Christopher caught a glimpse of his son out of the corner of his eye. Gerald had stopped eating altogether and was watching him. Everyone seemed to be watching him now, waiting for his reply.
"No, she is not an acquaintance," he finally stated, then deliberately resumed his meal, a clear signal that he felt the conversation should end there.
"I didn't have the impression she was."
Christopher's eyes narrowed in disapproval. He was beginning to dislike the doctor. The man was altogether too curious, his questions too personal, perhaps even a bit gossipy. He didn't seem to take his Hippocratic oath all that seriously. Christopher knew why the man felt able to take such liberties. He clearly assumed the young woman was just another street waif, someone to be stepped over, certainly not someone worthy of undo attention, especially not by the upper classes. He didn't show nearly enough professionalism for Christopher's liking, or sympathy for the girl's plight.
"She doesn't seem to know her name."
Christopher hid his surprise, heedful not to give anything away to the doctor as he kept his voice deliberately modulated. "Really? I'm afraid everything happened so fast that none of us thought to ask for ourselves."
The doctor put his fork down and stared directly at the head of the household, clearly unable to let the matter rest. "Then you really have no idea who she is."
"None."
Christopher felt a surge of ire as he watched Dr. Martin's eyes narrow with interest, but he was careful to conceal it. This conversation had become a bit taxing, and he didn't like the direction of the doctor's thoughts. Granted, it wasn't often that such an affluent man took in a total stranger off the streets, especially considering the circumstances surrounding her arrival. Sad to say, but the rich didn't often take pity on anyone who was of questionable character. But Christopher Standeven wasn't as hard-hearted as some of his peers were. Nor was he completely convinced that the girl was of questionable character. Whoever she was, wherever she had come from, she didn't deserve to be raped, and she certainly didn't deserve to be left abandoned on the streets.
Dr. Martin's attitude helped to seal his decision to let her stay, driving away any doubts about the matter. She was helpless, a victim, and she was now under his complete care, given the same protection he would give any member of his family, any member of his staff. And he would not abide a slur against her character, especially considering that she was in no condition to defend herself.
"Then she has amnesia," Gerald intruded.
Dr. Martin turned to the younger, less imposing Standeven. "Yes, you're quite correct."
"Will she ever remember her name?"
Dr. Martin nodded. "Most probably she is suffering a temporary state of amnesia."
"Caused by?" Christopher smoothly interjected.
Dr. Martin glanced back at him. "Trauma. Perhaps an injury to the head." He shrugged. "It could be any number of things."
"And how long will it last?" Gerald was so intrigued that his meal sat completely abandoned now.
"It should pass within a few days. Weeks at the longest. Unless, of course...."
"Unless?" Christopher pressed.
When the doctor didn't answer right away, Christopher grew impatient. He couldn't abide an unfinished thought.
Dr. Martin nervously toyed with his fork. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with the direction of his own thoughts. "If it should be a lengthy state of amnesia, complications could arise from not knowing her name."
"I believe I've already made it clear that I would be the one responsible for your payment."
Once again, Dr. Martin sensed that he had offended, and he was quick to make amends. One didn't anger a wealthy and powerful man like Christopher Standeven. To even speak of payments in his company was an insult, and he would do well to be more careful with his choice of words in the future. "That's not exactly what I meant. This wonderful meal is certainly payment enough."
Christopher said nothing. He was unmoved by the deliberate flattery.
Dr. Martin fought the desire to use his napkin to blot at the sudden perspiration on his forehead—it was really becoming quite unbearable at the table—and forced himself to continue. "I only meant that it would be difficult to find out where she came from, who is really responsible for her."
"True enough," Christopher agreed. "But I'm sure she'll be fine. Am I correct in assuming that long-term amnesia is rare?"
"Yes," Dr. Martin admitted, his attention on his meal, though he hadn't touched a bite for the past several minutes.
Christopher could see Mrs. Avery out of the corner of his eye, sitting perfectly still, as if she didn't want anyone to remember that she was even there. Her meal, like everyone else's, sat forgotten before her as she listened. He wondered briefly if he should dismiss her, if this conversation were becoming a little too personal, but Dr. Martin's next words angered him so that he forgot all about her.
"You'll have to report her to the authorities."
An almost tangible ripple of tension spread through the room, though the doctor seemed oblivious to it, immune to the sudden chill that was so obvious to everyone else.
"I can do it for you if you like."
Gerald glanced at his father in disapproval, but he wasn't even given the opportunity to voice it. He recognized the stubborn set to his father's mouth, the rigidity of his spine, the squaring of his shoulders, and he wisely stayed out of it.
Have to? Christopher thought. Damn, but he didn't suffer a fool who dared to speak those words to him. He didn't have to do anything!
Christopher carefully wiped his mouth with the crisp napkin Mrs. Avery always provided for them, then meticulously folded it and placed it beside his half empty plate. The deliberate slowness of his actions was more to give him time to gain control of his anger than anything else. He had learned long ago that softly spoken words were much more deadly than a raised voice. Hasty words spoken in anger were almost always a mistake, wisdom few men had learned while they were young enough to make use of it. Men were natural born hotheads, given to sudden bursts of rage and other such foolishness. They often didn't understand a quiet, undisturbed facade, and men tended to fear what they didn't understand.
