The Whisper Of Wings (3 page)

"She's beginning to stir."

Christopher gave a curt nod and followed his son back to the study, where Mrs. Avery was bending over the young woman. She looked up when they entered, her brows furrowed in concern.

Gerald reached the girl's side first, bending down to peer into her face, into eyes that had suddenly opened and were staring up at him in confusion.

"It's all right. You're all right," he murmured.

She looked past the younger man. First, at the housekeeper, who was giving her a reassuring smile, masking the concern she'd seen earlier. Then her eyes seemed automatically drawn to the man standing at the foot of the couch, perhaps because he was so clearly the head of the household. Perhaps because he was so intensely commanding. Or maybe it was his eyes. They were so riveting. She could literally feel them on her. Those eyes...they had been the last thing she remembered before....

What had happened? Had she fainted? Lord, it had felt like she was dying.

She could scarcely concentrate, let alone ask questions. And she was mortified at having awakened to find everyone staring at her. Especially
him.

What was he thinking as he stared back at her so intently? Could he read her thoughts? It certainly seemed as if he could.

He was so different from the others. What was it about him?

He looked so regal standing there, so tall, his shoulders so broad, as though they could carry any burden put to them. If only she could carry her own burdens. But she couldn't, could she? She had failed at that, failed miserably. She was ashamed, so ashamed.

She didn't speak. She couldn't. All she could do was stare up at him. His eyes were such a crisp blue, his skin so taut and smooth over high cheekbones. He had the most amazingly symmetrical features, with thick, wavy black hair that was combed into perfect order. He appeared to be aristocratic, with an almost royal bearing about him. He was quite handsome, though it was ridiculous to take note of such a thing in her present state. Perhaps it was delirium, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

How old was he? Forty? Forty-five?

"Do you remember what happened?"

It wasn't until he spoke that she realized what set him apart from the others. He was an Englishman, with a deep, rich voice and an intriguingly sophisticated British accent.

She nodded her head. Though it was a bare movement, it was oddly painful. Curious, she lifted a hand to touch her forehead and was surprised to find a bump there, surprised that her fingers came away sticky from her own blood.

"You've had a fall and received a rather nasty bump on the head. The doctor is on his way."

His words put her at ease. Lord, she could listen to that voice for an eternity. There was something so immensely soothing about it, calming.

"Perhaps we should have taken her to the hospital," the younger man commented, finally drawing her attention away from the man standing at the foot of the couch.

The thought of going to the hospital brought on a dose of fear, and she started to shake her head. She immediately regretted the hasty movement, for the room began to tilt in a most unpleasant manner. But she persisted in her attempt to dissuade them.

"No. I'm...fine. I'm so s-sorry to have inconvenienced you in any way. I...I really should be going."

She was in the process of trying to sit up when the British gentleman came around and gently but firmly pressed her back down against the couch. She was grateful that he did because her head had begun to throb with a vengeance, and she wasn't at all certain she could stand, let alone walk any distance. Besides which, the mere thought of what awaited her out on the streets made her shudder.

"You're not well enough to leave," he insisted.

She didn't argue. She didn't even want to. They were all being so kind to her, a perfect stranger no less. It made her want to weep. Such kindness from anyone had been long since forgotten by her.

"You don't want to go to the hospital then?" he continued.

"No. Please. It isn't necessary."

"But if it should become necessary?"

Such a look of fear passed across her lovely face that Christopher felt a quick surge of protectiveness and decided not to press the issue. He certainly wouldn't force her to go.

"No need to worry. If the doctor agrees, you may stay here until you are well."

"Thank you," she managed to whisper through trembling lips, a tear of gratitude already sliding down one cheek.

He seemed a little uncertain of her sudden show of emotion, almost angry, for he quickly averted his gaze, then stiffly rose from the couch to stand a few feet away. Her gaze followed him, riveted on him. He had been frowning from the very first moment she'd laid eyes on him, and yet she instinctively knew she could trust him. Somehow, she knew. She could trust all of them. The knowledge was such a welcome relief that she already felt her body beginning to relax, slipping back toward unconsciousness. She was simply so weak, so weary. If she could only sleep awhile, that was all she would ask of them. A moment to rest. And then she would take her leave. Into what she didn't know. She didn't even want to think of that just now. She only wanted to give in to the pervasive weariness that was overtaking her.

