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.