The Lady Who Lived Again. Thomasine Rappold
a moment she felt flattered. How could she not? A handsome man was declaring interest in her. The urge to sail off on the sappy emotion was overwhelming. And pathetic. She stiffened, cursing the lilt in her spirit for what it was: a prelude to pain and disappointment. She’d had far more than her fill of both.
“You have merely to ask around town for enlightenment.”
“I did that as well.”
She stared, startled by his honesty. He’d been as kind to her as he’d been to Grandfather—avoiding any mention of her diseased reputation in the hope of sparing her feelings. But she sensed he’d gotten an earful just the same.
She dropped her gaze to the floor, disappointment prickling under her skin. Why this stranger’s opinion of her mattered, she wasn’t sure. She knew only that it did, and the revelation filled her with anger. Anger at him for prying and anger at herself for caring that he had.
She waved the letter. “Well, thank you for returning it.” She stood. “I’m sure you’re still busy settling in, so I’ll show you to the door.”
Ignoring her abrupt dismissal, he remained seated, staring up at her. “Upon going through Doctor Filmore’s files, I came across yours.”
She braced herself against a rush of dread. “And?”
“And I’m intrigued. Survivors of trauma often struggle with emotional after-effects, and some are forced to seek treatment for the assault on their mental faculties. Others find ways to cope with the stress. As a doctor, I’d like to know more about your injuries and recovery.” His expression stilled. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”
And there it was. The reason for his interest. It wasn’t physical attraction to her that had brought him here; it was clinical curiosity, nothing more. She felt like a fool.
“I would very much mind,” she huffed.
“But—”
“As I’m sure you can understand, I don’t wish to talk about it.”
He stood to face her. “But your case is astounding.”
“My case?” She glared at him. “This is my life, Doctor Merrick. Please don’t reduce the sum of it to the ridiculous things you’ve learned from that old fool’s files.”
Absorbing her words, his expression softened. “He made a mistake, Madeline.”
“He did more than that.” She clenched her teeth to stave off tears. “He let them all believe…” She took a deep breath. “You know what they think of me. That I’m some oddity of nature.”
“I can help change that.”
She shook her head. “It’s too late. After what Doctor Filmore—”
“Filmore was a coward. The man declared you dead, for Christ’s sake. Then to cover his mistake, instead of admitting it, he allowed people to think there was some other dark and mysterious force involved.”
She swallowed hard. She’d waited for so long for someone to say it that she hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed those bittersweet words until Jace uttered them. The desperation in her voice was clear when she pressed him for more. “And you don’t believe that?”
He frowned. “Of course not. I’m a doctor. There’s a reasonable explanation for everything.”
Well, certainly not everything. But she wasn’t about to go pointing that out.
“I can help you. I can help the people of Misty Lake understand that you’re not some sort of malevolent aberration. Your case is rare; there’s no disputing that. But you’re not cursed or blessed or any other such nonsense.”
The more he talked and the more he tried to convince her he could help, the more furious she became. It was too late for this now. For three years she’d dealt with her overwhelming sorrow alone. She’d shouldered the guilt and the rage. No one would listen when she’d needed to be heard. Not even Grandfather, which hurt the most. She’d literally talked to the walls to spare him the discomfort of consoling her, and she’d be damned if she would admit to this stranger that her solitary recovery had been as traumatic as the accident itself.
Jace’s voice softened. “Filmore was a coward, but you’re not. You couldn’t have recovered if you were.” He took a step toward her. “Give me the opportunity to study your case, Madeline.”
She had to steel herself against melting in the warmth of his eyes, the sound of her name on his lips. “And what have you to gain from it all?”
“Knowledge. Knowledge that might help others.”
And who was there to help me? “I’m sorry, Doctor Merrick. My answer is no.”
* * * *
Maddie awoke the next day ill-rested and weary, having spent the wee hours of the evening fretting her twin problems: her confrontation with Jace Merrick and her decision to attend Amelia’s wedding. Gathering her exhausted wits about her, she concluded she would make the first step toward reentering society by refreshing her very much outdated wardrobe. She hoped that acquiring some new gowns would armor her for the ordeal ahead, and in that spirit, she presented herself at Mrs. March’s dress boutique immediately upon its opening.
After enduring Mrs. March’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction to her first patron of the day, Maddie was ushered to a wobbly bench in the far corner of the shop. She sat in the dreary light, poring through book after book of dress patterns, determined to find something dazzling. While she might be forced to attend the wedding and the slew of other prenuptial events alone, she’d be attending in style.
Maddie turned another page in the book. She tried to focus on the patterns, but her mind kept returning to her conversation with Doctor Merrick and his startling request to “study her case,” as he’d called it. He wanted to analyze her as he might a rat in a cage, to see how she’d fared since the accident. Why did men of science have to analyze everything? Was it not in their nature to simply let things be? He’d told her he’d wanted knowledge from her that might help others. While Maddie believed this was partially true, she suspected it was his ego—and his desire to be the first person to explain something inexplicable—that drove the doctor’s need to delve deeper. Whatever the reason, one thing remained clear. Jace Merrick saw her as the others did, as an oddity. True, he had a medical explanation for her revival after the accident, but he regarded her as a specimen to be studied, nonetheless. How foolish she was for having hoped otherwise. There was something about the man and the way she felt in his presence, as if he’d roused her after years of hibernation. The feeling was both exciting and terrifying. And immensely annoying.
In matters of men, Maddie was accustomed to holding the upper hand. Once upon a time she could have charmed Jace Merrick out of his boots. The Fair Five were the very opposite of wallflowers, and most people had thought Maddie as the boldest of the bunch. Flirtation was a powerful device, and one she’d wielded with skill. How easy it was to entice a man with a smile or a bat of the eyes. Would the good doctor be so easy to seduce? The appealing thought made her flush.
“Anything yet?” Mrs. March called through the bolts of fabric and ribbon.
“Not yet,” Maddie replied with a start.
Mrs. March hurried away, frustration echoing in the clipped sound of her footsteps. Although Maddie couldn’t see it, she knew the rude woman’s mouth was pursed tighter than the gray bun on her head.
Maddie continued to browse the next book, turning page after page, until she saw it. The perfect dress for the rehearsal dinner and dance. She smiled, staring at the pattern. The form-fitting bodice, the cascading layers of silk and lace.
“Good morning, Miss Sutter.”
Maddie’s spine stiffened in dread as she recognized the pretentious cadence of her former fiancé’s voice. Dragging her gaze from the book on her lap, she steadied her nerves, then looked up