Page 6 of His Unforgettable Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #4)

Six

Thus the first rule for a graceful manner is

unselfish consideration of others.

S omewhere, a grandfather clock chimed three times.

Had someone kicked him in the head? The constant pounding rivaled a dozen horses racing around a never-ending track. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his vision blurry.

A thick quilt covered him, and he untucked his arms. His fingers explored his face—a scrape on his chin, dry lips, and swollen eyes. A swath of thick cloth encircled his head, starting above his eyebrows. No wonder his head throbbed, especially his left temple.

One by one, he wiggled each limb. A sudden wave of darkness threatened to plunge him into unconsciousness, and he closed his eyes and counted his breaths, hoping to ward off the dreamlike state that beckoned.

Was he at home? The bed possessed a tolerable softness, and the room radiated a pleasant warmth. But the scent of something pungent and medicinal watered his eyes. His mouth had the opposite problem and was drier than a desert. He would pay a king’s ransom for something cool to quench his thirst.

Slowly, his dizziness receded, and the pain slightly lessened. He cracked his eyes open to concentrate on the plain, plastered ceiling. Then he broadened his view to the heavy burgundy drapes near the bed. No daylight seeped inside around the edges.

One lantern lit the room, better resembling a parlor than a bed chamber. As he turned his head toward the crackling fire in the hearth, his gaze met a silent woman kneeling before the flames. Was she praying? Her light blond hair cascaded in waves down her back, hiding her profile. A flowy nightgown concealed her form, though he deemed her build slender.

How odd that he could not recall her name. Perhaps she was a new servant. “Who are you?”

She rose and twirled toward him, shoving her hair behind her ears as her crystal blue eyes widened. “Holy Moses. You’re alive and awake. I thought you were a goner for certain.”

Despite the rapid words that flew out of her mouth, she had a warm, soothing voice. Her simple nightgown landed at her ankles, and her feet were bare. A vibrancy radiated from her beautiful eyes, set off by her ivory skin. Her face held multiple angles, hollowed-out cheekbones, a straight-carved nose, and a delicate but sharp chin. She had a long, almost regal neck that he instantly appreciated.

An unforgettable face, yet he had no recollection of her. What was wrong with him?

She approached the bed and stopped beside him. “Are you Alex?”

The name held no familiarity. “Who?”

“Alex Sherwood. Livy and Tabitha’s nephew.”

A second pain knifed his temple as a soul-shaking question dawned—who was he? He floated between mindfulness and oblivion. A wave of nausea surfaced, the room spun, and he clutched the bed’s blanket as darkness rose to choke him.

Remaining perfectly still, he waited until the rotating subsided, grateful he had not emptied his stomach on the floor or himself. How long had it been since his last meal? Unfortunately, he could not recall.

Nor could he remember anything beyond two minutes ago. How had he come to be in this bed? How had he gained his injuries? What was his name? His age? Who was his family?

Why could he not remember the answers to any of those questions?

A strange sense of panic swelled inside, and again, he gripped the bedsheets, his nerves growing taut. How long would it be before he swirled back to nothingness?

Gradually, he reopened his eyes, squinting in the dim light. An overwhelming sense of loneliness settled into his bones. Where had his memory fled, and how long until it returned? A moan from deep inside him grumbled in his chest, then burst to the surface.

“Sir, may I fetch you anything?” The strange woman was still present and hovered above him with worried eyes.

“Why do I not know the essential facts of my life?” The desire to ask more questions battled against the quake of his body. He clenched his jaw to stop the shaking and failed. The room would tilt again any minute now, sliding him back to oblivion.

But miraculously, he stayed present.

“Don’t know, but you’re trembling.” She tucked his covering on the side closest to her, sliding her hands under his legs, hip, and torso. “I slipped down to stoke the fire moments ago, and it should soon remove the chill. Or can I fetch you another comforter?” She leaned dangerously close over the bed to administer the same procedure with the covering on his other side.

Merciful heavens. Her flowing hair, gorgeous eyes, and elegant face made her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Or maybe not. She also carried the scent of lemons and heaven. Had he died? He swallowed hard. “I am utterly confused.”

She straightened, compassion creasing her brow. A lock of hair draped across her cheekbone, and she corralled the strand behind her ear. “Tabitha thinks you suffered a coma and a concussion.”

