The Whisper Of Wings (10 page)

He stood up and came round the side of his desk to stand before her. He looked so grave that for one frightening moment she thought he was about to tell her that he knew who she was, that he didn't want her in his house, that she needed to go back home. And she almost sagged with relief when she realized her fears were unfounded.

"There's a carnival tonight."

"Yes. Gerald mentioned it."

"You're spending a great deal of time with Gerald."

It was more a statement than a question. One she didn't quite know how to respond to. Of course, she did spend a lot of time with Gerald. He had become her constant companion, her best friend. She adored him, and he adored her. She wouldn't have it any other way. For once in her life, she felt like she had a healthy relationship with another human being, felt as though someone truly cared for her. Not for what she could do for them but simply for her. Michaela the person. The woman. Her spirit, her natural affection, her intelligence. Gerald enjoyed her intellect, the spirited conversations they shared when no one else was around. He made her feel like a human being. Gerald and Mrs. Avery both. She adored them both beyond words. They made her feel like she was part of a family, at long last.

"Mm. I see," Christopher murmured, folding his arms across his chest and bringing one hand up to stroke his carefully shaven chin. He was regarding her intently, as was his wont, and it made her nervous again.

Christopher Standeven. He made her feel different inside. She never knew where she stood with him, never knew what to think. He was a man not given to divulging his private thoughts, and that made her feel awkward sometimes. She wished she had such command of her own emotions. Just being in his presence, one could feel the power emanating from him, the sheer strength, determination, and drive. It was heady, moving.

"Would you like to join the family and see it?"

"Pardon?" She'd been so caught up in her inner reflections that she was momentarily confused.

"The carnival?"

Suddenly, the fear was back, welling up inside her chest, choking her with panic. She didn't want to leave the house. She didn't want to be reminded of those days and nights of terror and loneliness on the streets. She didn't want anyone to see her, to recognize her, to force her to go back to that which she had so fearfully fled.

She shook her head, unwittingly shaking loose a tear she hadn't even realized was on her lashes.

Seeing her pain, Christopher stepped closer and raised a hand to touch her arm but didn't quite do so. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. He hadn't meant to alarm her. He only wanted to help. He'd thought that if he could get her out of the house, it would do her some good. But perhaps New Orleans was the wrong place to do so. She might fair better at his home in Virginia. He'd planned on moving the family there, anyway. It might be easier for her, considering that it didn't represent harm to her.

Mrs. Avery was right. Michaela's experiences had left her scarred. He felt bad now for having frightened her. He should have been more thoughtful.

"I won't press you into it. It was just a suggestion. As this will be our last night, I thought you might like to see the carnival before we left."

"Last night?" Michaela was stunned.

He nodded. "Yes. We'll be arranging to leave for my mansion in Virginia tomorrow morning."

Michaela felt another sharp bite of panic. They were leaving. She would be alone again.

"You'll be joining us," he said in a matter-of-fact way, as if he expected nothing else.

She relaxed again. For a moment, she had thought they meant to leave her behind.

Her mind snatched at the prospect of a new location. Virginia was such a long way from home, such a wonderfully long way. She readily accepted the idea. After all, she had nowhere else to go. There was nothing keeping her here. Virginia could be just the answer she needed.

"Well, then. We'll just have a quiet dinner at home," Mr. Standeven said.

He looked awkward for a moment and then finally turned his back on her. Realizing he wanted to resume his work, Michaela left the room, the heels of the new shoes he had provided her with barely making a sound against the polished floor as she went.

Christopher glanced back just as she was disappearing through the portal, then frowned and sat down behind his desk again.

The next morning was spent in a flurry of preparation. Mrs. Avery kept everyone so busy that Michaela hardly had time to think about where they were going. She was shocked to realize that Mrs. Avery would be the only member of the staff to accompany the Standevens to Virginia. The rest of the employees had been temporary. Michaela left them amidst a few sniffles and hugs, then watched through the rear window of the car as they slowly drove past the gate. She didn't quite know how to feel at leaving them behind. She would miss them, and she was grateful that Mrs. Avery was still with her.