Her eyes were just beginning to drift closed when the sound of the heavy brass doorknocker echoed down the hall.

"There's the doctor now," Christopher said, and hurried to leave the room, almost anxious to get away from those damnably beseeching eyes. Something about this pathetic creature drew emotions from him that he hadn't felt for a very long time. What had happened to her to make her so afraid of everything? It was a puzzle he was compelled to solve.

At the door, his footsteps faltered for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to glance back at her. He forced himself not to, forced himself to step through the door and out into the hall.

With the head of the household gone, the younger man came to sit on the edge of the couch. He smiled and took her hand. It was a gesture meant to soothe her, and it did. She stared up at him. He was so different from the other man. Not nearly as tall, with brown hair already receding into slight baldness, hazel eyes that were openly friendly, openly curious. He had a mouth that was given to an easy smile, so unlike the sternness of the older man's mouth. Yet, there was something similar. What could it be? She was sure she remembered, but her head ached so much she couldn't concentrate. And this time, when her eyes threatened to flutter closed, she let them.

CHAPTER THREE

Gerald sat on the antiquated wooden bench in the hall and watched his father pace the length of the highly polished wood floor. The older man's back seemed even more rigid than normal and his jet-black brows were furrowed, a sure sign that he was in deep thought. Gerald said nothing, just watched and wondered what was passing through that great man's mind. His father seemed more restless than usual, even a little unsettled, as if the existence which he so painstakingly kept in perfect order had been shaken. And hadn't it? Hadn't the girl that had suddenly been thrust into their midst affected all of them in some way?

But for his father to feel it, a man who was never outwardly affected by anything...that seemed most unusual.

When the door to the study opened, Christopher Standeven stopped pacing to turn and stare expectantly at the man emerging from his examination. Dr. Martin met his gaze and gave a brief, reassuring nod, then turned to acknowledge Gerald. Christopher glanced over and met his son's curious eyes, as if he had only just then noticed him there.

"Will she be all right?" Gerald asked, eager to know.

Dr. Martin nodded. "She will recover."

"Then she wasn't badly hurt from the fall?" Christopher inquired.

Dr. Martin returned his attention to the head of the household. "There's no sign of concussion, just an abrasion to the forehead, and some swelling. She'll heal rapidly enough. It's the other that I'm concerned about."

"The other?"

"She's badly dehydrated. She needs rest, food, and liquids. Plenty of liquids."

"Easily done," Christopher pronounced, but he didn't take his gaze from the other man's. There was something else. He was sure of it. Something the man didn't want to discuss in mixed company.

His gaze once again slid to Gerald, who was now staring at the closed door of the study with avid interest. He didn’t necessarily want to keep anything from his son, but it was clear that Dr. Martin considered the rest of his diagnosis of a rather delicate nature.

"It's late. You'll stay and dine with us."

It was a statement more than an invitation, delivered with the same sort of self-assurance behind every word Christopher spoke. Dr. Martin did not decline.

"Yes, of course. I'd be delighted," Dr. Martin agreed. Mrs. LeFonde was one of the best cooks in Louisiana. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to partake of her cuisine.

"Gerald, will you be so kind as to inform Mrs. LeFonde that there will be another for dinner?"

The request was made kindly enough, but there was a slight command in his father's eyes, a command that he momentarily hesitated to execute, and only then because he was too eager to know more about the girl in the study. He didn't want to miss anything. Dammit, he was being dismissed like a child when he was every bit a man! But he didn't dare make a scene by protesting in front of the doctor. His father hated any sort of argument. There was nothing for it except to do as his father had requested. Perhaps later he could pick all the details from Mrs. Avery.

Christopher watched his son leave. He didn't like dismissing him like that. But the girl's privacy was at stake, a very delicate matter, to be sure.

He turned to the doctor. "Perhaps you would like to discuss this in the sitting room."

"Yes. Yes, that will do nicely," Dr. Martin agreed, already following him the short distance down the hall.

Christopher closed the door behind them and then turned questioning eyes on the doctor.

