Come Love a Stranger

Chapter Three

THE Wingate carriage splashed through the water-filled ruts that pockmarked the road and turned in at the short, circular drive. Wide, rusty gates prevented further passage on the lane that circled close to the smoldering ruins of the madhouse. The porch roof hung in precarious suspension from the front of the gutted building, posing a threat to any who drew near. The smoke-blackened walls offered a similar danger. Huge sections of brickwork had been torn out when the roof collapsed, leaving a jagged silhouette against the sky and an undefinable second story. The openings of the darkly gaping windows were blurred with heat-curled strips of wooden framing and seemed to stare in bleary-eyed agony. Trees that had closely hugged the brick structure were oddly truncated and stood like giant, black-bodied mourners around a crypt. Thick trails of smoke still gathered and swirled in confused indecision, as if reluctant to make their departure from the besooted shell.

Tents had been pitched in the yard to provide temporary shelter for the outcasts, and a pair of attendants were struggling to rig up support for a large tarpaulin that was being raised in the back yard near the small cookhouse. A campfire had been built in close proximity to the remaining structure, which was barely large enough to accommodate the attendants, much less the inmates. A few demented souls displayed a fixed fascination with the flames and were discouraged from going too near by the stout, grim-faced matron who exerted her authority by means of a long, heavy switch, which she wielded with impartial fervor, sometimes catching those who had found bowls and gathered to await the distribution of food. The confusion of these innocents was closely comparable to the bewilderment of the ones who milled about in a dazed stupor, oblivious to everything around them. Others of a more violent nature had been chained to heavy stakes pounded into the ground.

The sight in the yard did not cheer Ashton’s heart, for he saw the inmates as a pitiful bunch, whose treatment apparently depended on the whims of the staff. In good conscience he could never condemn anyone he loved to such a fate. Indeed, he was already forming an aversion for the switch-wielding matron, and he wondered if he would find himself embroiled in an argument before he concluded his business here.

He descended from the carriage and stepped with Hiram to the rear boot where they began unloading baskets of food, clothing, and wares. One of the attendants called a greeting and came at a run to open the small gate as they approached with their burdens. Following belatedly at a slower, halting pace were a few childlike wards. As Ashton pushed through the gate, they clapped him on the back and welcomed him as if he were a long-lost friend. He gave them each a basket, and the caretaker directed them to take the goods to the cookhouse. They hurried off, happy to do his bidding.

“There’ll be more of the same coming in a few days,” Ashton informed the gray-haired orderly. The man wore a perpetual harried look and seemed to be unaware of the raw blisters on his forearms and hands until Ashton gestured to them. “You should see to yourself.”

The man raised his arms and stared at the burns as if seeing them for the first time, but he dismissed the sores with a shrug. “They give me no pain, sir. Most o’ these poor folk canna look after themselves.”

There was a hint of a Gaelic burr in the way he rolled his r’s. “When they’ve had a bite to eat an’ a place to sleep, I’ll see to meself.”

Ashton almost flinched as he heard the switch hit its mark again, and he could not resist a sardonic comment. “By that time, your charges will have no hide left to worry about.”

Bemused, the man followed Ashton’s directed stare and saw an example of the woman’s treatment for himself as she lashed another with her willowly whip. “Miss Gunther!” he barked sharply. “Have ye no ken what these folk might do to ye should they take a notion? An’ seein’ as how ye’ve ignored me, I’d be inclined to turn me head.”

The matron seemed taken aback by his threat and reluctantly dropped the switch. Satisfied, the gray-haired man faced Ashton again and held out a hand in introduction. “Name’s Peter Logan, sir. I’ve been workin’ here at the asylum for the last year or so, an’ now with two o’ the staff gone, I’m in charge now, much to Miss Gunther’s displeasure.” He lifted his shoulders and let them drop in dismay. “Before this happened, I was thinkin’ I was doin’ a wee bit o’ good at improvin’ the plight o’ these poor wretches.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Peter Logan stuffed the tail of his overlarge wrinkled shirt into his trousers, hesitating a moment before he answered. “I canna say for sure, sir. We were all asleep save for ol’ Nick, who was makin’ the night rounds, an’ I’d guess he’s off somewhere runnin’ in the woods.”