At the train station, she was surprised to discover that Mr. Standeven had booked an entire parlor car for their journey. She'd never seen such a splendid parlor car. It had a sitting area, a small dining area, and two bedroom suites. She was to share one of these suites with Mrs. Avery for the night. Once the luggage had been properly stowed, Michaela left her gloves and hat in the suite and joined Gerald and Mr. Standeven in the sitting room.

She was still a bit awkward about Mr. Standeven's generosity toward her, but she couldn't seem to quiet the excitement stirring within her breast at the opportunity to travel to another state far away from Louisiana. It still didn't quite make sense to her, this uncanny good fortune fate had sent her way, but strangely enough, she couldn't imagine being without the Standevens, without Mrs. Avery. It was almost as if she belonged. Not that she was exactly comfortable yet, but perhaps she was getting there.

Dressed in a pretty, blue linen suit with matching gloves and hat, Michaela felt like the lady of the manor. Gerald had complimented her profusely on her choice of traveling attire, and she was feeling much better about herself than she had in a long while. She shared a couch with Mrs. Avery, and Mr. Standeven sat in a chair directly opposite her, while Gerald sprawled comfortably in the other couch.

She felt the lurch of the train moving forward but didn't bother to watch as New Orleans disappeared into the distance. She was far too intrigued by the interior of the parlor car itself, and the man who seemed to dominate it.

"Ever been on a train before, Michaela?" Gerald drawled from his couch.

She automatically started to respond that she had on a few occasions but never on such a grand scale, when Mrs. Avery interjected for her.

"Now, Gerald. We all agreed not to press her. She may not remember that just now, so how on earth could she answer truthfully?"

Michaela blanched when she realized how close she had come to giving her secret away. Seeking to hide her anxiety from Gerald and Mrs. Avery, she looked away, only to find herself staring directly into the curious eyes of Mr. Standeven himself. His eyes were so intense that she couldn't hold them for long, and she had to seek somewhere else to rest her gaze. She felt like such a snake for not telling them the whole truth, but the mere thought made her quake inside. She was too terrified of the consequences. What if they sent her back home?

She glanced at Gerald. Surely, he would understand, as would Mrs. Avery. It was Mr. Standeven she was concerned about. He would feel duped, betrayed. He would be angry.

No, she couldn't tell them. Not now. Not until she had decided what she would do with the rest of her life.

Dear Lord, she didn't even want to think about the future right now. She had developed a bit of a fantasy surrounding these people, that perhaps they could be her adopted family, and she didn't want anything to destroy the fragile weave of those dreams.

"I promise I'll tell you the moment I remember," she murmured, half to Gerald, half to no one in particular.

"No hurry," Gerald assured her. "I'm perfectly satisfied with you precisely the way you are."

"Thank you," she managed. But she couldn't quite bring herself to look at him. Dear Gerald. She wondered if he was just as reluctant for her to regain her memory as she was. He didn't seem inclined to let her go any more than she wanted to go. For the first time in her life, she felt sheltered, safe, wanted. It would be difficult to give that up when it was something she had so desperately wanted all her life.

A soft knock at the outer door of the parlor car startled her, and her gaze automatically flew to Mr. Standeven's face. She didn't know why she always sought him for reassurance. Perhaps because he was always in such perfect control, or perhaps it was because she instinctively knew that he was more than capable of handling any crisis.

"Not to worry," he assured her. "It's just the parlor maid. I ordered us a nice English tea."

She relaxed again, even smiled when Mrs. Avery gave her hand a comforting pat.

