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.”