had given her away and he would see what she was trying to hide, she dropped her gaze again to the untouched soup in front of her.
"He assures us it will pass in due time. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"What will I do?" she murmured, then was surprised to realize that she'd spoken the words aloud. The question sounded so feeble, so weak, like a plea.
"You'll stay here with us until you are well," Gerald interrupted. "It's the only logical solution. After all, we can't see our way clear to toss you out into the streets."
Although, that's precisely where she had come from, she wryly thought.
"Oh, I do so wish we knew what to call you," Mrs. Avery spoke up.
She turned her head to look at the white-haired woman who had been so kind to her, bringing her hot liquids and hearty soups all week. She barely remembered it—she'd slept most of the time—but she recalled enough to know that this woman was innately kind-hearted. At first, she'd been mortified at having to be taken care of, but as the days passed, she had come to like Mrs. Avery, to regard her as a friend.
"Don't you remember?" Mrs. Avery pressed.
"Perhaps just your given name?" Gerald urged.
Her head began to reel from the agony of decision. She wanted to answer them, but she couldn't. She dare not. Not yet. Not until she had decided what to do next, where she would go.
Thankfully, she was spared from having to make any reply when Mr. Standeven cut in. "The important thing is that you realize you are safe here. Do you understand that?"
Too bashful now to meet his gaze again, she nodded, already beginning to relax. She was relieved that he didn't want to press the issue. But she did glance up a few seconds later, long enough to catch him passing Mrs. Avery a meaningful look. What did it mean? she wondered.
Christopher found his eyes wandering to the woman more and more. She certainly didn't speak much. According to Mrs. Avery, she hadn't since she'd been taken in a week ago. The silence was probably caused by her ordeal. She seemed overly nervous, uncertain. By all appearances, her spirit had been torn from her, leaving only a shell of a human being behind. How well he understood that. The streets and what they had presented to her must have been a nightmare.
"You haven't touched your soup," he murmured, his eyes never leaving her expressive face. If she knew just how expressive her face was, would she try even harder to hide behind the curtain of her hair? "Perhaps you'd feel better if we left you alone for awhile. I'm sure this has all been very stressful for you and not easily adjusted to."
Her eyes slid to Mrs. Avery, as if seeking reassurance. The matronly woman gave her a bolstering smile and a slight nod of her head, a silent affirmation that it was perfectly all right to eat there at the table alone if that was what she needed.
When he noticed the way she automatically turned to Mrs. Avery for reassurance, Christopher felt an unfamiliar stab of something rather foreign, something that closely resembled jealousy. She seemed to have struck up an instant bond with his housekeeper, seemed to trust her implicitly. Why didn't she trust him just as easily? After all, it was his generosity that allowed her shelter here.
Irritated by his own response, he rose and picked up his plate. He wanted—perhaps needed—to get away from her for awhile. She had only been in his house a short time but already she seemed to be the center of it, and she was occupying entirely too much of his own thoughts. Perhaps distance would break the spell.
"Well, then. We will give you some privacy."
He paused and stared down at her bent head. If it was at all possible, she seemed to have shrunk into herself even more, as if she were trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. In time, perhaps she would learn to trust them, all of them. Until then, he was perfectly willing to allow her a few concessions. She would come around, he was certain of it.
"We'll be
"He assures us it will pass in due time. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"What will I do?" she murmured, then was surprised to realize that she'd spoken the words aloud. The question sounded so feeble, so weak, like a plea.
"You'll stay here with us until you are well," Gerald interrupted. "It's the only logical solution. After all, we can't see our way clear to toss you out into the streets."
Although, that's precisely where she had come from, she wryly thought.
"Oh, I do so wish we knew what to call you," Mrs. Avery spoke up.
She turned her head to look at the white-haired woman who had been so kind to her, bringing her hot liquids and hearty soups all week. She barely remembered it—she'd slept most of the time—but she recalled enough to know that this woman was innately kind-hearted. At first, she'd been mortified at having to be taken care of, but as the days passed, she had come to like Mrs. Avery, to regard her as a friend.
"Don't you remember?" Mrs. Avery pressed.
"Perhaps just your given name?" Gerald urged.
Her head began to reel from the agony of decision. She wanted to answer them, but she couldn't. She dare not. Not yet. Not until she had decided what to do next, where she would go.
Thankfully, she was spared from having to make any reply when Mr. Standeven cut in. "The important thing is that you realize you are safe here. Do you understand that?"
Too bashful now to meet his gaze again, she nodded, already beginning to relax. She was relieved that he didn't want to press the issue. But she did glance up a few seconds later, long enough to catch him passing Mrs. Avery a meaningful look. What did it mean? she wondered.
Christopher found his eyes wandering to the woman more and more. She certainly didn't speak much. According to Mrs. Avery, she hadn't since she'd been taken in a week ago. The silence was probably caused by her ordeal. She seemed overly nervous, uncertain. By all appearances, her spirit had been torn from her, leaving only a shell of a human being behind. How well he understood that. The streets and what they had presented to her must have been a nightmare.
"You haven't touched your soup," he murmured, his eyes never leaving her expressive face. If she knew just how expressive her face was, would she try even harder to hide behind the curtain of her hair? "Perhaps you'd feel better if we left you alone for awhile. I'm sure this has all been very stressful for you and not easily adjusted to."
Her eyes slid to Mrs. Avery, as if seeking reassurance. The matronly woman gave her a bolstering smile and a slight nod of her head, a silent affirmation that it was perfectly all right to eat there at the table alone if that was what she needed.
When he noticed the way she automatically turned to Mrs. Avery for reassurance, Christopher felt an unfamiliar stab of something rather foreign, something that closely resembled jealousy. She seemed to have struck up an instant bond with his housekeeper, seemed to trust her implicitly. Why didn't she trust him just as easily? After all, it was his generosity that allowed her shelter here.
Irritated by his own response, he rose and picked up his plate. He wanted—perhaps needed—to get away from her for awhile. She had only been in his house a short time but already she seemed to be the center of it, and she was occupying entirely too much of his own thoughts. Perhaps distance would break the spell.
"Well, then. We will give you some privacy."
He paused and stared down at her bent head. If it was at all possible, she seemed to have shrunk into herself even more, as if she were trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. In time, perhaps she would learn to trust them, all of them. Until then, he was perfectly willing to allow her a few concessions. She would come around, he was certain of it.
"We'll be
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