His hungering gaze fed upon her beauty and eased the yearnings of the past years when he had thought he would never look upon her again. Bending low, he brushed the lightest of kisses across her lips, then took himself across the room. He did not see the emerald eyes slip open and follow his departing back. When the chamber door was safely closed behind him, he braced an elbow high upon the passage wall and, pressing his brow against his forearm, struggled to subdue the trip-hammer beating of his heart. After a long moment he could breathe evenly again, and with slow and thoughtful tread he went to join the others in the dining room below.

His grandmother glanced up as he entered the room, but waited until he had settled at the head of the table before broaching the subject that plagued her: “I’ve seen the portrait for myself and agree that you have good reason to believe the girl is Lierin, but do you have any misgivings whatsoever about her? Is there the slightest doubt in your mind that she is not Lierin?”

“I cannot imagine how she can be another,” he sighed. “When I look at her, I see Lierin.”

“Dear, what do you know about Lierin’s sister?” Aunt Jennifer asked.

Ashton paused as Willis presented a silver platter filled with ham and selected a slice. “Lenore is probably living on a plantation in the Caribbean by now. She was making plans for her wedding when I met Lierin, but I really can’t say what happened to her after they went back to England. I never heard of them again.”

Amanda took a sip of coffee from her porcelain cup. “You must recognize that your haste to marry Lierin caused us all some distress, Ashton. I’m sure that it was a terrible shock for Robert Somerton to receive news of his daughter’s marriage and death in the very same moment.”

“Proper amends were intended, Grand-mere,” Ashton replied, “but as you know disaster struck before they could be carried through.”

“That leads me to a puzzling matter, Ashton: Lierin’s death. Why has it taken you so long to learn that she is alive? Why didn’t she try to find you? Where has she been all this time?”

“Marelda has asked me those same questions.”

“Well, you must admit they should be cleared up,” his grandmother replied. “Is this amnesia a recurring illness? Is that why she made no attempt to find you?” She turned to Dr. Page for an answer. “What do you say, Franklin?”

“It seems doubtful.” The aging man dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee, then cleared his throat, as if embarrassed by what he was about to say. “All of you know that the madhouse burned, but are you aware that the authorities have yet to find some of the inmates?”

Ashton lifted his gaze to the older man. “Latham mentioned that last night. What has that to do with Lierin?”

The doctor leaned his arms on the edge of the table and pressed his hands together almost in a prayerful pose. He knew how deeply Ashton had mourned the loss of his young wife and hoped he could express himself without causing resentment. “When you consider the facts surrounding the accident, such as where it happened, the proximity to the madhouse, and Lierin’s state of undress, have you given thought to the possibility that she might have been fleeing from the asylum?”

Ashton’s manner turned crisp. “Are you suggesting that my wife is mad?”

Franklin felt helpless as he met the stony gaze of his host. “Who knows what happened three years ago, Ashton? Lierin might have suffered severely from shock.” Dr. Page saw the tensing muscles in Ashton’s jaw and knew he trod on treacherous ground. He rushed on, hoping to allay the storm. “Ashton, listen to me. Sometimes people are condemned to a madhouse for the simplest cause or even when they shouldn’t be. It’s very much like being buried alive. They can rot in that hellish place without relatives knowing they’re even there.”

The click of heels sounded in the hall, and Ashton waved a hand, cautioning the doctor to silence. “It’s Marelda. I don’t want her to hear of this.”

“You needn’t worry, Ashton,” Dr. Page assured him. “I brought that girl into the world, and I know her well enough to be cautious of what weapons I lay in her hands.”

“Then we understand each other,” Ashton responded.

The dark-haired woman swept into the room with a rustle of silk and paused in the doorway to allow the others to admire the results of her careful toilette. When all eyes came to rest upon her, she went around the table and placed a light kiss on the cheeks of the older women, then greeted her host with a smile as she slid into a chair close on his right.

“How are you this morning, Ashton?” She rushed on, giving him no time to answer: “I assume, since Dr. Page is here, that you’ve been with your guest upstairs.” She bestowed her consideration on the doctor. “How is your patient anyway, Dr. Page? Has she come to her senses yet?”

Franklin was slow to reply. “She is still suffering some trauma.”

“Not anything too serious, I’d wager,” Marelda remarked with as much sarcasm as she dared.

“Only time will tell.”

Marelda was not appeased by the physician’s taciturn reply and glanced about the table at her companions, playing her longest stares on the women.

Aunt Jennifer grew uncomfortable with the silence and attempted to explain. “What Franklin means is that Lierin is having some trouble remembering right now, and it might be a while before she regains her memory.”

Marelda’s eyes grew cold and hard. “Lierin?” She managed a hint of a smile, but it held no more warmth than the frozen jet orbs. “I suppose she remembers just enough to identify herself as Ashton’s wife, but has conveniently forgotten everything else.”

Ashton lifted his cup to the waiting servant and pointedly ignored Marelda until Willis had filled it with the steaming black brew; then he reluctantly lent his attention to the woman. “Lierin couldn’t even remember that much,” he stated. “I had to tell her what her name was.”

The green monster of jealousy stabbed Marelda to the quick, and it was difficult for her to feign any kind of caring reply. “You mean she can’t even remember her name? Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Amanda’s thin lips curved into a smile. “Don’t feel bad, Marelda. Franklin never had a patient with those particular symptoms before today.”

“They’re so farfetched I can understand why. The idea of forgetting one’s own name. Why, the very thought is ridiculous.”

“Not as farfetched as you might think, Marelda,” Dr. Page said. “At least we have a name for it in the medical field. Amnesia may not be very common, but we do know that the condition exists.”

“How can you be sure she has this…this…amnesia?” Marelda argued. “I mean, she could just be pretending.”

The elderly man responded with a slow shrug. “I guess I can’t really be certain of anything, but I see no reason as yet for the pretense.”

“And you may never see a cause if she’s clever.” Marelda noticed the tensing of Ashton’s features and had to yield herself to a more subtle approach to ease his irritation. “But then, the woman’s plight could be very real.”

“No need to doubt the girl at this point,” Dr. Page said and, placing his hands flat on the table, gave a nod to Ashton and to the two older women. “I must beg to be excused. After such fine fare, I am reminded of my lack of sleep last night. I’ll be nodding off in the buggy before I reach home.” He got to his feet. “I’ll come back later to check on Lierin. See that she gets plenty of sleep and as much nourishment as she can take. That is the best advice I can give at the moment.”

Ashton rose from his chair. “I’ll think about that matter we were discussing. I have to go into Natchez anyway, and I might as well make some inquiries, although I see no point in it.”

“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.