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.