Page 8 of His Unforgettable Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #4)

Eight

She must prepare herself, by habits of diligence

and economy, to become a poor man’s wife.

“I sense you have an aversion to constables.” An easy deduction as he sipped his soup.

Juliet gazed out the window at the sun starting to set. The view of her profile emphasized her sharp features—the point of her chin, the straightness of her nose, and the arch of her cheekbones. As she stretched, her black dress molded around her curves. Did she realize how beautiful she was?

“It’s a long, tedious story.”

He finished the last bite of the savory meal and placed the spoon back on the tray. “Believe it or not, I have a clear agenda to hear your tale.”

The hint of a smile reached her lips, yet she said nothing. She had intrigued him from the beginning, standing barefoot in her nightgown. She had warmed his room, tucked his covering into place, and brought him a drink to quench his thirst.

Most importantly, she had diminished his loneliness.

Was he a man who genuinely valued others, no matter their station? Was he fair? Considerate? Had he adequately thanked Juliet for her assistance, even once? Most likely not. “If I neglected to mention the fact earlier, I have appreciated your aid.”

When she turned and fully smiled, his breath hitched. Why such a strong reaction to a woman he barely knew? Of course, Juliet had shown him nothing but goodness, but his physical response to her was extreme. Was it not?

Had beautiful women always turned his head? What kind of man had he been, particularly regarding how he treated women?

Why did You choose this path for me, God? His hand roamed to his bandages, and he tentatively touched the most tender spot at his temple. Had his faith been strong or lazy in the past? Perhaps the latter since he failed to sense the answer?

Over recent hours, the hammer in his head had finally dulled, though the pesky beat refused to stop completely. Tabitha had insisted he swallow laudanum twice, even though he first refused. The medicine had turned him drowsy. As eager as he was to uncover his past, he had to temper his expectations and timetable. He had only regained consciousness thirteen hours earlier.

Juliet moved to the sugar-barrel chair and plopped onto the cushioned seat. “A lawman once hauled me to an orphanage, and that’s hard to forgive or forget.”

Merciful heavens. What had she endured?

Since realizing he suffered from amnesia, he had mainly dwelled on himself. Granted, he had a valid excuse for self-absorption, but it was time to think about something different. Perhaps something better. “Why? Were you in need of a home?”

She slumped and held the blue and maroon checkered pillow in her lap. “In time, I found a home of sorts after my grandfather died when I was eight. There, I had good food, a safe place to sleep, and friends.”

“Did relatives take you in?”

“No. I got none. The place wasn’t perfect, but I was off the streets.” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. “Looking back, I suppose going to the orphanage was for the best. Eventually, it changed my life for the better. But back then, I hated the Wunderlin House for Children with a passion.”

“Was it like Oliver Twist ?” He had read the book by Charles Dickens, although he did not recall where or when. All he remembered was that the story had painted a bleak picture of life in an orphanage—little food, little comfort, and little hope.

Her brow wrinkled. “I am not familiar with that orphanage. It must be in London.”

Obviously, he knew how to read and was educated. What about her? Perhaps she could only read a little, if at all.

Her gaze probed him. “Do you have memories of London?”

What did he remember about the place? Anything? He had a fleeting thought of the city, that he had been there, had crossed the London Bridge, visited St. Paul’s Cathedral, and had perhaps stopped at Buckingham Palace.

To the palace? That could not be right. Perhaps he had walked past it.

“Speaking of memories,” she persisted. “You’ve recalled something from your past. Your name—Gray Sherwood. I think that is grand. It truly is.”

“I fear I need more than one or two familiar words to believe I am a Sherwood thoroughly.”

“You know what? I was thinking that, too, even though Livy seems convinced you’re her relation.”

If he was indeed Alex “Gray” Sherwood, then he was likely from a good family of some means since the sisters were wealthy gentlewomen. But enough about him. He wanted to learn more about this charming young maid. “What brought you to British Columbia?”

“A bride ship.”

A bride ship? He had a vague recollection that occasionally ships were sent to colonies to provide wives. Had she joined such an endeavor? “If you arrived on a bride ship, is it safe to assume you are married?” The personal question fell out of his mouth before he had the good sense to stop it. But he truly wanted to know.

“Not yet. On board, someone said there are ten times more men than women around here. It’s why I like my chances to wed one day.”

She could change her marital status in a heartbeat based solely on her gorgeous eyes, which resembled brilliant cut sapphires twinkling throughout their many facets. He gripped the bedsheet. Was he a romantic? Merciful heavens. He rather hoped not, though he was unsure why.

“Then you must already have a serious suitor?” As soon as the question escaped, he shook his head. “I apologize for my forwardness, and obviously, you need not answer me.”

She shrugged. “I courted two men back in England. One couldn’t stop looking at other women, and the second had a temper like a tiger. Good riddance to them both. I climbed on a bride ship for a good reason—to find a decent man, someone kind and stable. However, in the ten months I’ve been in the colony, I haven’t located him yet, but I will.”

