The Whisper Of Wings (11 page)

Everyone else seemed occupied. Mrs. Avery was busy with the knitting she'd brought along, and Gerald had his nose poked into a magazine that seemed of considerable interesting to him. Only one other passenger had time on his hands, and that was precisely the one she was trying to avoid.

Hoping no one noticed, least of all him, she eventually rested her gaze on his hands. It seemed the safest place at the moment, since looking out the window only made her feel uncomfortable, as if he knew that she was avoiding his eyes. She watched his hands for a long time, captivated by them, by his every movement, however small, her thoughts an unfathomable turmoil.

When she became aware of his eyes on her, she lifted her gaze to his. Rather than look away, something held her there for one daring moment. His eyes were as penetrating as ever. They almost always seemed to be searching, as if he wanted desperately to unlock the secrets of her soul, those secrets she kept bound tightly, hidden from everyone. She wondered that she even bothered to hide anything from him. He seemed able to read her every thought with those eyes. Oddly, she didn't panic this time. Instead, she felt bathed in warmth. She had the sudden, distinct impression that, no matter the content, her thoughts, her secrets, would be perfectly safe with him.

"Are you enjoying the train trip, Michaela?"

Before she could stop them, her eyes widened of their own accord. She'd been staring at him with such boldness that she had lost track of time, and she was startled to hear him speaking to her. Goodness, what a voice. She had been in his presence enough now to realize that he spoke to her in a very different way than the way in which he spoke with others. He had somehow separated her from everyone else, whether intentionally or unwittingly. Either way, it made her feel special. He had a decidedly masculine voice, but when he spoke to her, there was a unique, gentle quality to it. She'd never heard him raise his voice in anger or frustration, and that careful control only added to his mystery. It seemed like nothing could ruffle that signature calm that was all his.

"I'm enjoying it very much," she managed.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling wonderfully at the corners. Her mouth parted of its own volition, and her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest. He should smile more often. Oh, she wished he'd smile more often. He was breathtakingly handsome when he did.

She mustn't look at him a moment longer. It was doing things to her, unspeakable things. Cushioned in her fantasy, she could almost forget her circumstances. She had to remind herself that she was just a visitor in his world. Soon she would move on. All visitors eventually did.

Lord, he was a formidable man. Many times she had watched him from the doorway of his office while he took phone calls. He was so commanding when he spoke of business matters. It made her tremble to think about it. In all her life, she'd never known anyone so intriguing, so powerful. She was captivated with him, with everything about him. She knew she shouldn't allow herself to become enamored with him, but she couldn't stop it. She held him in such high esteem, and yet she feared that she didn't even deserve to be in his shadow.

Feeling sad, Michaela turned to look out the window, and managed to keep herself occupied until the family gathered to share dinner. Gerald became quite boisterous and talkative over the meal, and Michaela found herself smiling and laughing, so caught up in his outrageous tales of college campus life that she almost forgot about her reaction to Mr. Standeven's presence. Almost, but not entirely. He was always there, lurking on the periphery of her vision, turning her head occasionally to fatten his son's anecdotes with tales of his own. He told interesting and exciting stories of the rugged and dangerous men who worked in the diamond mines, and stories of his own meager beginnings working beside them. She watched him, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of the past. She was learning that he had a wonderful sense of humor, and it made her feel even warmer in that blanket of security he had so willingly provided her with. She was enjoying herself immensely. For the first time in eons, she was really enjoying herself without fear of the consequences. This was precisely as she had always imagined a good family would behave. This was, in essence, her dream. If only she could keep it, make it her own.

But it would be gone some day. Inevitably.

She was determined not to think about it right now. This moment was hers, and she would hold on to it for as long as she could.

She retired for the evening with a sense of hope she hadn't felt in a very long time. Somehow, she had come to be on the reciprocating end of a miracle. Sleep was more peaceful for her than it had been since she'd left her father's home. Christopher Standeven's hospitality was beginning to strengthen her. He was giving her back her wings, feather by precious feather.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Michaela was awakened by the loud clanging of the bell as the train pulled into the station. Feeling rested for the first time in years, she stretched and opened her eyes. An electric tingle of excitement coursed through her at the sounds of the station outside, and she wanted to hurry and investigate. She was eager to embrace a new town.

She sat up and glanced around the room. Apparently, Mrs. Avery had been awake for some time, and was already in the midst of bustling about the tiny confines packing things into her satchel. She seemed happy to be home. Michaela pushed aside the blankets and set about getting dressed. She couldn't wait to see Virginia and the Standeven mansion. Mrs. Avery had spoken so well of it. It was obvious she adored the place. She must have been a bit homesick during her stay in New Orleans, poor dear.

