“I hope it comes out well, Ashton,” the doctor said sincerely.
Marelda was piqued that Ashton had not seen fit to inform her of his intentions and could not resist a snide inquiry: “Are you going to leave your precious little flower all alone?”
Ashton half turned and gave her a lightly mocking smile. “My dear Marelda, I was sure you’d be adequately entertained here at Belle Chêne while I’m away, but if you insist…”
The thrust of his mockery did not miss its mark, and feeling its light sting, Marelda corrected him haughtily: “I was referring to the one upstairs, Ashton dahling.”
“My apologies, Marelda.” He gave her an abbreviated bow, then left the room with Dr. Page.
In their absence Marelda petulantly picked at her food and sighed. “I do wish Ashton would listen to reason.”
“Listen to reason?” Aunt Jennifer was clearly bemused. “How so, my dear?”
Marelda waved her hand toward the upper floor. “Ashton brings that strange little tramp into his house.” She ignored the startled gasps of the women as she forged ahead with her diatribe. “He puts her in a fine bed, treats her like an honored guest.” Her distress was apparent as her voice raised in pitch and fervor: “And then actually claims that she is his long lost wife.”
Aunt Jennifer rose quickly to her nephew’s defense: “My dear, you know Ashton would never insist that she’s his wife unless he’s totally convinced that it’s true.”
“I say the girl is an opportunist who looks like his wife,” Marelda charged.
“Whatever she is,” Amanda replied, “she has been badly hurt and deserves at least a few days’ rest.”
Dramatically Marelda lifted her hands and face to the ceiling and made her plea to some mystical force. “Oh, wicked fate, how oft must I be pierced by your cruel barbs? Is it not enough that I’ve been cast aside once? Must you punish me twice, or even thrice? How much am I to bear?” Her voice quivered with a barely restrained sob, and closing her eyes, she leaned her brow against her knuckles, missing the dismayed look Jennifer directed toward her sister, who responded by raising her hands to mime a soundless round of applause.
“Marelda dear, have you considered going on the stage?” Amanda asked. “You have such a flair for expressing yourself.”
Somewhat deflated, Marelda sank back into her chair and pouted. “I can clearly see that I’m the only one who hasn’t been taken in by that little tramp.”
A brittle light flickered in Amanda’s eyes as she raised her gaze to the woman, and her hand shook with suppressed anger as she dabbed a napkin to her lips. “Please refrain from applying such names to the girl. From all indications I would say that you are quite possibly defaming the character of my grandson’s wife, and you should know by now that my loyalty to this family overrides everything else, even our friendship, Marelda.”
Even in her zeal to set aright an injustice only she could see, Marelda recognized that she was in danger of losing a valuable ally. She was not so unwise as that. She put a hand to her brow and began to weep. “I am beside myself with the thought of losing Ashton again, and I have let my fears goad me into foolishness.”
Amanda silently agreed, but considered that it was best to change the subject, lest they have another display of dramatics.
The woman who had taken on the name Lierin held up her hands in front of her face and stared at the thin fingers. On the third finger of her left hand she wore a thin, golden band, giving proof of her status as a married woman. It gave her no peace of mind, and she wondered how she could ever accept the man’s declaration when she did not feel at all like a wife.
The drapes were still drawn over the windows, preventing the intrusion of the morning light and making the room seem cold and gloomy. She had a sudden desire to feel the warm sunshine on her skin, to bask in its light and let her anxieties be washed in its soothing rays. Ever so carefully she edged her way to the side of the bed. The pain of moving did much to convince her that she was being torn asunder, but she tightened her jaw in stubborn resolve and pressed on. She struggled to a sitting position, then rested a moment, pressing shaking fingers against her temples until the pounding in her head ebbed to a dull ache. Cautiously she eased her weight to her legs and leaned against the bed as her reeling senses threatened to overwhelm her. When the room stopped its insane writhing, she moved toward the end of the bed. Her progress was an unsteady shuffle as she walked her hands along the mattress to abet the hesitant gait of her feet. Once there, she wrapped both arms tightly around the heavy post while she rubbed her aching brow against the cool, smooth carving and waited for her strength to return. When it did, she plucked up her courage and boldly slid her foot outward and away from the four-poster. Her knees were inclined to wobble, and it took a true test of will to keep them firmly beneath her. Refusing to be daunted, she set progressively distant goals to encourage a cautious advance across the room.
Once at her goal she pushed the double layer of drapes aside and shielded her eyes against the glare as light poured through the crystal panes. The sun touched her like a warm, caring friend, and she felt its heat within her breast, momentarily putting her fears to flight. She rested her head against the shaded sill and let her gaze wander outward to the vast, neat lawn. High above the grounds, lofty branches formed huge airy canopies through which the warming sun penetrated. Though winter had stripped the limbs bare and sapped the verdant color from the lawn, it was immediately evident that great care went into maintaining the grounds. Neatly manicured brick walks meandered through a maze of trimmed shrubs and trailed around ivy-covered beds that had been formed around massive tree trunks. Only the upper part of an ornately roofed gazebo was visible behind carefully shaped evergreen foliage. Well protected from prying eyes, it was a place suited for lovers.
Carefully Lierin turned and braced a hand on the back of a nearby chair as she moved toward the bed. As she stepped free of the furnishing, a movement to her left caught her eye. Somewhat startled, she turned her head quickly, forgetting the sharp harrows that were ready to rake her brain. The piercing barbs of pain stabbed into her skull, making her pay dearly for her reckless movement. She grabbed for the chair with one hand and clasped the other tightly over her eyes until the tormenting spikes retreated and coherent thought was once more a possibility. When she could open her eyes again, she found herself staring at her own image reflected in a tall, standing mirror. Curiosity drew her toward the cheval glass, but the effort of further activity demanded more than she could cede. She relented to her growing fatigue and paused some distance away to consider her image, hoping she might glean some knowledge about herself that would encourage a return of her memory. She was not greatly impressed by what she saw. Indeed, she came to the conclusion that she looked as bad as she felt. What color there was in her cheeks was only on one side and that a light purplish blue. Her brow bore the same discoloration, only heavier, contrasting sharply with her fair skin. With her hair wildly tossed and her deep green eyes wide with worry, she looked very much like a bewildered waif. Although her mind gave her no hint of age, the body beneath the clinging flannel nightgown bore the curving shape and the upthrusting fullness of attained womanhood, while it also boasted of a slender firmness that bespoke of an active life.
Several languages came quickly to her tongue, and numbers flowed with ease through her thoughts, but the origins of both seemed almost mystical. She knew the proper setting of a table, the correct utensil to use, the form of a graceful curtsey, and the intricate steps of several dances, but it was beyond the capacity of her battered brain to identify the source from which she had received this knowledge.