The doctor stared at the tips of his shoes as he spoke. "I suspect the young lady has been...er...."

The man seemed to have some difficulty articulating, as if he didn't quite know how to broach the subject. His fumbling attempt only served to heighten Christopher's impatience.

"Go on," he urged, feeling just as eager as his son now.

"Well, that is to say, I believe she has been...." Dr. Martin took a deep breath, then glanced away before finishing. "Violated."

Christopher's eyes narrowed, and a sudden surge of anger burned its way into his chest. "You can't mean...."

"Yes, that's precisely what I mean."

"Are you certain?"

"Well, not entirely. She wouldn't allow me to...er...fully examine her. But there are signs of struggle, violence."

"The scratch on her shoulder?"

Dr. Martin nodded. "Most certainly not inflicted on herself. There are also some bruises on her arms, her thighs. Without actually examining her fully, I'm as certain as I can be that she was...."

Christopher frowned all the more as he turned to stare out the window, deep in thought. His gaze automatically went to the gate were the young woman had collapsed. Strange, how life had this tendency toward the unforeseeable. Just seconds before he'd heard the knocker clacking against the front door, he'd been wondering if his existence hadn't become just a little too narrow. And suddenly
she
had appeared, as if in answer to his musings.

"She's suffering a bit of shock. Nothing she can't recover from. She should pull out of it in a matter of days. The malnutrition, however, is another matter. That will take some time," Dr. Martin continued.

Christopher digested this for a moment, then turned from the window and crossed the room to give the bell-pull a decisive tug.

Dr. Martin watched him with open interest. Mr. Standeven seemed to have forgotten that he was even there. Odd, how relaxed he felt when he wasn't the focal point of the other man.

Mrs. Avery popped into the sitting room a moment later. "Yes, Mr. Standeven?"

"Prepare a room for our guest and see to it that Mrs. LeFonde makes a nice, hearty soup for her. Dr. Martin suggests that she be given plenty of liquids, and she'll need as much rest as possible." He paused momentarily to study the round, eager face before him, then fixed his scowl even more deeply into his own face before continuing. "I will leave you with the task of finding the girl more suitable attire so that she might rest more comfortably."

Agnes stared at her employer in amazement. Opening a guest room implied that the young woman would be staying with them for some time. Not that she minded in the least. She had simply expected the girl to go to the hospital. But if Mr. Standeven didn't mind, then who was she to interfere. After all, she did feel rather sorry for the poor girl. Hospitals could be so cold, so unfriendly. The girl was beside herself with fright as it was. It would be a shame to thrust her into a situation that could only frighten her more.

"Well?" he prompted when she only stood there staring.

She answered his frown with a radiant smile and then hurried off to do his bidding. She was actually eager to help in any way she could. The entire house was abuzz with the news, and everyone wanted to make sure the girl was all right.

"With your approval, of course, Dr. Martin," Christopher murmured as he watched the door close behind his housekeeper. She seemed so thrilled with his decision, almost too thrilled. Everyone seemed so attached to the girl already, even....

He brought his thoughts to an abrupt halt. There were far more important things to think about than that pitiful girl-woman. From now on, she was in Mrs. Avery's capable hands. He would get back to his own business. Let everyone else simper over her.

Dr. Martin studied the other man. He had the distinct impression that Mr. Standeven would do what he pleased, with or without his approval.

"A hospital would be more convenient for you," he pointed out.

Christopher came back to the present and turned to stare at the doctor. For a second, he had forgotten that the man was even there, didn't quite know what the devil the man was talking about. When he did remember, he felt a slight prick of annoyance. He didn't need a reminder of what was convenient for him. That was all a matter of perspective.

"Nonsense. She will do just as well here. Perhaps even better."

"True enough. She did seem frightened. Even a bit disoriented. But she was very comfortable with Mrs. Avery. I see no real reason why she shouldn't stay, as long as you don't mind the inconvenience."

"I assure you it will be no inconvenience."

There was no doubt about the tone of Mr. Standeven's voice, or the glitter of warning in his eyes—he seemed a bit affronted that anyone would even suggest any inconvenience—and Dr. Martin didn't dare to argue further. It was settled. The girl would stay.

