Come Love a Stranger

Chapter Seven

NEW ORLEANS! Crescent City. Gateway to the Mississippi. Lustrous pearl of the Delta. A city loved by saint and sinner alike, a place of lazy days and sultry nights, a rich and ever-expanding boomtown with a unique mixture of customs and cultures. A paradise where one could seek his own, a place of revelries, of sweet bliss captured in the darkest hours and nurtured beneath the warming sun, where time passed as effortlessly as the wide, muddy river that lapped at its banks. The sights and sounds gave flavor to the metropolis, while the aromas, both zesty and sweet, stirred the senses of all who strolled the streets. Sweet shrubs added a heady fragrance to the air, while azalea bushes provided a mass of riotous color across spacious lawns and behind closed gardens, wherever one was wont to look. It was surely an Eden for lovers.

From the time of the Wingates’ disembarking, it became an adventure that produced memories rather than brought them to mind. The floating palaces were docked three deep along the city’s levee, and as the River Witch nudged its way through to the quay, the drum of excitement began to beat with quickening rhythm in Lierin’s heart. The whistle blew high above her head, adding to the exhilaration of the moment, while the tall smokestacks belched in satisfied relief. Eagerly Lierin searched the waterfront and could find no spot where the pace was leisured. Everywhere she looked there was some sort of frenzied activity. Straining teams of mules pulled away wagons heaped high with cotton bales or hogsheads of molasses and such, while stevedores hustled across planks and captains barked orders to their crews.

Whisked down the plank on the capable arm of her husband and handed into the open barouche of a hired livery, Lierin felt as if she were soaring as high as the sea birds that shrieked overhead. Glancing about with the enthusiasm of a child, she espied a small group of colorfully dressed quadroons waiting in a nearby carriage. They were quite elegant in their silken finery and lovely beyond the common meaning of the word. Their unusual attire and appearance fascinated her until she noticed their flirtatious smiles and glowing eyes directed toward Ashton; then she began to understand some of the jealousies provoked by these women. Ashton laughed as she snuggled closer, and accommodated her desire to show possession by laying an arm about her shoulders.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter to them that you’re married,” she commented in a miffed tone.

“It matters to me,” Ashton murmured with gentle fervor. He raised her chin and, while all the world watched, kissed her softly parted lips in a most loving manner, causing an eruption of giggles to come from the nearby conveyance.

Lierin’s anxieties were completely appeased when he finally lifted his head. Her own eyes were warm and shining as they caressed his face. “Does the bliss ever stop, Ashton, or does it just keep getting better?”

He smiled. “Sometimes it takes hard work and tenacity to make love last. It can grow stale from misuse.”

“It’s been so easy loving you this last month,” she breathed. “I can’t imagine having to work at it.”

“Would you like to see the place where I first saw you?”

Lierin nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. I want to know everything that we did together. I want to relive those moments with you.”

Ashton leaned forward and instructed the driver to take them to the Vieux Carré, then settled back to enjoy the ride as the horses clip-clopped their way across the cobbled wharf. He had been half afraid to take her on the steamer, not knowing how she would react or if he would be encouraging more nightmares. Though he had watched her closely, ready at any moment to give the command to dock, she had shown no qualms. Indeed, she had displayed as much exuberance as anyone going on their first excursion. Hoping that something would stimulate his wife’s memory and encourage its return, he had made arrangements to have the same suite at the St. Louis Hotel wherein they had, as a slightly younger couple, explored the delights of their newly wedded status. The view of the streets would be the same, with similar sounds drifting in through the tall french doors. He would take her to the restaurants where they had dined and wander through the same shops, visit the parks where they had once strolled and attend theaters where troupes had entertained them. As much as could be controlled, all would be the same. It was the best he could do; he could only hope it would be enough.

Lierin leaned with comfortable ease against Ashton’s side and took in the remarkable sights that whisked past in an ever-changing panorama on either side. She had no idea where they wended, but was content and happy in her place close beneath his arm. The barouche passed along a street where hotels and eating establishments abounded, and then turned down a narrow lane where myriad shops were adorned with ornamental iron lace and overhanging balconies. Ashton pointed, drawing her attention to a cluster of small boutiques that hugged the street.