“Were any killed?” Ashton questioned, watching the trails of smoke drifting from the blackened shell.

“After takin’ count we figured there’s a full half-dozen o’ the wards missing. We canna find a trace o’ old Nick…and another ran off this mornin’. I guess he couldna endure the lot o’ madfolk loose in the yard an’ himself fenced in with the best.” His mouth turned grim. “O’ course, we canna know for sure till we stir through the ashes just how many we should have.”

Ashton gave a wry smile of distaste. “I’d just as soon learn they escaped.”

“Ye durna share a common view, sir, an’ it warms me heart to see that there’s a kind soul or two left in this world.”

“Has someone been out here complaining?” Ashton asked.

The man laughed shortly and shook his head. “About anyone ye’d care to mention, sir. A Mr. Titch was out here pokin’ around this mornin’. He was wonderin’ about the possibility o’ me wards escapin’ into Natchez and neighborin’ towns, an’ what dangers the good citizens o’ the area were in.”

“I fear Horace Titch has nothing better to do than make matters worse and cause whatever trouble he can.”

The attendant gazed furtively about, then lowering his voice, leaned close and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Seein’ as yer heart’s in the right place, sir, I’ll tell ye a thing or two what will straighten yer hackles an’ maybe the sheriff’s when he comes out.” He tapped Ashton’s silk-vested chest with a hairy knuckle. “I’ve got me suspicions, all right. I found where some fuses were set over there by the part that isna completely burned. I’m thinkin’ t’weren’t no accident, sir, but a deliberate act against these poor people here. An’ another thing…I scrubbed the floor in the cookshack meself yesterday, an’ when I come in there this morn’n, there was blood on the floor in front o’ the hearth an’ marks like somethin’ had been dragged through it. The poker had fallen into the fireplace, an’ a large knife was missin’ from the table. I’d be guessin’ there was some mischief done in there, but I canna be sure, an’ ’tis only yerself, sir, that I’ve talked with about it.”

“The sheriff is a friend of mine. He’ll be interested in what you have to say. If the fire was started, then the man responsible should be caught and made to pay.”

“Aye, whoever the begger was, he should’ve set another fagot over his handiwork to destroy it. There be enough proof to show the sheriff an’ make him believe.”

Ashton’s eyes flitted over the bedraggled figures gathered around the campfire, taking note of the mixed gender. “I see you have women here, too.”

“Madness an’ misfortune are not confined to men, sir,” Peter responded laconically. “It attacks where it wills…even children.”

Ashton had promised Dr. Page he would make an inquiry, but he did so with distaste, feeling as if he were being disloyal to Lierin by allowing the question to come into his mind. “Are there any women missing?”

“As a matter o’ fact, sir, there is one. I’m thinkin’ she escaped from the house, but I canna be sure. Who’s to say? She might’ve gotten scared an’ run back in.” He paused again and thoughtfully chewed on his lip. “She was a strange one…She didn’t seem that bad off generally…then there were times when I thought she was a ravin’ lunatic. Somethin’ would set her off, an’ then I think she could’ve killed a mon.”

An icy rivulet trickled along Ashton’s spine. He could not say what had caused Lierin to react in such a panic before he left her. He kept telling himself it could be explained with a plausible reason, but even so, he was half afraid of making further inquiries.

“The attendant who’s missin’ watched after her a bit,” Peter continued, taking the decision from him. “Every now an’ then, he’d bring her a pretty or two, maybe somethin’ to wear or a wee comb or whatnot. She wasna too hard to look at when she was in her right mind.”

“Was she young…?” Ashton awaited the man’s reply with bated breath, not knowing why he should even feel the least bit unsettled or anxious about the woman. Surely it couldn’t be Lierin they were discussing.

“Fairly young, I’d be sayin’, but this kind o’ place has a way o’ agin’ a body. Who knows her age? At least she was still young enough to have her natural hair color….”

“And that would be?”

“A reddish hue, if I recall aright.”

