Page 18 of His Unforgettable Bride
Tension hummed in the sitting room as a small sigh passed over Livy’s lips. “We’re both frazzled. I’m sorry if I offended you, sister.”
“You haven’t, though we’re not setting a good example for Juliet. It’s time she and I left to change our garments.”
Livy offered Juliet an apologetic smile. “Please forgive us.”
“Of course. Don’t fret about your tiff.” Juliet collected her shoes. “Compared to some of the knock-down brawls I’ve viewed, your spat is next to nothing.”
Tabitha blinked her wide eyes. “Oh, my stars. I must say, Juliet, you have much to learn before you’re ready to serve guests in the tearoom, especially regarding proper conversation.”
Her stomach knotted as she lowered her eyes to the floor. Was she teachable? With her whole heart, she wanted to be. But maybe she didn’t have it in her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Six
Thus the first rule for a graceful manner is
unselfish consideration of others.
Somewhere, 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.
