As the third evening approached, Gabriel looked up blearily as two people entered the room.
His parents.
The sight of them infused him with relief. At the same time, their presence unlatched all the wretched emotion he’d kept battened down until this moment. Disciplining his breathing, he stood awkwardly, his limbs stiff from spending hours on the hard chair. His father came to him first, pulling him close for a crushing hug and ruffling his hair before going to the bedside.
His mother was next, embracing him with her familiar tenderness and strength. She was the one he’d always gone to first whenever he’d done something wrong, knowing she would never condemn or criticize, even when he deserved it. She was a source of endless kindness, the one to whom he could entrust his worst thoughts and fears.
“I promised nothing would ever harm her,” Gabriel said against her hair, his voice cracking.
Evie’s gentle hands patted his back.
“I took my eyes off her when I shouldn’t have,” he went on. “Mrs. Black approached her after the play—I pulled the bitch aside, and I was too distracted to notice—” He stopped talking and cleared his throat harshly, trying not to choke on emotion.
Evie waited until he’d calmed himself before saying quietly, “You remember when I told you about the time your f-father was badly injured because of me.”
“That wasn’t because of you,” Sebastian said irritably from the bedside. “Evie, have you harbored that absurd idea for all these years?”
“It’s the most terrible feeling in the world,” Evie murmured to Gabriel. “But it’s not your fault, and trying to make it so won’t help either of you. Dearest boy, are you listening to me?”
Keeping his face pressed against her hair, Gabriel shook his head.
“Pandora won’t blame you for what happened,” Evie told him, “any more than your father blamed me.”
“Neither of you are to blame for anything,” his father said, “except for annoying me with this nonsense. Obviously the only person to blame for this poor girl’s injury is the woman who attempted to skewer her like a pinioned duck.” He straightened the covers over Pandora, bent to kiss her forehead gently, and sat in the bedside chair. “My son . . . guilt, in proper measure, can be a useful emotion. However, when indulged to excess it becomes self-defeating, and even worse, tedious.” Stretching out his long legs, he crossed them negligently. “There’s no reason to tear yourself to pieces worrying about Pandora. She’s going to make a full recovery.”
“You’re a doctor now?” Gabriel asked sardonically, although some of the weight of grief and worry lifted at his father’s confident pronouncement.
“I daresay I’ve seen enough illness and injuries in my time, stabbings included, to predict the outcome accurately. Besides, I know the spirit of this girl. She’ll recover.”
“I agree,” Evie said firmly.
Letting out a shuddering sigh, Gabriel tightened his arms around her.
After a long moment, he heard his mother say ruefully, “Sometimes I miss the days when I could solve any of my children’s problems with a nap and a biscuit.”
“A nap and a biscuit wouldn’t hurt this one at the moment,” Sebastian commented dryly. “Gabriel, go find a proper bed and rest for a few hours. We’ll watch over your little fox cub.”
Chapter 23
In the week and a half since Pandora had returned home, she’d wondered more than once if they’d sent the wrong husband back from the clinic with her.
It wasn’t that Gabriel was indifferent or cold . . . in fact, no man could have been more attentive. He insisted on taking care of her himself, seeing to her most intimate needs and doing everything humanly possible to ensure her comfort. He had changed her wound dressing, gave her sponge baths, read to her, and massaged her feet and legs for long, blissful intervals to improve her circulation.
He had insisted on feeding her, patiently spooning beef tea or fruit ices or blancmange into her mouth. Blancmange, incidentally, had turned out to be a revelation. Everything she thought she’d disliked before, its mildness, its whiteness, and lack of texture, turned out to be the best things about it. Although Pandora could easily have fed herself, Gabriel had refused to let her have the spoon. It had taken two full days before she’d managed to wrest it from him.
And flatware was the least of her concerns. Gabriel had once been the most charming man in the world, but now all his irreverent humor and playfulness had vanished. There was no more flirtation, no teasing and joking . . . only this unending quiet stoicism that was beginning to feel a bit grueling. She understood he had been deeply worried for her sake, and was concerned about potential setbacks to her recovery, but she missed the Gabriel of before. She missed the private energy of attraction and humor that used to connect them in an invisible current. And now that she was feeling better, the iron control he exerted over every minute of her day was beginning to make her feel a little hemmed in. Trapped, actually.
When she complained to Garrett Gibson, who visited daily to assess her progress, the doctor surprised her by taking Gabriel’s side. “He experienced a great mental and emotional shock,” Garrett explained. “In a way, he’s been wounded, too, and needs time to recover. Invisible wounds can sometimes be as devastating as physical ones.”
“But he will go back to the way he was?” Pandora asked hopefully.
“I expect so, for the most part. However, he’s acquired an awareness of how tenuous life can be. A life-threatening illness tends to change our perspective on one particular thing.”