“Over there! That’s where I first saw you, but it took you a while to learn I existed.”

Lierin responded with an amused chuckle. “I probably knew you were there all along and was just playing coy. I can’t imagine any woman not being aware of you.”

“Nevertheless, madam, you gave me a fright. I was sure my life had ended when you got into the carriage and rode away with your chaperone.”

“Then where did we actually meet?”

“Ahhh, Providence was with me.” Smiling, he nodded and gave another address to the driver. “A band of miscreants had cast a shadow of blame on my crew, no doubt to escape the penalties they justly deserved. They bribed a man to give a false account of pirates attacking other steamers and then taking refuge aboard my vessel. By the time the officials recognized the ploy for what it was, the blackguards had slithered free, leaving me outraged and determined to confront a particular judge who was reviewing the evidence against my men.”

“My grandfather? Judge Cassidy?”

“Aye, madam. A wise man who allowed me to speak my piece until a certain young lady came to his defense. I shall be eternally grateful that he did.”

The barouche entered a tightly turning passage where brick fences rose on either side. Wrought-iron gates hung beneath rounded brick arches, permitting a view of blossom-bedecked gardens and meandering stone paths. The conveyance swept out into a wider street where tall townhouses snuggled close against each other. As they progressed on their way, the houses became larger, with narrow spaces appearing between. The gardens became lawns, and the lawns widened, with moss-draped oaks and a variety of other trees shading them. The barouche passed every style of house, from columned colonials to dwellings found in the West Indies, and it was in front of one of these latter types where they finally halted.

Recognition might have been hindered by the fact that shutters had been nailed over the windows of the house, but the interior was hardly more comforting, for it was dark and rather morbid. Ashton opened several windows and pushed the shutters free, allowing the sunlight to spill into the rooms. Ghostly shapes of sheet-draped furniture stood like dreary sentinels about the room, but the presence of these lifeless creations apparently had not discouraged the entry of a recent visitor who had left signs of his passage in the layer of dust on the floor. The manly footprints wandered aimlessly through the lower part of the house, but in the judge’s study it seemed the man had had a definite purpose in mind, for the tracks went directly from the door to a lowboy and returned to the portal in the same unswerving manner. On the wall above the table a pair of hangers were spaced wide apart, as if two paintings had once hung side by side above the piece. Ashton could only make a guess as to what might have hung there.

“When I received your portrait, it was accompanied by a letter which explained that the painting was one of a pair given to the judge by your father. The other was of your sister, Lenore, and they were both in your grandfather’s possession at the time of his death. The one of Lenore might have been sent back to her, but these footprints are fairly recent, and as you can see”-he drew her gaze downward to the footprints-“once the man entered this room, he came directly to this table.”

“What interest would anyone have in a portrait when”-she swept her hand about the study-“when there are other things of more value to interest a thief?”

Ashton chuckled. “I never saw the portraits while they were here, but if Lenore looks anything like you, I can understand why a man would want it.”

“Now don’t tease, Ashton. Someone must have had a more sensible reason than that for taking it.”

Ashton shrugged. “I can’t imagine any plausible purpose. No one had a right to come here except by our authority. Your grandfather made provisions to leave everything in this house to you and made no attempt to change the will even after he received word that you had drowned.”

“But why didn’t he do so?”

“Lenore and your father left here at odds with the old gentleman, and I guess he figured I was the only family he had left. At least, that’s what he indicated when I came to see him. He was on his deathbed, and he muttered something about me inheriting everything that he had meant for you, so I guess he knew what he was doing.” Ashton gazed thoughtfully about the room as if seeing it for the first time. “I couldn’t bear to come back here while I believed you dead. This house held too many memories.”

“I don’t remember being here at all, and yet…” Lierin shivered as a sudden chill went down her spine, and she glanced around in growing dismay. “I sense something here….” She lowered her gaze beneath his questioning stare and continued in a whisper: “It’s almost as if the house were crying out in mourning…or warning….”

“Come, my love,” Ashton urged gently, drawing her with him to the door. “We’ll go back to the hotel now. I can’t see any reason for staying here if it upsets you.”