Surely she had men interested in her since arriving, especially if there were ten times more men than women in the area. How many of them had she turned down? The question pressed for release, but he had already prodded more than was proper on the personal topic. “Was it a good ocean crossing for you?”

Her head tilted to the side, her blond tail dangling. “Aren’t you the curious one?”

He softly laughed. Minute by minute, he was learning something new about himself.

“The voyage was a mix of good and bad, I suppose. In the beginning, I fought seasickness. There were too many rules on board, such as where we could roam. Lots of boredom, but I had friends, which helped.”

Too many rules . Was he inclined to dislike them, as well? Although he sensed the answer was yes, he had no reason to hold the belief. And how long had he carried the opinion? Based on his accent, he was most likely from England or thereabout. What had brought him abroad? A ship, of course. But why and when?

She glanced at the doorway. “Want to place a wager with me?”

Why not? She reminded him of a chess game. What direction would she move next? “Precisely what are we wagering on?”

“How long until Livy or Tabitha fly back to the sitting room, realizing we’re unchaperoned.”

Since Juliet had entered the room, he had barely thought about the two women. “I hope not for a while.”

Her brow quirked. “Don’t you care for the sisters?”

“Of course I do. It is just that”—he paused to weigh his next words—“I rather enjoy conversing with you…someone closer to my age. And having nobody censure our conversations.” One or both sisters had accompanied him since dawn, and he had peppered them with questions while awake. But there had been no sign of Juliet since he glimpsed his image in the mirror in the forenoon.

“Do you think they’re your relations?”

“Who can say? Until I recall my identity, all I have is an intuition that my name is Gray.”

“What if we call you that for now?”

Everybody had a name, and he needed one, too. “Very well. Though I reserve the right to change it again one day.”

“By all means. There are worse names, like Poindexter.”

“Or Amadeus.” He liked her humor without question. Had he always gravitated toward a woman with wit? “I hope it is not too forward to say so, but I am fond of your name.”

“Thank you. It was also my grandmother’s, as I understand it.” She stood and removed his tray of food from the bed.

Was she leaving?

He hoped not and scrambled to find a way to continue their conversation. “How did you occupy your day?” Apparently, if the dull question was any indication, he was neither suave nor charming.

“Cleaning mostly, though I kept wanting to check on you.” She placed the tray on a nearby table, then resumed her place in the chair at his bedside. “However, I stayed too busy.”

His brow arched. “You did?”

“Have multiple chores, yes.”

“No, want to check on me?”

“Of course. It’s ridiculous, but I feel responsible for your welfare, being the one who found you. I don’t suppose you remember how you ended up in the woods.”

“Not even an inkling.” It was as if his life started when he first awoke in this bed. Was he the sisters’ gold-mining nephew with carpentry skills? Or how else had he earned a wage? No answer surfaced, but had he truly expected one?

“It’ll take time, I suppose. Don’t lose heart. I used to tell myself those same three words.”

Had he ever known anyone as forthright as Juliet? More than a little, he liked that she played no coy games and freely spoke her thoughts and opinions. He held her gaze and admired her symmetrical face, thin and angular. More oval than round. Her faint brows barely registered, perhaps because the stark blueness of her eyes garnered his attention more.

His heart rate accelerated. What was she thinking as she stared intently at him?

“I should go.” She dropped her gaze and fidgeted with the edge of his cover. “At first glance, I’d say the sisters have more doilies than dust, but I’m not done with the polishing. Also, the kitchen floor still needs mopping.”

Chores. She had been thinking about household cleaning. Regardless of her daily tasks, he selfishly wished her to remain with him longer.

The sisters, especially Livy, fawned over him. Tabitha studied him as if he were a medical anomaly. Perhaps he was. Juliet appeared to accept him as he was, a man trapped in a peculiar circumstance. “Surely you can stay with me a little longer. Tell me about your grandfather.”

She pressed her hand against her chest. If not mistaken, love filled her eyes as she recalled the man who raised her. “Once upon a time, I rode everywhere on his shoulders, and we competed to sing the loudest. Shouted, really. He prided himself as a storyteller and often spun tales about princesses. I still recall the scent of leather as I watched him cobble shoes.”

“He sounds like a man I would have enjoyed meeting.”

She nodded. “He was wonderful.”

“Do you remember your grandmother?”

“Gone before my birth. My grandfather cried whenever he talked about her, and the same with my mother. As a child, I hated to see him in pain, so I stopped asking questions about the dead people we loved.” She hugged the pillow again. “Looking back, though, I wish he’d told me more, particularly about those two women.”

“He sounds like someone who felt loss deeply, which means he probably also loved deeply.”

“He reared me the best he could. He broke his back after he fell from a roof, helping a friend patch a hole. Then he caught the consumption.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He didn’t last long after that.”