Tabitha. Coma. Concussion. He shut his eyes and drew a deep breath into his lungs, failing to distress his ribs. They must be intact, a fragment of positive news. Was he supposed to know someone named Tabitha? “Do you know how I sustained my injury?”

“Hard to say. But it looks like someone beat you. Robbed you, as well.”

Who would wish to harm him? Besides his memory, what else had his attacker stolen? Or had multiple people caused his wounds? Or nobody at all? When he finally opened his eyes, he latched on to hers—a beacon in the darkness. “How did I come to be here, in this room?”

“I tripped over you in the woods behind the house yesterday, and then Tabitha, Icala, and me hauled you here.”

None of the names resonated. “Where is here ? What city?”

“Everly in British Columbia.”

That resonated even less. What was wrong with him?

She touched the bandage on his head. “How are you feeling?”

Empty. Groundless. Lonely. As if he had fallen off a cliff and landed on his head. Perhaps he had. “I shall survive, I believe.”

“I agree, now that you’ve awakened.”

“Whose home is this?”

“Two sisters. Livy thinks she’s your aunt, and Tabitha sounds doubtful. Do you suspect you’re their nephew?”

Instead of finding clarity, he grew more bewildered. Was he not asking the right questions? Or was he stuck in a dream, a nightmare? “They are in this house?”

“Upstairs. I couldn’t sleep and crept down to check on you and the fire. But the sisters don’t know I’m here. However, I didn’t want you cold and alone like I…” Her words trailed off, and her eyes dropped to the quilt. “Do you care for a dipper of water before I fetch them? They’ll want to know you’ve awakened.”

“Yes, I desire water.” At least he knew that.

She swirled and began to cross the room, her nightgown rising inches to expose her shapely ankles. Even in his hampered state, he appreciated the view and watched until she disappeared through the open door into a dark hallway.

His temple continued to throb, and he touched the precise spot. Did he suffer from amnesia? He knew little about the subject other than it explained his affliction.

And how did he understand complex medical conditions and not his name? And why did one possible aunt recognize him and the other not? Maddening. Would he be more lucid in the morning? If only he had identifying papers or a monographed handkerchief to spark a memory.

Perhaps he did.

After several long minutes, the young woman returned and slowly approached the bed. She held a dipper with one hand and her other cupped beneath it. “I apologize for being garbed like this, but I wasn’t expecting you to awaken.”

“You do not offend me in your nighttime garments. Far from it.”

Her chin cocked, and her eyes narrowed as if she measured him. Based on her frown, she disliked what she assessed.

His comment had absentmindedly tumbled from his mouth. What type of man was he? He would need to ponder the possibilities later. “When you discovered me, did I possess belongings besides my clothing?”

“Just soggy underdrawers and a shirt. Livy says they were cut from a fine quality fabric.”

How peculiar. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else, at least according to the sisters. They swapped your wet clothes for dry ones while I waited in the hallway. Afterward, the three of us hefted you into the bed, and Livy put more balm on your wounds.”

A new tightness gripped his chest, and it had nothing to do with his injuries. Three strangers…or perhaps one stranger and his aunts had gone to great lengths to rescue him and save his life.

The woman—the maid, or whoever she was—glanced at the doorway. “They wouldn’t find it proper, me here alone with a gentleman at this hour. But let’s give you that water before I go.”

“I could drink the ocean dry.”

She softly chuckled, and he liked the pleasant sound. “I’ll raise your head a notch, and you tell me if anything ails you.”

Ever so slightly, he shook his head. “I have neglected to inquire after your name.”

“Juliet Dash.”

“Since I cannot tell you mine, I shall remain a man of mystery for now.”

“Fine, unless you’re a low-down murderer or someone of that ilk.”

He was tempted to laugh yet lacked the strength. But then again, perhaps he did possess a dubious character. He could not deny the possibility. “As far as I can determine, I am an innocent man.”

“Good.” Without spilling, she snaked her free hand underneath his head, lifting him a measure. At the same time, she drew the dipper to his lips.

For a reason he could not explain, her tender touch anchored him. The cool metal touched his mouth, and the liquid soothed his lips. Heaven blessed heaven. He swallowed twice before she returned his head to the pillow.