Lierin let him lead her from the house, but at the front gate she turned and stared back at the house with its sloping roof and shaded galleries that stretched across the front of the house. Beneath the wide eaves of the higher porch, the dark, lusterless windows seemed to gaze back at her in sad reflection, as if they were compelling her to stay and bring them back to life again. The bolted shutters on the lower veranda were dusty and in need of repair, and nearby the flower garden was overgrown with dried weeds. A trumpet vine had obviously feasted well on the rich soil, for it stretched its tentacles skyward above the roof. Her eyes followed its thick mass to the lower porch, then flew upward again to one of the windows on the higher level. The glass was a dark void, frustrating her efforts to see beyond it, yet she could almost swear she had caught a movement there. Curiosity knitted her brow as she searched the other windows, but they were equally blank, providing no glimpse beyond their translucent panes. Was it only her imagination? Or simply a reflection of a bird flitting past the window?

“What are you thinking?”

Lierin turned with a laugh as the masculine voice intruded into her musings, and shook her head. “Spooks! They haunt me when I look at the place.” She slipped her arm through his. “My grandfather must have loved this old place dearly. I can see where once a lot of care went into keeping the house and yard.”

Ashton squeezed the slender hand that rested on his arm. “He’d have given it all away just to have you near him.”

She sighed rather sadly. “It seems a shame to let it go to ruin.”

“We can open it up and hire a few servants to maintain it if you wish, and on future visits, we can come here and stay.”

“That would be nice.”

“Who knows? Perhaps one of our children would like to make a home of it someday.”

Lierin slipped her arms about his lean waist and smiled up into his sparkling eyes. “We’ll have to make a baby first.”

“I’m at your complete disposal, madam,” he offered with gallant zeal.

“Perhaps we should talk about this for a while…say, in bed at the hotel?”

Green lights danced in his eyes as he stared down at her. “I was about to make that very suggestion.”

“Shall we get started?” she inquired with a coy smile. “You’ve often mentioned how much fun we had together, you’ve made me inquisitive about our suite at the hotel.”

Ashton grinned as he handed her into the waiting barouche, and as they leaned back into the cushioned seat, the driver roused the horses and clucked them into a brisk trot. The carriage flitted through the sun-dappled shade of the lane, and Lierin blinked as the flickering light evoked disjointed memories of another such ride, when she had sat beside a tall, darkly garbed man who had patted her hand…consolingly? She canted her head as she tried to grasp the mood of that moment. The haunting ride seemed somehow associated with another’s death, but she could not be sure, for the feelings were as illusive as the identity of her companion. The shape of him was strangely familiar, but from some inner source she perceived that the man was not Ashton. The figure was slightly bulkier…and was there a mustache?

The images disturbed her, and she tried to push them from her mind, wanting nothing to mar her happiness, but they were like ghosts from the past playing a teasing game with her memory. They flitted through her mind, leaving impressions of a shadowy shape here and the low murmur of a voice there, but all the while resisting her efforts to draw them into the full light of her consciousness.

She heaved a sigh in frustration, and when Ashton glanced down at her with a questioning brow raised, she smiled and laid her arm along the length of his thigh. “I wish I could remember being here with you. I fear I’ve forgotten too many wonderful adventures.”

“Aye, madam, you have, but we’ll make new ones for you to take home.”

The afternoon light filtered through the bed hangings and set the draperies aglow with a shimmering whiteness. Now and then an airy rush billowed the translucent silks and caressed the naked bodies that lay entwined. The breezes blended with murmured questions and softly spoken vows of love, while kisses and whispering sighs fell on willing lips. Manly fingertips brushed bare ribs and stroked pliant peaks and creamy breasts. Others, more dainty, traced down a lightly corded neck and the rugged swell of muscles in a brown arm, then ventured on to a flat, hard belly. Pale thighs yielded to dark as love welled up with a surging rush of emotions. It was a leisured feast of sensual pleasures, a blissful interlude that took place in the confines of a silken tent. It was a coming together of man and wife, and a renewing of all that had been and would be again.

