Page 36 of Tamed By a Passionate Lady
“Can you sing?” he whispered, in a drowsy voice. “I know that you would have the voice of a nightingale. Please, sing to me, Adaline.”
She looked stunned, for a moment. But then, she started to sing, hesitantly at first, before finding her confidence.
Alas, my love, you do me wrong…To cast me off discourteously… For I have loved you well and long…Delighting in your company…
His eyelids started to close. The tune was sweet, and her voice lovely. He recognised it. It wasGreensleeves,an old, traditional folk song.
As her voice washed over him, his fear slowly unknotted within him.
He gazed at her, his heart filled with a sudden, fierce joy. He did not remember her, but he was very glad that this woman was his wife.
Chapter 13
Adaline shielded her eyes from a shaft of bright afternoon sun that suddenly burst forth from behind a grey cloud.
She was sketching in the garden. Up until now, her hand had been flying across the paper in a fever of creativity. But now, she stopped, letting the charcoal fall. The sun was just too bright, and she could no longer see the paper properly. And besides, it was finished, or very nearly.
She glanced around. James was sitting just behind her in his wheelchair, seemingly still absorbed in a book about local birdlife.
But he glanced up when he felt her gaze upon him, putting down the book with a slow smile.
“Are you finished?” he asked, in a quiet voice.
She nodded, shyly.
His smile widened. “Can I see, then?”
She hesitated for just a moment, before standing up, sketchbook in hand. She walked the short distance to him, offering it to him.
He took it, staring at the picture. It was a landscape of the ocean and the cliffs near the coastline. For a moment, he said nothing, tilting it this way and that. She held her breath. She had never really liked people viewing her work, for the first time.
“This is wonderful,” he said quietly. “Truly, you have captured the sea and the cliffs.” He handed the book back to her, gazing at her steadily. “It seems that my wife is a very talented artist. That must be the reason that I married you.” His voice was warm, and his blue-green eyes were shining in admiration.
She felt herself blush, ducking her head. She still didn’t know how to handle these compliments that he was continually giving her now.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look back at him. “Thank you. You are too kind.”
He smiled. “Kindness has nothing to do with it,” he said slowly. “I recognise talent when I see it. It is a mystery to me why I do not have the walls of Birkenhead Lodge awash with your work.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I do not like to flatter myself in such a way.”
He looked at her curiously, as if he was going to say something else, but then changed his mind.
“Are you tired?” she asked. “You have been out in the sun all afternoon. You know that you start to get your headaches if you do not rest properly…”
“Stop fussing,” he teased, his smile widening. “You sound just like a wife!” He paused. “I have been enjoying spending the time with you, Adaline, and I have no desire to rest at the moment. Can we not linger in the garden, for just a little while longer?”
She bit her lip, staring at him. Dr. Brown had stressed that he should not overtax himself but being outdoors seemed to relax him. What harm could it do for them to stay out for another hour or so?
A small pang of guilt shot through her. It wasn’t just for James’ sake that she wanted to linger with him in the garden. She was thoroughly enjoying spending this time with him, time that they had never spent together before the accident.
She took a deep breath. Everything was different, now, in the most amazing way. A way that she had never envisioned.
She had been shocked, and frightened, when he had awoken and did not know who she was. When it became obvious that he didn’t remember anything of his life at Birkenhead Lodge, nor have any recall of their marriage. It was as if the last three years of his life had been wiped clean from his memory.
Dr. Brown had returned straight away, questioning him for over an hour, testing his reflexes. Afterwards, he told her what she already knew: her husband had no memory of her, or of Birkenhead Lodge. The doctor had ascertained that his last clear memory was of coming to view the house, five years ago, just after his father died.
It was a tragedy. Five years of his life…gone, in the blink of an eye.