“Enough for now. Otherwise, you’ll spit it back up, and neither of us wants that. I nursed my grandfather and had to be mindful of such things.”

Clearly, Juliet was not a gentle lady who used perfect diction and followed every protocol of polite society. He was unsure how he knew such a thing, yet somehow, he did. Her evident goodwill and charitable compassion, two admirable traits, shone a bright light in the middle of his dire situation.

She took a step away from the bed. “Will you manage if I leave you alone for a minute or two?”

“Yes.” Honestly, he wanted her to stay. All too soon, he might spin back into the emptiness that had enveloped him earlier. “May I call you Juliet?”

“Only when we’re alone. I’m just a servant who started working here yesterday. That sure seems like a dozen lifetimes ago.”

What a bizarre first day of employment for her. Although he had no idea what had transpired to lead him where he now lay, he assumed his immediate past had not been stellar either. The pain in his head intensified, and his stomach muscles pinched. He closed his eyes, hoping to ward off another round of intense discomfort. “You are dismissed.”

“Well, then, goodbye to you too, fella.”

Had he offended her? Was he too curt? “I shall try not to forget you.”

“That’s a good plan.” Her voice held sarcasm as her footsteps padded from the room.

* * *

“Can you open your eyes again?” A sweet voice, not Juliet’s, awoke him.

Strangely, he had dreamed about the beautiful maid. They had shared a picnic by the water, she in her nightgown and he in day clothing. They laughed and launched paper boats on a lake that matched her eyes. The instant he tried to draw her close for an embrace, she disappeared in the same fashion as his memory.

His heavy eyelids refused to lift, almost as if someone had nailed each one shut. Why was his body and mind failing to cooperate? One more mystery to add to the growing list.

“His face is less gray, and his pulse beats stronger than last night.” Another new female voice held authority as she clasped his wrist with cold fingers. Did the comment belong to one of his possible aunts?

When he tried to force his eyes open, dizziness came rushing in, and the bed seemed to rotate. The same as the last time he had awoken.

“During the night, he said he doesn’t recall his name or past.” Juliet’s voice. How much time had lapsed since she left him?

“Based on a few books I’ve read, medical forgetfulness is rare,” said the firm voice above him, “though not unheard of.”

“You read doctoring books?” Juliet again.

“Yes, and a multitude of other subjects. I’ve always had a keen interest in the sciences, and our dear father helped secure whatever reading material I sought.”

“How long does it take for someone’s memory to return?” The sweet voice entered the conversation.

“It’s impossible to know,” replied the firm woman. “A few days, weeks, months…”

Months? His heartbeat accelerated. Although not well-versed in amnesia facts, he assumed his state was a temporary inconvenience. Not a life-altering, forever type of problem. He breathed in steadily, hoping to counter his anxiety. If he gazed at his possible aunts, would they look familiar, even vaguely?

“But surely it will return in time.” Unmistakable hope wound through Juliet’s words, and he longed to share her sentiment.

He suddenly wanted to open his eyes and gaze upon her again. She offered something to hold on to, a connection he desperately needed. Maybe because she had been the first person he had viewed after regaining consciousness?

“I wonder if anyone is looking for him,” Juliet said. “Is your nephew married?”

“Not according to his last letter,” the sister with medical knowledge said. “The good news is the young man appears strong, and his body will heal, I assume. Perhaps faster than his brain. We’ll need to watch for seizures and avoid additional bumps to his head.”

Not married—the answer to one question. Although it was impossible to know for certain, he sensed he was not wed. And the last thing he intended to do was injure his head again.

“We’ll ensure that doesn’t happen,” the sweet-voiced sister remarked earnestly. “Alex is coming to us for a fresh start, and I believe nobody in town should know about his past crimes.” The lady heaved a breath. “Poor, poor Alex.”

A wave of dread and a sense of guilt struck his core. Was he poor, poor Alex ? A felon? He fastened his hands onto the sheets. He had to resist the sleepiness that beckoned. Otherwise, he would not learn more about the offenses.

A soft hand touched his brow, and he opened his blurry eyes, straining to focus.

Three women gazed back at him. One garbed in lace, another in brown, and Juliet, smiling as radiantly as the sunshine streaming through the windowpane behind her.