Ashton stared at the man as the churning of dread began anew in his stomach. By dint of will, he forced himself on to another topic, not wishing to arouse the man’s curiosity by his interest. “What will you do now?”

“I canna say, sir. There’s a place in Memphis where we can go, but I’ve no way o’ gettin’ them there.”

“I have a way,” Ashton stated after a thoughtful pause and, at the man’s look of surprise, explained: “I can arrange for a steamer to take you there. In fact, there’s one at the docks now.”

Peter was truly astounded by his generosity. “And ye’d do this for”-he waved his hand to indicate the ragged misfortunates who made up his camp-“these people?”

“Their plight seemed very distant to me…until today. I would like to do something more than donate a few baskets of clothing and food.”

A sudden smile broke upon Peter’s countenance. “If ye be really serious about the offer, sir, then I’ll be more’n willin’ to accept. Whene’er ye tell us, we’ll be ready to move.”

“I’ll make the arrangements and notify you when you’re to leave. It shouldn’t be too long, only a few days or so. The steamer has to unload and take on supplies.”

Peter glanced about at the facilities that had been erected only that morning. “I managed to borrow these tents from the railroad, but the men there told me I’d be havin’ to bring everything back ’fore the month was out. I was wonderin’ how we were goin’ to manage after that. Now it seems me prayers have been answered. I canna thank ye enough, sir.”

Ashton shook the man’s hand in farewell and returned to the carriage. As he leaned back in the seat, he released a long sigh. It would probably work out well for all concerned if Peter Logan took his band of misfits to Memphis. Then he could be assured that Lierin and Peter would never meet.

The sun played out the day and had settled behind a billowing froth of vivid hues on the western horizon before Ashton concluded his business in Natchez and his carriage was seen coming up the drive. The house rang with Luella May’s strident announcement, prompting Marelda to check her appearance quickly in the silvered glass and apply a fresh touch of her favorite perfume to her temples and behind each earlobe. She was determined to dominate as much of Ashton’s attention as she could and planned to extend her visit to the plantation in order to fight for what she considered was hers. Once her adversary sank her hooks into Ashton and he became totally convinced that she was his wife, the game would be lost. Invitations to Belle Chêne would be limited. Ashton would become the doting husband again, and if the last time could be used as an example, no other woman would command his notice for more than a nominal length of time.

Leaving her guest room, Marelda moved down the hall, but paused in the shadows beyond the upper balustrade as she heard the low murmur of exchanged greetings in the front foyer. Ashton came into the main hall, and was followed by Willis and Luella May, who bore several elaborately tied boxes. Marelda’s envy seethed anew as she took note of the fancy dressmaker’s boxes. Anyone could tell the contents had not been procured at the general store, but had been purchased from the most successful and expensive couturier’s shop in Natchez. It seemed that Ashton was eager to outfit his so-called wife in the finest apparel.

“Miz Lierin’s asleep, Massa Ashton,” Luella May informed him. “She ain’t woke up hardly none at all since yo been gone. Doctah Page come, an’ he say she jes’ plum tuckered out.”

“I won’t disturb her then,” Ashton replied and gestured for the pair to leave the boxes on the sideboard. “Willabelle can take these things up later.”

Luella May set her parcels down and could not resist caressing the silken bows. “Yo musta bought somepin real pretty fo’ Miz Lierin.”

“Only a few essentials to tide her over until Miss Gertrude can send out some of the rest. They should be delivered later this week.” He lifted the corner of a smaller box with a finger and grimaced ruefully. “At least, it seemed like only a few when I left the shop.”

The servants left the hall, and Marelda smoothed her gown and hair in anticipation of meeting Ashton, preparing herself to flow into view when he reached the upper level. He had ascended only three steps when a booming bass voice sounded from the back of the house. Much to Marelda’s disappointment, Ashton turned and promptly descended the stairs again. A huge black strode into view, meeting Ashton in the middle of the lower hall where they clasped hands in a hearty greeting that bespoke of a close friendship.

“Judd! It’s good to see you.”

“Welcome home, suh.”

Marelda’s lip curled in repugnance as she observed the two from her lofty niche. She could not understand their bond, and vowed if she ever became mistress of Belle Chêne, she would see the black displaced as overseer and his friendship with Ashton terminated. Such familiarity with a servant was most degrading.