On the platform, Michaela eyed her surroundings with enthusiasm. Mrs. Avery led the way through the depot and out into the yard beyond, Mr. Standeven close on her heels. Michaela, studying everything with wide-eyed wonder, brought up the rear, flanked by Gerald, who had kindly relieved her of her bag the moment they had stepped off the train.

She was so busy looking around that she paid no heed when she felt a hand on her arm, urging her forward. She didn't realize until she glanced around that it was Christopher who had taken her elbow. He smiled down at her. He seemed pleased with her healthy interest in her new surroundings. She smiled back, then shyly glanced away.

He herded them in the direction of a Duesenberg, which was parked at the curb, and she sucked in a breath of delight at the sight of the long, shiny car. A chauffeur stood at the back door, stoically waiting for her to step into the plush interior. He tipped his hat in Mr. Standeven's direction, though his eyes were trained on some distant point straight in front of him, his chin held at a rigid angle of respect. Michaela felt like she was stepping into another world, one of wealth and luxury. It all seemed so magical.

Sandwiched between Mrs. Avery and Gerald in the roomy back seat, she watched every pole, every bump, every blade of grass that passed outside the window as the car glided along the street. The excitement, the sheer anticipation, was beginning to build inside her, and she could hardly sit still. Gerald teased her about her eagerness, something that brought a smile to her face, while Mr. Standeven watched in silent perusal. Unable to contain herself, she pointed out things to Gerald that he'd probably seen a million times, exclaiming over something as silly as an old cow munching grass by the side of the road. It all looked so new to her, so fresh, so alive and promising.

As they neared their destination, Gerald drew her attention to the gates that opened onto the Standeven property. Michaela leaned forward to look out the window as they began the slow journey down the long driveway, a driveway that was cobblestones for the duration, all the way up to the magnificent house. The land was lush, green, inviting, and the house sat upon it like a beautiful beacon. It was much larger than she had expected, truly a mansion in every sense of the word. The house was a fabulous piece of architectural design, very similar to the Vanderbilt mansion in North Carolina, though on a smaller scale. She was absolutely entranced.

"Just look at the gardens," she exclaimed.

"Wait until you see around back," Mrs. Avery said.

Michaela sighed in wonder. She loved gardens, and these were more beautiful than she'd ever seen before. She couldn't wait to explore them.

"It truly is a mansion. A castle in the country," she whispered. "It's beautiful."

She automatically glanced at Mr. Standeven. He was watching her with his usual interest, but this time she saw the barest of smiles flirting around his mouth. He was pleased that she liked his home, and she was glad that he was pleased. It meant something. She wasn't quite sure what yet, but it definitely meant something. It gave her that warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one she was learning to look forward to, the one she was actually beginning to yearn for. She gave him a tremulous smile, then looked away, still too timid to hold his gaze for very long.

The driveway circled around a great, splashing fountain that sat in front of the house, and Michaela watched the cascade of water while the driver drew the Duesenburg to a halt. Mrs. Avery urged her out of the car and clucked around while the driver unloaded the boot. Michaela paid them no mind. She was in awe. The house was even more imposing when one was standing before it. Looking up at the beautiful brick facade, she felt dwarfed by its massive presence. Yet, it wasn't daunting in any way. It was actually quite inviting. Everything about it beckoned one to enter, to be welcome.

Gerald nudged her as if to get her to move forward. Mrs. Avery was already inside, beckoning from the doorway. Michaela didn't want to move just yet, didn't want to rush the enjoyment. She just wanted to stand there and take it all in. But she managed to look away long enough to catch the smile on Gerald's face. He obviously enjoyed her zeal.

"Come on, Michaela. I promise to show you everything as soon as we're settled."

She nodded her enthusiasm and turned for another look at the house, her eyes roving over every immaculate detail.

"I'm glad you like it," she heard Christopher's rich voice murmur much closer than she expected.

She glanced down at the cobblestones at her feet, then up at him from the corner of her eye, peeping at him from beneath her lashes. He too was studying the facade of his mansion, an expression of pure satisfaction on his face, satisfaction perhaps at his grand achievements. She was certain any man would feel the same appreciation for his own efforts, efforts that were so richly displayed here.

She smiled and looked back at the house. It felt good to share it with him. Each had their own uniquely different perspective, but each enjoyed it all the same.

"I'll bet it even has marble floors," she whispered, unaware that she'd even voiced the thought until he answered her.

"Only in the foyer and the ballroom."