Undoubtedly, her past had shaped her in multiple ways, and likewise, so had his. Yet Juliet had rallied the strength and courage to start a new life in a new country. “It is a pity you lost him so young, but it sounds like he set you on a good course.”

“Mostly, though, I’ve had a few wrong turns.” Her blue eyes latched on to his. “However, I never discuss my darker days.”

A firm knot tightened in his stomach. If he was Gray, he apparently faced darker days too—darker days he would rather not remember. “Tell me more about your brighter ones. I like learning about you, perhaps because I know nothing about myself.”

Her sweet face scrunched with emotion before she detailed how her grandfather taught her to play checkers, marbles, and card games. And how they had a kitten named Bing. Throughout her recitation, her voice carried a happy lilt.

She barely grabbed a breath before sharing a little about her time working at a textile mill, bypassing the period between her grandfather’s death and the orphanage. “For a few years, I labored as a weaver in a spinning room. It was hot, dusty, and horribly loud, but the payment satisfied me.”

What was fair compensation for such a position? He had not the foggiest notion. “I see.”

“After the mill closed, I briefly lived with my friend Molly, then boarded the bride ship where I made two life-long friendships. No matter what, I can always count on Willow and Daisy.”

Did friends miss him? Search for his whereabouts? Or was he more apt to seek solitude? Moreover, how long until he remembered these and all the other confounding questions darting through his brain? “Good friends are a blessing.”

How did he know such a theory was true?

Juliet leaned forward, her hands on her knees and her brow furrowed. “One day soon, you’ll tell me about your past.”

“Let us pray it is so.”

She studied him intently. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t talk like anybody else I know, not even Tabitha and Livy. Your speech is…fancier.”

Was it? “I assume it is based on where and how I was raised.”

In a flurry, Livy rushed into the room with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Juliet jumped to her feet, bumping the bed with her knee.

“Oh dear, oh dear. I completely forgot about the two of you.” Livy was wringing her hands as if she had just caught them in an improper embrace.

Juliet stepped away from the bed toward the window. “I didn’t want to leave the patient alone since he was eating. I’m sorry if that was a mistake.”

“I asked her to stay.” He refused to let Juliet take all the blame.

Livy halted behind the chair Juliet had vacated. “Tabitha and I have never had a young man and woman under our roof together, and we want to keep Juliet’s reputation intact and spotless.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Juliet took another step away from him.

“Both of your reputations, actually,” Livy continued. “One day, you’ll thank us, especially when it’s time to find a marriage partner.”

Marriage? Matrimony was the last thing on his mind.

Livy stepped closer, slipped a hand behind him, and began to plump his pillow for the dozenth time. “I keep forgetting to ask why you’re wearing Tabitha’s black mourning dress, Juliet. Could you find no other options in the wardrobe?”

Juliet glanced down at her dress. “All my clothing needs laundering. When I picked this from the collection, I knew people mourned in black but didn’t realize it wasn’t worn otherwise. My uniform at the Firth residence was black.”

“Have no fear.” Livy’s round face dimpled in a cheerful smile. “During your upcoming etiquette lessons, we’ll cover topics such as what to wear when and much more. Soon, you’ll be a brand-new Juliet.”

Etiquette lessons? Was something wrong with current-day Juliet? In his opinion, following high-class standards and protocols mattered far too much to some people. “While everyone may benefit from polishing in one form or fashion, let us not forget that Juliet has value as she is. If she had not stumbled over me in the woods, I may have died.”

Juliet nodded at him appreciatively.

Tears formed in Livy’s eyes. “Heavens to Betsy, Juliet. I didn’t mean to imply you were inferior. Please forgive me.”

Juliet shifted her focus to Livy. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m much obliged for all your kind help.”

“It will be our pleasure, dearie. We’ll take the instructions one day at a time.” Livy untucked a lacy handkerchief and dabbed delicately at the edges of her eyes. “I’ve always suspected I’d make a superior teacher.”

“No doubt you will,” he said. A moment passed before he added, “Was anything in your shipment salvageable?”

Livy shook her head, her curls bouncing. “All of it shattered. It will be a shame, but we may need to postpone the open house due to the broken china and the slow pace of the renovations.”

Undoubtedly, he could hammer a nail, but converting a stable into a workable tearoom stirred up doubts. Perhaps after he viewed the building’s interior and learned what work remained on the project, he could gauge how to proceed. “If possible, I shall look at your future tearoom tomorrow.”

“Let’s assess how you feel in the morning and go from there, young man.”

“Juliet suggested I begin going by the name Gray. I concur with the plan.”

Livy nodded. “Well, it is your name.”

Truthfully, he could be a Sherwood or a servant like Juliet. But based on his speech alone, he doubted the second possibility. He had a whole life waiting for him somewhere. Now he just had to find it.