“I’m anxious about the spring planting,” Ashton said to the black, “and I have a few ideas I’d like to discuss.”

“Yo wants to see Miz Lierin now, suh. Ah come back later,” Judd offered.

“Luella May said she was sleeping, so I won’t disturb her. Come to my study, and we’ll talk about the planting now. I suppose you heard about the accident….”

The two men turned away from the stairs, leaving Marelda to fume in outraged frustration. It was apparent she would have to wait if she wanted a private moment with the master of the house.

Wait indeed! Ashton devoted himself to making arrangements for the steamboat’s journey to Memphis, sometimes coming home too late to take the evening meal with the family. While the cargo from the trip downriver was being unloaded, Ashton spread the word abroad that the stern-wheeler would be making the short jaunt upriver, and there would be room enough for some cargo if any of the planters or merchants had a need for shipment to or from the other city. Contracts were hurriedly drawn up, and merchandise and goods began to arrive even before the old was gone. From all indications the trip would not be one of loss.

Lierin could hardly do more than sleep. It was her only escape from the unrelenting pain that savaged her waking moments. The slightest effort to accommodate necessities brought her back to the bed in blinding agony. The pain sapped her strength and plagued her every waking moment. Still, in the morning after a basin bath, she would don a fresh gown and allow her hair to be brushed by the black woman who gently tended her. Though it was not readily made use of, a green velvet robe was left within easy reach at the end of the bed, and satin slippers were placed nearby for her convenience. She was distantly aware that these articles were new and well fitting, but she had neither the will nor the strength to inquire as to their ownership. Slowly, almost imperceptively, her strength returned. With each new dawning of a day she could spend a few more minutes on her feet before the intolerable ache drove her back to bed. When the pain did relent and she found some ease from its intensity, she would sometimes prop herself up against the pillows and read or chat with Willabelle or Luella May as they cleaned the room.

She saw little of Ashton. He came to her room after her morning toilettes to exchange a few inconsequential words with her, but he seemed almost stilted and unsure of himself as he watched her. He stood beside her bed, tall, lean, handsome, well dressed and well mannered, with almost a hungry look in those soft, hazel eyes which hinted of his restrained emotions. She could only surmise that her outburst of fear had caused his reticence, but she failed to find a way to intrude into their polite exchanges and ask him what he was really thinking.

When she roused from slumber during the day, he would either be in Natchez or busy someplace else on the plantation. Sometimes she sensed his presence in the night, but could not break her bonds with slumber to rouse and speak. On one of her brief ventures from bed, she passed a window and glanced out to see him riding one of his stallions around on the lawn. The sight drew her admiration, for the dark, glistening steed pranced in high-stepping cadence while he arched his long neck and flagged his sweeping trail. The man on his back seemed in total control of the animal’s movements, yet he did it with such ease, the pair flowed together as one.

The days of the week accumulated in number and were without success for Marelda. She despaired that she would ever have any time alone with Ashton. Her failure to seize the advantage made her increasingly anxious, for she realized the time wherein she could carry out her campaign without interference were quickly dwindling. At the onset of her maneuver she had been confident that Lierin would not jeopardize her injured demeanor to run after Ashton, thereby leaving the course open. But as the week aged, her panic increased, for it seemed that her plans went awry even before they were launched, giving them no chance for fruition.

The excuses were varied. On the second and third night after the mishap, houseguests from the Carolinas had to be entertained. Marelda breathed a sigh of relief when they left the next morning, but when the family gathered in the parlor that night to await the call for dinner, Latham came running in to inform his master that one of his blooded mares was showing signs of foaling. It was not enough that Ashton had been gone all day; he finished his brandy in a single gulp, excused himself, and hastily departed to change clothes, leaving Marelda in all her finery, with nothing more to look forward to than a chatty meal with the two older women. Her smile and temper were sorely tested even before Luella May announced the evening meal was ready for consumption.