When he put his hand on her elbow again and urged her up the steps, Michaela's throat clenched with some indescribable emotion. He released her arm the moment they stepped through the doors, and she had to squelch her disappointment. She liked having his hand on her arm. Perhaps too much.

He didn't move away immediately. Instead, he stood close, watching her as she took in every detail of the entryway.

"You may choose any room in the house as yours, except for the master bedroom. It has been mine for too long now, and I'm afraid I've grown accustomed to it. It resides in the north wing. Gerald keeps two adjoining rooms in the south wing. They are easy enough to identify by the books strewn about. Anything in between is yours for the claiming."

She could scarcely believe his generosity, but she dare not question it. She would be as gracious as she could. It's what he expected of her, and she was eager to please.

She turned her head to look up at him and found his eyes on hers. She boldly held his gaze and spoke directly to him for the first time since they'd met. "Thank you."

His eyes glittered with something unfathomable, and he hesitated for one breath-taking moment before answering, "You are most welcome" in a voice that made her knees suddenly, inexplicably weak.

When it seemed that neither would look away, he inclined his head in the direction of the stairs, a movement barely perceptible to anyone except her. Her cheeks flooding with embarrassment at having stared at him for too long, she ducked her head in acquiescence and moved toward the stairs.

The staircase was a masterpiece in itself, and her hand glided along the polished banister with reverence as she made her way up the steps. Voices filtered up from below, Mrs. Avery in the hallway and Mr. Standeven answering. Her heart did an odd little flip-flop in her chest. The voices were wonderfully familiar, warm and dear. It was good. All of this was good. She was glad fate had brought her to these generous and caring people.

Upstairs, she scarcely knew which way to turn first. What was it Mr. Standeven had said about the master bedroom? She couldn't remember. She'd been too busy getting lost in his gaze.

After passing down the hall three times, she finally decided on a beautiful room in the north wing. It was sunny and bright, and was quite the largest bedroom she'd ever seen.

On the outer wall of the room, a picture window opened into a small semi-circle of window seats. She hurried over to look out and was pleased at her discovery. The window overlooked the garden, and the view beyond took her breath away. The little nook was ideal. She could imagine herself sitting there for hours, lost in the inspiration of the green rolling lawns and the mountains that rose in the distance.

Barely able to tear herself away from the majesty that was the Virginia landscape, she left the window seat to explore the rest of the room. The bed was a grand old four-poster with a quilt that was nothing short of a masterpiece. She was thrilled to discover a wonderful little writing desk in one corner. The room was just right. Everything about it was perfect. She felt so blessed to be allowed to stay here.

She stood in the middle of the room, her gaze roaming over a tall armoire, an awesome piece of furniture she was certain was an antique. It was so beautiful that she couldn't imagine putting her clothes in it. The wood was so smooth and polished that it invited one's touch. She reached out to feel the richness of the wood, but then thought better of it and pulled her hand back. She didn't want to put prints on the perfect surface, or damage the polish in any way.

"You may touch it if you like," Christopher said from the doorway. "It won't break. It's far more sturdy than it looks."

Michaela gasped and turned to stare at him. He smiled and stepped further into the room, his eyes on the armoire. She followed his gaze, followed the rosettes and leaf patterns that adorned the piece.

"It belonged to my mother. She adored it," he murmured, then swung his gaze back to study her. "Do you like it?"

She nodded, almost afraid to speak. She hadn't expected to see him upstairs, in the room she had chosen. She'd thought he might want to refresh himself after the long journey, perhaps spend some time alone, as he seemed to like so much.

"It's beautiful," she murmured.

His eyes never wavered from hers, and she began to feel that customary shyness overtaking her again, that particular awkwardness she felt only when in his presence.

"Is this the room you've chosen then?"

She felt her mouth go dry and realized that she was nervously twisting her hands. It was a newly formed habit that she had come to detest, a habit she wished she could stop. But she couldn't seem to make herself, not when he was so near. She wondered if he realized, if he knew he made her so nervous.

She was almost afraid to be so bold as to stake her claim on such a lovely room. She wasn't sure she was worthy of it. "If it's all right with you, I'd...very much like this room."

She realized too late that she had been speaking to the floor and deliberately raised her chin to look at him again. She must stop this ridiculous behavior. She didn't want it to become a habit she couldn't get rid of.

She was surprised to find that he was still smiling, his eyes twinkling with something that looked oddly like delight.

"It's a very good choice," he said. "I commend you on your taste."

"Then it's okay."