The night was black and rather coolish with low clouds pressing a misty haze down upon the city. Ashton left his sleeping wife and, donning a robe over his naked body, stepped out onto the balcony. A lantern glowed with a halo of pale yellow light, like a lone beacon in the darkness, showing the streets devoid of life at this approaching midnight hour. From the distance drifted the elusive sounds of music and accompanying revelry which attested to the fact that there were those who clung to the moment and resisted the passing of time. So it would be with him if he could accomplish that magical feat. He luxuriated in this present, enchanting period so well, he became almost fearful of it being swept away from him again.

Drawn to the warmth of the one he cherished, Ashton returned to the room and paused at the foot of the bed to gaze down upon his beloved. Lierin lay curled on her side, lost in the deep slumber of the innocent. To his knowledge, nothing yet had prompted a recall, and the fact that she had forgotten every pleasure they had once shared rasped like a dull saw at the back of his mind. As for himself, he had the whole three years etched firmly in his recollection, even though there were quite a few events he would have chosen to forget. The night of horror on the river was one he would have banished to oblivion, and then, there were the long, agonizing days when he had lain in bed unable to move, and in every waking moment his yearning for her had savaged his mind. Even when the strain had overtaken him and he had fallen into exhausted slumber, he had awakened with the same word on his parched lips: “Lierin?” And the answer always came, “No sign of her. Not even a trace. Nothing. The river has swallowed her up.” Then he went through weeks of healing, and when he could walk again, he had paced the floor in restless misery. The ravaging thoughts allowed him no more than a few hours of sleep at a time, and the long nights crept past with uncaring slowness until he had cried out and begged for the dawn to come. It came…and was worse than the dark, for he could see the empty chair at his table, the bed where only he slept, the place at his side that no other woman could fill…and in the cold light of day he finally had to face the tormenting reality that his love was gone forever.

The trip to her grandfather’s had been a pain he had forced himself to bear after his convalescence. He had found the old man ill and bedridden. The news that Lierin would never return to brighten his day had been too much for the judge, and though they were bitter in his mouth, Ashton had affirmed the words, “Lierin is dead,” then had shared the elder’s grief, and a short time later the news had come to him that the old judge had slipped away.

Seeking a haven from his anguish, he had fled to the east and then further still, to Europe. He had avoided that part of the universe where Robert Somerton nurtured his hatred; not that he was afraid of the man, but because he had a need to put all the memories of Lierin behind him…if he could. Travel had failed to ease the hurt, and he had buried himself in work. The family businesses fared well under his forced attention. He had bent himself to the firm establishment of the steamer trade that plied the same river which had taken his most precious possession. Then, when the aches were just beginning to ebb, Lierin had by some miracle come back to him like a wraith out of the night, and here she lay in gentle repose where he could feast his eyes upon her. Yet he was plagued by the lost years, for he could find no plausible explanation for her extended absence. Why had she not come back to him?

“Sweet plaguing love, where will you lead me now?” His whisper was barely audible in the silent room. “I’ve been delivered from my torment, but if you should ever be taken from me again, what will I do?” It was impossible to think of existing without her. If such an event were to occur, it would be easy to surmise that he would plow the universe in search of her, never resting until death gave him ease. “Have mercy on me, Lierin, and stay forever by my side. Do not vanish from me again, for surely I would be no more a man.”

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 triumphant 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 take 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.”

Ashton took the papers and, briefly scanning them, found that they did indeed attest to such an event. He handed them back with a brusque comment: “I have a similar certificate verifying my marriage to Lierin Somerton. However, neither of these records proves who she is.”

Malcolm’s eyes blazed with ill-suppressed ire as he indicated the white-haired man. “But this is her father!”

“Perhaps,” Ashton replied with a noncommittal shrug, “but I can’t guarantee your statement as fact because I never met the man.”

“Good heavens! What will it take to convince you?” Malcolm’s ire rose in the face of the other man’s unyielding resistance. “Why in the bloody devil would I come here claiming she is my wife when she’s not? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I can’t think of a reason,” Ashton answered, “but I can’t ignore what I feel, and I sincerely believe this is Lierin.”

“Show him the portrait, Malcolm,” the elder man bade. “Perhaps he will see his error.”

The younger man placed the framed painting on a nearby table and held it upright with one hand, leaving it covered for a moment as he spoke to Ashton. “Were you not sent a portrait of your wife?”

Ashton responded with a slow nod. “Yes.”

“And did you have any question that it was a painting of Lierin?”