On the fifth night Ashton failed to come home for dinner, and though Marelda waited up and carefully listened for the sound of his footsteps in the upper hall, she fell asleep, not realizing he had already passed with silent tread and closeted himself in his own suite. She might have consoled herself with the fact that Lierin was seeing less of him than she, but it was a hard reality to face that the twit would have free run at him after she left.

The house grew quite and subdued, and the last flickering flame was snuffed. Ashton went to his lonely bed and finally found the sleep he sought after much tossing and turning. It was later when he woke with a start. Staring into the darkness, he wondered what had snatched him so abruptly from a sound sleep. His naked body was clammy beneath the sheet, and he tossed away the covering to allow the cool air to dry the light mist of sweat. He rubbed his hand across his furred chest, feeling restless and uneasy, as if he had been plucked from a horrible nightmare. What had he found in his dreams that had been so distasteful to him?

He followed the path that his mind had taken through his slumber, and dark green eyes came in a vision before him and taunted him with their seductive gleam. Soft lips parted in a wanton smile, and wildly tossed red hair swirled around a temptingly curvaceous form that knelt amid a bed of rumpled sheets. His imagination was free to roam over the silken body, and though he realized he was becoming aroused by his thoughts, he let them wander on unhindered. Slender arms swept heavy tresses from off her neck, while she gave him a coy look that invited him to draw near and caress the full, delicately hued bosom and the slender hips and lithe thighs. In his mind he reached out and pulled her close, but in the next instant sharp talons cruelly raked him, and in his imagination he jerked back to see a hissing witch glaring at him with hatred-filled eyes. This was not his Lierin! This was some madwoman of his dreams! A witch with red hair!

Of a sudden he knew the reason for his abrupt awakening. His dreams of Lierin had turned to ones of tormenting doubt. A familiar sense of despair returned as fragmented memories flitted through his mind. He had seen Lierin taken from him by the strong, dark currents of the river, a river he had known for a good part of his life, one that refused to yield its prey even under the best of conditions. The question rose to haunt him. How could a slender young woman have found her way safely to shore in the dead of night when, even with the best of circumstances, it would have been impossible to discern the river’s edge?

Deep within his reasoning there came a brief trembling of trepidation that there remained some remote chance that he was wrong. After all, many questions were as yet unanswered, and those answers might not be in tune with his desire.

The uncertainties attacked him unmercifully, raking him over the glowing coals of logic. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and braced his elbows against his knees as he hung his head in a moment of roweling fear.

“What is the truth?” His mind would not let him rest on the matter. “Is she my Lierin or some wayward wench who wears only the outer shell?”

He rose to light the lamp beside his bed, then drew on a pair of trousers. He touched the wick of a candle to the glowing flame, then left his chamber to move barefoot down the hall until he was at Lierin’s door. The nightmare left his mind half drowned in doubt. Would he find the beloved face he sought, or would it be only a cruel trick of his eye that awaited him?

Carefully he turned the knob and, without a sound, pushed the portal open. The room was dark, lighted only by the dying flames in the fireplace. He moved with soundless tread to the bed and placed the candle on the nightstand where it would spread its glow over the one he had come to see. He stared down at the face thus portrayed, and relief flooded through him.

A century or so ago he had also wandered in the dead of night and paused beside a bed in a hotel suite in New Orleans, where he had gazed down upon these same fine features. He had been amazed that her beauty could both burn his mind and, in the very same instant, freeze it with stunned awe. This was surely his Lierin, once lost, but now found by some unfathomable fall of chance.

Lierin sighed softly in her sleep, and her arm moved slowly aside, taking the sheet and quilt with it and leaving only her gown to cover her. The thin garment pulled into a taut shroud over her body, drawing Ashton’s eyes downward to the full swell of her rising and falling bosom and the narrow curve of her waist. A flaming lust took hold of his body, starting the blood pounding in his veins and nearly overwhelming him with his hunger as his gaze wandered on across the flatness of her belly to where the garment had crept up to reveal her naked thighs and an arching hip.

Suddenly Ashton caught himself, realizing he had stepped forward with a hand outstretched and ready to caress a long, sleek limb. As he struggled with his craving lusts, a horror congealed within him that if he pressed her, such an act might thrust her deeper into her plight and forever destroy the path to reconciliation.

