a head shorter than the man who now stood behind him, and his slender frame was well turned out in a brown cutaway tailcoat, buff vest and trousers.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize you.”
The white-haired man turned to stare in amazement at Malcolm, who stepped to his side and laid an arm comfortingly about his shoulders. “Lenore,” the younger man said softly, as if afraid of upsetting her, “this is your father, Robert Somerton.”
Lierin glanced around, seeking some denial from Ashton. “Is he?”
Ashton felt the stares of the other men and could only shake his head. “I’m sorry, my love. I cannot answer that. I never met your father.”
“Perhaps this will help convince you of my claims,” Malcolm said, thrusting the bundle of papers toward Ashton. “These are the marriage documents confirming the fact that Lenore Somerton and I spoke the vows together more than two years ago.”