Self-control. Always self-control. Let others lose their tempers and speak in haste. He would maintain his composure, his sensibilities. It was better to earn respect than make an enemy. That had been Christopher's edge all his life, an edge that had served him well, as it did now.
"That won't be necessary. I'm sure I can just as easily manage any arrangements that need to be made."
The doctor didn't fail to recognize the clear dismissal in the way Mr. Standeven had made an end of eating, or the way he spoke, and he too set his napkin aside.
"Yes, of course." He glanced around the table, as if he were suddenly aware of all the disapproving eyes on him, then hastily checked his watch. "Well then, I suppose I should be going. I hate to be rude and run off like this, but I have other duties."
"We fully understand, Doctor."
"Yes, well.... Thank you for dinner, Mr. Standeven. It was as delicious as I expected. I suppose I'll come round to check on the young woman in a few days time."
Christopher stood up and escorted him out. In the hall, he collected the doctor's bag and hat a little too quickly, thrust them into the other man's hands a little too emphatically. But his abrupt demeanor didn't keep the doctor from pressing the issue.
"Are you quite certain it's wise to keep her here? She seems harmless enough, but—"
"I'll take full responsibility," Christopher assured him, his jaw tight with annnoyance. Having long since lost patience with the doctor, he forewent the usual etiquette and unceremoniously opened the door, urging the man out onto the porch. He no longer gave a damn if he was being rude.
Dr. Martin nodded and turned to leave, but just as he was about to step off the porch, he was halted by Christopher Standeven's deeply cultivated voice.
"As to looking in on my guest, I don't believe we will be needi
ng your services any further."
Shocked by this statement, Dr. Martin paused and turned to look back at the man standing in the doorway. Christopher Standeven was backlit by the lantern in the hallway, his face hidden in shadow. Somehow, it made him seem even more commanding, a man to be wary of. And at that moment Dr. Martin hated him for being so wealthy, so damned sure of himself. So powerful.
A second later, he found himself staring at the heavy wooden panels of a closed door. He paused there a moment longer, anger sizzling inside his chest. He didn't like being dismissed just like that, easy as you please. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all.
Was there?
Muttering a few oaths, he slapped his hat down onto his head and turned to stride down the driveway and out to his waiting car.
Christopher stood behind the closed door, his fist still tightly wrapped around the knob, his knuckles white. Blast the man! The doctor was a busybody. He wouldn't take this rejection lightly, Christopher was sure. No. There was far too much envy in the good doctor for him to leave it alone. He had been affronted. More than likely, his pride wouldn't let it rest. It was unfortunate. Christopher would much rather have the time to look into this matter himself before contacting anyone else. But he feared the doctor would deprive him of that opportunity.
When he finally released the knob and turned away, he was surprised to find Mrs. Avery and his son standing in the hallway watching him.
"Good riddance, I say," Mrs. Avery sniffed airily.
Gerald stepped forward, his eyes filled with concern. "You don't actually mean to take him seriously and inform the authorities, do you, Father?"
"What else would you have me do, Gerald?"
"They'll put her in a home somewhere. Or worse, an asylum. Until her relatives are found. Suppose they're never found? Suppose she doesn't have any relatives left? Suppose that's why she was wandering the streets to begin with? What then?"
"Mm. That could well present a problem." His eyes automatically traveled toward the stairs. She was up there in one of the guest rooms, probably sound asleep, oblivious to the stir she had created. Wherever she had come from, whatever her plight, she had certainly managed to make an indelible impression on him. On all of them.
"I suppose that's a matter that will bear more consideration." He turned back to look at his son. "When and if the need arises."
Gerald looked relieved. His father's pronouncement was as much as a concession, and he was satisfied for the time being that the tattered angel that had fallen into their midst would be safe, if only for a time.
"Well, then. It's been a rather long day, wouldn't you say? I believe I'll leave you to it. I have business to look over."
Christopher gave a curt nod and took his leave of them, going directly to the study and shutting the door firmly behind him, as if he could shut everything and everyone out, foremost the guest he seemed so intent on protecting. As much as he tried to remain objective, it simply wasn't working. Already, he had made the decision to protect her regardless of her circumstances, knowing virtually nothing about her. What on earth had motivated him to do it? His son's obvious desire to have the girl stay on? Or had he made the decision to spite the disapproval he'd seen on Dr. Martin's face? Or was he pleasing some inner desire inside himself? Was he just as intrigued as the rest of the household?
Mrs. Avery was certainly pleased enough. Now she had someone to nurture again. There had been no one since Gerald had gone and grown into a man. Christopher smiled at the thought. He remembered the day Gerald had emphatically insisted she stop her coddling. It had been his eleventh birthday, the day he had announced that he was a man. And since Gerald had yet to take a bride, there was no hope of babies in the old girl's near future. Though there were many women who had vied for his attention, if for no other reason than the attraction of Christopher's vast holdings, Gerald had never met anyone who held his interest for long. A fact that kept poor Mrs. Avery twittering, and she chided him about it on a regular basis.