Gerald rose to open the door for the maid. He took the tray and placed it on the side table, then served Michaela himself, dismissing the maid with a glance. While he presented her with a cup of steaming tea and a plate of the most delicious cake she'd ever tasted, Mr. Standeven watched his son's every move, his expression impassive. When Gerald had generously served everyone and retired to his couch with an enormous piece of cake for himself, Mr. Standeven allowed his eyes to wander to Michaela, and there they remained until she had finished her first cup of tea.

"It's quite good," she murmured, feeling a bit vulnerable and anxious under that unfathomable stare.

He obligingly rose to pour her another cup, which she graciously accepted.

"You may have as much as you like," he murmured.

He bent his head close as he poured the amber liquid into her empty cup. Intimately close. Michaela felt something like fire burn through her veins and was momentarily riveted by his hands. They were such a contrast to the delicate china teapot they held, so strong, so....

Her eyes wandered to his face before she realized what a mistake that was. She became mesmerized by the strong line of his jaw, and then...his lips. Her heart began to beat a little faster, and she feared he might overhear its plaintive message. He was too close, much too close. If he stayed a moment longer, surely she would faint, or do something horribly rash. Her hands were trembling so that she needed both of them to hold the cup and saucer still. Even so, the two items clinked together in an embarrassing testimony to her reaction to him. She only hoped he, and everyone else, took it as her usual case of jitters. It would be too much to hope that they mistook it for the gentle rocking motion of the train as it sped down the tracks.

It seemed to take forever for the cup to receive the small amount of liquid he poured, as though time had slowed down. Desperately seeking something that would quiet her taut nerves, Michaela shifted her gaze elsewhere only to discover Gerald watching them with open interest. Thankfully, before he could catch her eye, she was distracted by Christopher's rich voice again.

"I'm glad you like the tea, Michaela." At last, he finished pouring. He smiled down at her as he straightened, and his eyes were like a caress, almost tangible enough to cause a shiver of anticipation to tickle its way down her spine. "It's a very special blend."

She gave him a nervous smile, then hid it behind the cup as she brought it to her lips for another quick sip. The tea was still a little too warm to drink, and the liquid almost scalded her throat going down, but she managed to hide the pain and take another sip. Perhaps it would soothe her frazzled nerves. Goodness knows, something needed to.

Mr. Standeven was about to set the teapot back on its tray when Mrs. Avery somewhat cautiously held her cup out.

"I don't mean to be presumptuous, Mr. Standeven. But...may I?"

"Of course."

It took him only a short time to fill her cup, much shorter than it had taken to fill Michaela's cup. Then he turned to his son, held the pot up, and lifted his brows in question. Ignoring Gerald's wicked grin, he filled his son's upheld cup. Seconds later, the teapot was back on its tray and Christopher was once again seated in his chair. Though her nerves were no steadier, Michaela began to wonder if her perception hadn't been a bit warped by her anxiety. Perhaps it hadn't taken him longer to pour her tea than it had to pour anyone else's. Maybe it only seemed that way because her heart had behaved so wildly. Whatever the case, she decided to give it no more attention. It meant nothing. She was simply a bit clumsy in his presence, and that was enough to skew anyone's thinking.

A moment later, when she went to freshen herself in the small lavatory, she wondered that Mr. Standeven had been able to hold himself steady enough to pour the tea without spilling it. While sitting down, the motion of the train was almost soothing, but standing up and walking was quite another matter. It was almost impossible to walk a straight line, and she ended up lunging and bumping all the way to the lavatory and back. Indeed, she was relieved to get back to her seat again, for it made her feel like a gangly oaf to be in such disproportion to the floor.

She tried to occupy herself by watching the passing scenery, even made an attempt at casual conversation with Mrs. Avery, anything to avoid the direction of her own wicked imaginings. Her thoughts had taken off on some twisted flight of fancy this afternoon, flitting where they shouldn't dare to venture, and she couldn't seem to whistle them back in. It was at once thrilling and frightening. Surely, only chaos lay at the end of their flight, only disappointment and horrified embarrassment.