With some disgust for his own lack of self-control, Ashton kneaded his sweating palms together and moved several paces away from the bed. A trickle of sweat traced a cool path down his temple as he fought the raging desires that tore at him, leaving him trembling and tense. It was a laborious battle, and a short eternity passed before he managed to claim a small measure of victory. A long sigh slipped from him, and he shook his head, thinking of how close he had come to using force. He had always been repulsed by men who bragged of their forceful dominance or sniggered because of their lack of self-restraint. He had thought himself above that, but now he was catching a glimpse of a totally different profile.

His head lifted slowly as he forced his mind to take control, and he found himself staring at an image reflected in the cheval glass which stood a short arm’s length from him. In the ebon mirror he saw his beloved floating behind the fragile barrier, haloed by the candlelight and surrounded by a sea of darkness while she nestled deeply in slumber, unaware of the battle that raged a few short paces from her. A pang of anguish stabbed him. He felt like smashing the mirror to destroy the barriers, but it was a foolish desire, for the obstacles were not really there, and he’d only lose the vision of her.

Gradually a calm deliberation overtook him. He had a strong will, and he would not let himself be governed by his lusts, no matter how they tormented him. In quiet resolve he returned to the bed and, bending low, pressed a light kiss upon her softly parted lips. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed that she responded for a moment, yet when he drew back a vague frown troubled her brow and her lips moved briefly in an unintelligible murmur.

A certain sadness tore at his spirit as he left the room. It was not a comforting thought to know that he would have to endure this aching, gnawing hunger. All too aware of the pain in the lower pit of his belly, he heaved a sigh. Time would have to be his ally. Time and patience. Or at least as much patience as he could muster.

A new dawn came stealing through the half-closed drapes of Lierin’s room, touching her with its light and gently rousing her from the depths of morpheus. At first she felt exhilarated and greatly refreshed; then as she tried to stretch her arms above her head, everything came flooding back and she was reminded of her aching muscles and her lack of memory. Her enthusiasm for the new day dwindled, but only briefly. A light, airy spirit rose from somewhere deep within her, giving her a new vigor and a solid fortitude that her limited recall could not fathom. She knew not from where it came, but it had a familiar essence. She felt herself responding to its urging, growing stronger and more determined. Once again she stretched, this time deliberately seeking out each ache or pain and testing them as she moved this way and that. Whatever the source was of this newfound energy, it also gave her the sure knowledge that she had never avoided problems, and it was an inescapable fact that none of hers would depart until they were met and dealt with summarily. Sifting through the multitude that came to mind, she selected the first and most obvious. She could hardly spend the rest of her life in bed, and the sooner she dispensed with her immobility, the sooner she would regain some semblance of control of her life. A long soak in a hot tub would help loosen her stiff muscles, but making such a request might seem a trifle presumptuous in a strange household. Still, Ashton Wingate had insisted that she was his wife. Perhaps they would not deem it too much amiss if she asked for such a service.

Pushing herself out of the bed, she stood to her feet and, seeing no sign of her robe, cautiously made her way to the hearth. The fire had burned low, and a definite chill had settled in the room. A small store of split logs had been laid up in the brass woodbox, and she tossed several on the glowing coals, then reached back to take up the poker. As her fingers closed over the handle of the piece, an image of an upraised poker flashed through her mind. The vision was brief, but it left her feeling strangely weak. Trembling, she sank into a nearby chair and rubbed her temple with fingers that were now as cold as ice. She could find no reason for her reaction and tried to force it from her mind, but in its stead came a cold, clammy, distasteful void.

Lierin straightened, steeling herself against the disturbing sensation. The flames were cheerfully cavorting along the logs, and she knelt before the hearth, letting the radiating warmth drive away the frigid fingers of apprehension. A light knock came upon the door, and without pause, as if no answer were expected, the portal was pushed open. Willabelle entered and took a step or two toward the bed before noticing it was empty. She halted in consternation and searched about with her eyes until Lierin came to her feet with a polite clearing of her throat; then the housekeeper turned her massive bulk about.

“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 across 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.”