"Oh, yes. It's perfectly all right with me. I'm rather happy for you. This room suits you very well. I believe you will like it here."

She ducked her head back down and stared at her hands. She hoped he wasn't making fun of her.

No, he couldn't be. He wasn't the sort for that. He was sincere, honest. Clearly, he was pleased with her choice, and sanctioned it wholeheartedly.

"I'll have my man bring up your luggage. I should imagine most of the afternoon will be spent settling in."

She shyly met his gaze again.

"The family will share lunch at noon and tea at four o'clock. Other than that, you're free to do as you will until dinner at seven."

She nodded. There seemed no other response required, no other response she could think of at the moment.

He stared at her for a long time, as if willing her to say something more. But she knew nothing to say. Nothing except....

"Mr. Standeven."

"Yes, Michaela?"

A tremor of something indescribable raced along her spine at the sound of her name falling from his lips, almost a whisper, a caress. His eyes, those searching, impenetrable eyes of his. They were so startlingly attractive. It was enough to make any girl's breath quicken. If only he would stop looking at her. She couldn't think straight when he was looking at her.

"Th-thank you." She hesitated, wishing the anxiety would diminish enough so that she could speak freely without having to worry about tripping over her words. "For everything."

"I assure you, it is my pleasure," he murmured, so low that she almost didn't hear it.

And then, much to her alarm, he closed the distance between them and reached out to take her hand. He held it gently, close to his chest, his eyes intent, full of sincerity. "You may feel welcome here, Michaela. My home is your home."

She felt a rush of warmth sweep from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and wondered for a brief, terrifying moment if she was going to faint dead away at his feet. He was so handsome, so self-assured, so much of everything a woman could want. She was entranced by him, yet so intimidated by him that she could scarcely remember her own name when she was in his presence. And when those eyes were on her, when he was perchance touching her, she was beside herself with some untamed emotion that she had heretofore never felt, never even imagined existed.

"I would like that very much," she managed.

"As would we all," he answered. "Well." He gave her hand a little pat and then released it. "I shall leave you to it then."

Without further ceremony, he turned and left the room. She just stood there for a moment, her hand slowly growing cold without the warmth of his wrapped so securely around it. She felt so unusual, rather abandoned and lifeless now that he was gone.

On tentative feet, she went to the door and peeked out. She seemed drawn there by something outside her own will, as if she needed to be closer to him, however briefly. She peered out, then drew back a little when she realized he was only a few yards from her. He was in the process of opening a door at the very end of the hall, and she realized with some embarrassment that she had unwittingly chosen the bedroom right next to the master suite.

Afraid he might catch her watching, she retreated back into her room, her brows knit together in concern. Now that she realized the two rooms were so close, she hoped he didn't think she had deliberately chosen to be so near him. Surely, he wouldn't. After all, he was a gentleman, and she was....

Oh, dear. That was still a bit unresolved, wasn't it? He wasn't at all sure what she was, though he treated her like the most elegant of ladies.

Gerald startled her out of her wits when he suddenly came bounding into the room. She'd been so intent on her own thoughts, her mind a virtual whir of confusion and indecision, that she hadn't even heard him coming down the hall.

At her cry of alarm, he moved to reassure her, the characteristic light in his eyes giving way to concern.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he said, taking her hands and giving them a gentle squeeze.

She shook her head. "It's not your fault. It's me. I was just...preoccupied."

"Yes, well. I've come to whisk you off to show you the grounds. Are you game?"

She smiled. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Good. Then off we go. You can unpack your things later. Unless, of course, Father has assigned you a maid."

"A maid? Me?"

Gerald smiled down at her. "And why not? You are, after all, a guest in his home. And Father is no slouch when it comes to hospitality."

Michaela couldn't imagine herself with a maid. It seemed altogether too much to offer a waif off the streets. The very idea made her uncomfortable. The Standevens were doing too much for her. Still, it wouldn't do for her to refuse the offer. That would offend Christopher—Mr. Standeven. She would just have to accept the family's help as graciously as she could manage without making any undo fuss.

"Come on," Gerald urged.

As he led her out of the room, Michaela had to fight the urge to glance in the direction of the master suite. Mr. Standeven was behind those closed doors. She could feel his presence, just as powerfully as if he were standing next to her, but she dare not look at those doors for fear of giving herself away.

Outside, Gerald took her straight to the gardens. Michaela was entranced. The mansion and its grounds were a fantasy world setting, so peaceful and beautiful that Michaela felt like she was in a fairy tale. Gerald was a dear about the whole thing. He laughed when she expressed her delight at every turn of the path, every new discovery just around the corner.