Free The Whisper Of Wings by Cassandra Ormand Page B

beginning to stream down her face. She shook her head, half to clear it, half to negate the unbearable truth. Her knees were suddenly weak, and she felt herself slipping away before she could do anything about it.
    Christopher caught her before she slumped to the floor, hoisting her into his arms and carrying her to the couch. He had been certain the news would be a shock to her, but he had known no other way to deliver it than simply stating it as the fact it was.
    She hadn't really fainted, had just gone completely limp from the emotional blow. She was able to sit up when he placed her on the couch, though she no longer seemed aware that she was even doing so. In fact, she didn't seem aware of much of anything at all. She was more upset than he had expected, almost catatonic as she stared into space, tear after unchecked tear trickling down her cheeks.
    At a complete loss, he rang for Mrs. Avery, hoping that perhaps she could help. Being the closest to the girl, perhaps she could offer some solace, something he was unable to give. Not for lack of want but rather for lack of knowing how to go about it. He was far too ignorant when it came to these matters of human emotion, terribly uncertain as to how one should deal with them.
    When Mrs. Avery didn't appear quickly enough to suit him, he stuck his head out into the hall and shouted for her. He never shouted for the servants—he was far too British for that—and the unusual conduct on his part must have frightened her, for she instantly came out of the kitchen, drying her hands with the edge of her apron. Christopher was damn relieved to see her.
    "What is it, Mr. Standeven? Has something happened?" she called as she hurried down the hall toward him, her face etched with concern.
    "Do hurry, woman," he urged, with a bit more of a bite to his tone than he intended. "It's our guest. I'm afraid the news of Mrs. Hollingsworth's death proved a bit much for her."
    Mrs. Avery pushed past him into the room, anxious to get to her precious charge. "Oh, dear," she murmured when her eyes took in the pathetic creature who still sat numbly on the couch staring into space.
    "Yes, well. I suppose I should have been a little more subtle about it," Christopher muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
    Mrs. Avery ignored him, just went straight to the couch and sat down next to the girl. She put both arms around her, pressed her tightly against her side, and began rocking her gently. "There, there, dear. Poor, poor dear."
    The comfort the matronly woman offered brought a well of fresh tears pouring down Michaela's face, and she began to sob as Mrs. Avery drew her head down to her shoulder.
    "I have no one now. No one to turn to," she whispered through her tears.
    She negated the plea in her voice by pulling away from Mrs. Avery and straightening her spine as if she were preparing to go into battle. "I should go now. I won't be a bother any longer."
    "I think we've already established that you will stay," Christopher intervened. He couldn't very well let her go off in such a state.
    "But...without Mrs. Hollingsworth, I...." She turned her eyes up to meet his, and he felt something sharp shoot through his chest, something indefinable. The torture in her eyes, the uncertainty, the fear...it was almost tangible. "I have no reason to live."
    "But of course you do," Mrs. Avery insisted, taking her limp hand in both her strong ones. "Don't be silly."
    "She would have helped me," Michaela said, turning her tear-filled eyes on the elder woman again.
    Moved to distraction by the pain she saw in the young woman's face, Agnes strongly declared, "I will help you just the same." She turned to look at Mr. Standeven. "We all will."
    "But you don't even know me," Michaela argued.
    "We know you well enough," Christopher said. He stepped closer and knelt down before her to put a reassuring hand on her knee. "I don't want you to worry anymore that you are imposing. That is the furthest thing from the truth.