“Good morning,” said the shortest of three—the one with the sweet voice—as she withdrew her hand from his forehead. “How is our patient this fine day?”

His throat scratched, and he covered his mouth and coughed. “Excuse me. Recovering, I believe, and grateful to see sunshine again.”

“Indeed.” A tall woman with a tight face and gold watch pinned to her bodice stood behind the other two. “I’m Tabitha, and this is my sister Livy.” She nodded to her sibling. “I believe you met Juliet a few hours prior.”

He forced a weak smile, letting his gaze linger on Juliet as he admired her shiny locks, bright eyes, and the simple dress that showed off her enticing figure. “Yes, she met my immediate needs.”

Juliet’s chin cocked to a discerning angle again. “Are you thanking me?”

Apparently, he should have. “Yes. Was that not clear?”

“More muddy than clear. Any chance your memories returned?”

He searched his brain, hoping to awaken the slumbering part, and studied his long fingers and hands. Not a callus anywhere. Did he not labor for a wage? Where was he from? What was his lot in life?

He waited for the answers to arrive as he had the last time. But nothing came to him, not even the barest of specifics. Disappointment rushed through him. “I continue to lack details about my life.”

Livy gently fluffed his pillow. “We’re expecting our nephew Alex any day now. He’s coming to help convert our carriage house into a tearoom since he has carpentry skills. I, for one, believe you’re him.”

A carpenter. Like Jesus. Livy had given him a name and a profession. Was the information a starting point to rebuild his life or aiming him in the wrong direction?

“They’ve not seen their brother’s son, for many years.” Juliet had pulled her hair back into a long tail and played with the end. “It’s why they’re uncertain about your genuine identity. We may have to wait until you can tell us the truth yourself one day.”

His eyes roamed between the sisters, who appeared nothing alike. One was tall and the other short. One was thinner than a single portion of bread, and the other resembled the whole loaf. One stood stiff, and the other fluttered nonstop. “Although I do not recognize either of you, perhaps I resemble your brother or his wife.”

Livy said, “Yes,” as Tabitha uttered, “No.”

“What if you examined yourself in a mirror?” Juliet nodded as if to urge him to agree to her suggestion. “Seeing your reflection could poke at a memory or two.”

“A wonderful idea, Juliet.” Livy beamed. “There’s one on the top of my bureau in the room to the left at the front of the house. Will you please collect it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She twirled and hurried from the room as she did last night when she delivered his water. But today, she wore shoes, stockings, and a long skirt.

Livy leaned closer to his bed, almost too close, as she examined his face, the scent of rosewater perfume clinging heavily to the air around her. “In my opinion, you’re the identical image of your father, Nolan, especially along the jawline.” She straightened.

The name failed to register. But the pain in his head certainly did, perhaps made worse since he was unable to stop wondering what crime he may have committed. His eyelids tugged to drift shut, and he drew in one breath. Two breaths. Three…

Clamoring footsteps grew in volume until Juliet burst into the room, the tail of her blond hair swinging to and fro. Her blue eyes held a shiny brightness as if excited on his behalf, hoping he would indeed recognize himself in the mirror. “Here it is.”

Tabitha clucked her tongue. “Proper young ladies never run. Particularly indoors.”

Juliet slowed her approach to the bed. “Yes, ma’am.”

He reached for the heavy silver hand mirror with a floral design etched onto the back. Their fingers brushed, and he nearly grasped her hand so she would not leave him again. What an unexpected response, yet she somehow soothed him. Already, he considered her an ally in his battle to regain his memory.

Slowly, he raised the mirror to view his image.

A swath of white bandages capped his head. A few brown tufts of hair stuck up beyond the tight binding. How long ago had he sustained his injury? He could inquire about today’s date, but what difference did it make?

Time in the past held no meaning.

His gaze dropped lower, and he studied his swollen face. A bruise’s bluish-green discoloration flawed the skin below his left temple. His eyes were more red than white, and the irises had a golden-brown hue. He ran the back of his hand over a layer of scruffiness on his jawline.

“So?” Juliet’s voice pierced through his confusion. “Do you recognize yourself?”

“No.” He set aside the mirror, turned his gaze to the ceiling, and heaved a frustrated breath. “I am even a stranger to myself.”