Page 22 of His Unforgettable Bride
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.”
Seven
Carry into the circles of society a refined, polished manner, and an amiabledesire to please, and it will meet you with smiling grace,and lead you forward pleasantly along the flowery paths.
“You and I need to hold a frank conversation,” Tabitha said from where she stood with her back to the sideboard in the kitchen, a stone’s throw from Juliet seated at the table bathed in a streak of late afternoon sunshine. The sister had tugged her brown hair into a severe bun on the top of her head, and her thin face was drawn equally tight. Even her tone carried a distinct sternness.
Juliet stopped polishing a brass candlestick. Uh-oh. What had she done? Clearly, something terrible. She set aside the candlestick and rag on the table and gave the sister her full attention. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I apologize for not addressing this before, but I’ve been busy with the patient.”
Was she talking about the parakeet’s escape? But hadn’t Tabitha said not to fret over the bird? “It’s all right.”
“Most definitely, it is not all right. Attending to the patient alone, barefooted, and”—Tabitha lowered her voice—“in yournightgownis unacceptable. What would people think if they knew you were in such a state around a man?”
“I won’t tell nobody if you don’t.”
After Tabitha closed her gaping mouth, she folded her hands. “Please tell me you understand what I’m saying.”
“My behavior was…wrong.”
“In so many words, yes.”
Juliet wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. Starting a new position twenty-four hours ago and falling short in her employer’s eyes was dismal. She’d do almost anything not to lose another job. “I’m sorry.”
“I accept your apology.” Tabitha turned around, collected two floral teacups and saucers from an open shelf, and set them on the counter. She continued speaking over her shoulder. “There are certain rules a young woman in our household must heed, such as this one.”
“I understand.” Holy Moses, she had tried to do a good deed last night. Instead, she’d blundered and committed an indecent one. But she hadn’t expected the patient to rouse. Wasn’t the fact he’d awoken the more critical matter?
Tabitha opened a canister of tea. “I expect you to follow the rules precisely.”
“I’ll surely try.” Juliet resumed her polishing chore. She doused the rag in sweet oil and rubbed the cloth against the next tarnished candlestick, starting at the top.
She sighed. “I still have memories of waking up scared shortly after my grandfather’s death. Sometimes, they torment me. I was cold, alone, starving, and filthy. Back then, I’d have given anything to know someone cared. I aimed to spare the patient from feeling likewise.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Tabitha finished scooping tea into a silver infuser, closed it, and lowered it into the teapot. “And I’m sorry for your hardships, Juliet. You’ve had a heavy cross to bear, especially for a child. Nonetheless, modesty is a moral virtue.”