“No.” Ashton’s spine prickled as the other smiled smugly.

“Then I ask you to view this painting very carefully and give me your comments.” He lifted the cloth covering, bringing gasps of surprise from the members of the Wingate family. The portrait was similar to the one that had been shown to Lierin, but there were subtle differences in the facial features of the woman, for they were more delicate and refined. Though the other painting had closely resembled the one who sat in the parlor now, there was no question that she had been the subject of this portrait.

“The other painting, which you have, is of Lierin…your wife, but this one is of Lenore, my wife.” Malcolm almost smirked as he watched the play of confusion on the other’s face. “Now tell me that you have not made a mistake, sir.”

Amanda and Aunt Jennifer were equally distressed and wondered at Ashton’s frowning silence.

“Perhaps now you will allow me to take my wife home where she belongs….”

“Please!” Lierin gasped, turning to Ashton for solace. “Please, I don’t remember them….”

Ashton gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Don’t fret, my love. I’m not about to let them take you.”

“What are you saying?” Malcolm barked angrily. “You have no right to keep my wife here!”

“This matter will have to be settled in a court of law,” Ashton stated. “I will not give up my claim to her without a thorough investigation into this matter. When Lierin fell from my steamer three years ago, no further trace was found of her….”

Malcolm snorted derisively. “It’s not the first time the Mississippi has failed to yield its dead.”

“I know that, but I must be thoroughly satisfied that every effort is made to clear up the question of Lierin’s identity.”

“Lenore!” Robert Somerton corrected.

“I will send agents to the family home in England and then to Biloxi and New Orleans to see what can be found.”

“But that kind of investigation can take months!” Malcolm protested.

“I don’t care how long it takes!” Ashton returned sharply. “My only concern is for Lierin and the outcome of the investigation. If I am proved wrong, I can do naught but comply with what is truth. I will bend to nothing less.”

“And do you think you’re going to hold my wife here all that time?” Malcolm raged.

Ashton smiled blandly. “She obviously wants to stay.”

“I will not allow it!” The brown eyes snapped with fire as Malcolm glared at Ashton.

“Then it will have to be settled by a judge’s ruling.”

“I’ve heard about you in Natchez,” Malcolm sneered. “They say you’re a bullheaded and obstinate man, but let me tell you that before this is finished, you will have heard of me, and you will know that I am more than a match for you. Indeed, a duel may settle this….”

Startled gasps came from the women, and they sought a denial from Ashton. He gave none.

“I await your pleasure, sir,” he responded calmly. “Shall it be today?”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll let you know when the time is convenient for me.”

“Please do,” Ashton urged. “Perhaps such a contest will abolish the necessity of an investigation and save me a great deal of trouble.”

Malcolm sneered derisively. “For one who has already been shown that he’s wrong, you seem much too sure of yourself.”

“Maybe I have reason to be.”

Malcolm’s eyes were as cold as the frigid north. “Conceit never won a duel.”

Ashton shrugged casually. “I’m willing to be tested.”

“Think of Lenore,” Robert Somerton cautioned, laying a hand on Malcolm’s arm. “I’m sure this discussion about duels is upsetting to her.”

“You’re right, of course,” the sandy-haired man agreed, seeming to dismiss the matter with ease. He stepped to the table and began rewrapping the portrait, but halted when Ashton came to his side.

“That painting was in Judge Cassidy’s house not too long ago. How did you know it was there?”

“Does it make any difference?” Malcolm questioned caustically.

“Everything in that house belongs to Lierin or to me. You broke into it to take that painting.”

“If you’re trying to accuse me of thievery, this is the only thing I took. I knew it was there because Lenore had told me her father had given the two portraits to the judge. When I saw the other was missing, I assumed you had taken it.” With that, he lifted the object of their discussion and crossed the room, pausing in front of Lierin’s chair. “I don’t fully understand your memory loss, Lenore, but remember this, my dearest, I shall always love you.”

Turning, he strode from the room with Robert Somerton following in his wake. The sound of their booted heels striking the marble floor as they progressed across the hall echoed in the silence of the manse, and the unhesitating stride of Malcolm’s footfalls seemed to declare that he would meet whatever challenge was presented him.