Page 27 of His Unforgettable Bride
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 likeOliver 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?”