Gerald. He seemed unduly interested in the girl, as if she were an especially intriguing stray. Christopher only hoped his son was able to keep it in perspective. There were all sorts of possibilities. More than likely the girl wouldn't stay beyond a few weeks. Perhaps even less. Maybe, for his son's sake, he should hasten the departure. As soon as the girl was strong enough.
He sighed and reached for the stack of papers on his desk. It was settled then. As soon as she was well enough, as soon as he knew more about her....
And there lay the answer. He was intrigued after all. As soon as he knew more about her.
He sighed and put the papers aside. Maybe this mystery warranted more of his attention. As soon as she was well enough, he would find out what her story was. If nothing else, perhaps he could help her find whoever it was she had been looking for when she'd wandered to his door.
His gaze wandered to the ceiling, as if he could see right through to the guest rooms beyond. Bloody hell, he was just as intrigued as his son.
CHAPTER FOUR
A solid week passed, in which time Christopher managed to busy himself enough to stay away from his houseguest, though he wasn't exactly able to keep her off his mind for very long. She had become an enigma to him, a complete mystery to be unraveled, and he couldn't wait until she was well enough to join them at the dinner table. Perhaps then he could learn more about her, more about how she had come to be standing on his front porch looking so frightened, and how she had come to be in the streets to begin with. All very diplomatically, of course. After all, he didn't want to frighten her further.
As it turned out, Mrs. Avery managed to coax her downstairs for lunch. In a too-large dress borrowed from one of the maids, she inched her way into the dining room, staring intently at the floor at her feet. Feet, he noticed, that were still bare, though much cleaner now. Each step was hesitant, every glance guarded, alert and wary. She was still afraid. It showed in the way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes, in the way she seemed reluctant to be sharing space in the same room with them, as if she didn't quite count herself worthy. And he found himself wanting to reach out to her in some way, to sweep away that fear, to make her feel more welcome, more comfortable among them.
Until now, Mrs. Avery had managed to keep everyone away from her for the week, while she alone administered the nourishment the girl so desperately needed in order to get well. Even Gerald, though he had constantly lurked near the closed door, had been forbidden entry.
"I fear the company would upset her just now," Mrs. Avery had explained. "She needs time to mend, and she still seems a bit disoriented. Even a little afraid."
Of course, they had all adhered to her wishes. Mrs. Avery was right. The young woman needed time to heal, to get over her fright without the entire household standing about eagerly gauging her progress. The less stimulus, the better. Although, it might have been better if they had introduced themselves at an earlier time, one by one, rather than this sudden meeting. But there was nothing for it now, for here they all stood, ogling her like a new chick just sprung from its egg and making her feel quite the more uncomfortable, he was sure.
Gerald was the first to step forward with a warm greeting, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Welcome. I'm Gerald."
She met his eyes for a scant moment, then shyly averted her gaze. He seemed so warm and friendly that she found herself instantly liking him, grateful for the welcome he represented. But she still wasn't quite sure of herself, of her as yet unquestioned presence in this household, and so she released his hand rather quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. She hoped she hadn't offended him by pulling away so fast.
She was relieved when he gave her a reassuring smile. Apparently, he understood her dilemma, and the anxiety that came with it. Still, she wasn't able to muster a smile of her own. If only she could be more certain, a little stronger, but she couldn't. She had become a shadow of her former self, nervous, withdrawn, and shy. These days, she practic
ally jumped at the sound of her own voice.
Almost in confirmation of this new side to herself, she shrank a little when the taller of the two men stepped forward and offered his hand. She hesitated to take it, intimidated into speechlessness by his mere presence and the power that seemed to swell from him like a wave that literally engulfed the entire room and her with it. He stared down at her so intently that his eyes seemed to bore right into her every thought, and she was almost too afraid to take his hand in greeting. But she must. It would be rude not to, even more so considering that she was quite literally an intruder in their home. At the very least, she must be brave enough to acknowledge him.
Her gaze dropped to the hand he still held out for her. She was struck by how beautiful it was, the fingers long and tapered. He had strong hands. Yet, she sensed the tenderness in them, as well. Tender and powerful at the same time, as well as amazingly steady. She wished her hands were half as steady, but they weren't. They trembled as if she were facing a firing squad, and it was only with an enormous amount of sheer will that she managed to raise her hand and place it in his.
She was overwhelmed by the answering rush of warmth that flooded through her, generating from her mid-section until her entire body was awash with it. It was the most mysterious sensation she'd ever experienced, a feeling that made her hands tremble all the more, tremble so much that she was afraid he might feel it. When she managed to gather the courage to meet his eyes, she saw that his gaze had softened considerably. He was even smiling. She knew then that she needn't worry that her hand trembled, or about anything for that matter. He meant to make her welcome here, with all of them.
"Christopher Standeven," he said, his voice rich with that pleasing British accent she'd noticed before. "So glad you are able to join us."
She didn't know what to say to him, to any of them. Despite the awkward circumstances, they were treating her like an invited guest. She had expected them to ply her with questions, but they didn't. She was grateful because she was in no condition to handle an inquiry just yet.
The Whisper Of Wings Page 4