An hour later, the family, along with Dr. Martin, gathered at the dinner table. Christopher took his seat at the head of the table, while Gerald sat a few chairs down at his right. Mrs. Avery hovered nearby, her face pinched with uncertainty.

Christopher glanced down the table and noticed an extra place setting. Mrs. Avery met his eyes with a questioning gaze. Clearly, she wanted to stay. It was not unusual for Mrs. Avery to dine with them on occasion, but never when there was a guest. Of course, he didn't have to guess at why she was making such an uncharacteristic request. He already knew.

Agnes nervously folded her hands in front of her, waiting for his decision. She so much wanted to be a part of this particular discussion, and she didn't relish the idea of leaning in at the door to catch a few broken phrases here and there. Her aging back simply wasn't up to such nonsense anymore. Still, she would do what she must to find out more about that pitiful girl now securely ensconced in one of the guest rooms. And if Mr. Standeven didn't like it...well then, he would just have to stew. She was determined to be involved, even if it meant risking his wrath.

When he finally gave a nod of his head, so slight that it was barely noticeable, she sagged with relief, a hand going to her bosom in silent thankfulness.

Christopher turned to acknowledge Dr. Martin's curious gaze. The man had been studying him intently all the while. Christopher offered no explanation for the exchange between himself and his housekeeper. His domestic practices were none of the doctor's concern.

Dr. Martin glanced away, then gave a little embarrassed harrumph as he fiddled with his cutlery. A more dynamically powerful man he'd never met before in his entire life, a man of intensely English sophistication and breeding. So much so that it was rather surprising that he was allowing a servant to dine at the family table. But it was obvious that Mr. Standeven did not like to be questioned about anything. That was clear enough by the boldly stated assurance in everything he did. Dr. Martin felt foolish for having stared, for having the effrontery to even wonder in silence at the way Mr. Standeven ran his household.

Once Mrs. Avery was settled at the table, Christopher unfolded his table napkin and positioned it in his lap. Gerald looked like he would burst from curiosity. Christopher had been under the merciless eyes of his son ever since entering the dining room, and he could literally feel Gerald's impatience. He knew what Gerald was waiting to hear, and he didn't keep his son on tenterhooks for long.

He evenly met Gerald's earnest gaze and then announced without ceremony, "It seems we have a houseguest for a time." When Gerald broke out in a wide grin, Christopher hastily added, "At least until she's better."

He didn't want Gerald to get too comfortable with the idea. The girl wasn't a puppy to be found and kept indefinitely. She had a free will of her own, and once she was well again, he was certain she would want to return to her family or wherever it was she had come from. It would serve them all well to remember that.

A collectively held breath seemed to sigh and ease throughout the room, as if the entire house had been waiting for just such news. Christopher couldn't help but smile. He hadn't known his family was quite so altruistic.

He glanced down the table at the two pairs of shining eyes beaming at him. They were making far too much of his decision. Mrs. Avery actually had tears in her eyes, and Gerald looked like he couldn't wait to leave the dining room so he could visit their new guest.

"Well, then. Shall we?" He pointedly indicated the waiting food in an attempt to redirect their attention. "I'm sure Mrs. LeFonde would not approve of us letting her fine dinner grow cold."

Dr. Martin obligingly picked up his fork. Eager as a hound after a rabbit, he was the first to taste the meal. He gave a satisfied smile and relaxed into complete and utter indulgence, virtually ignoring everyone else at the table.

Obviously hoping the doctor would relinquish a few bits of information about the girl, Gerald glanced at the man often between bites of his own meal, which were few and far between. He was apparently far too excited about their guest to give much attention to the fare. Christopher didn't offer any help in that particular direction. There were some things the rest of the household didn't need to know. The girl deserved to retain some scrap of dignity. Not everyone need know about her unfortunate assault. He only hoped Dr. Martin was of the same mind.

As it turned out, Gerald was in luck. Dr. Martin brought up the subject without needing to be prompted by anyone.

"This girl," he began, his attention still on his meal.

Christopher forced himself to ignore the rude manner in which the man spoke with his mouth full.

"You didn't tell me how she came to be in your household, Mr. Standeven. Is she an acquaintance?"