Chapter Eleven
C hapter E leven
A bby had never been a very good patient, and she was not likely to start now. Two days she had been abed, and she was finally able to not feel as though death had frozen her and then thawed her out.
The trouble was that Mrs. Corbin refused to let her leave the bed, and thus Abby was bored, restless, and terribly stiff.
Not a lovely combination.
“I am fine , Mrs. Corbin,” she ground out as the woman fussed over her bedcovers for the forty-seventh time. “No fever. Check.”
Tutting softly, Mrs. Corbin reached over and touched her brow with the back of her hand, then did the same with her cheek. “True, but you’ve only just managed a full bowl of broth for a meal. You haven’t the strength to do anything more. So you shall stay in bed.”
Abby flopped back against the pillows in irritation, which didn’t do much, as the pillows had been so piled up for her that she was still mostly sitting up. “I want to move!”
“Move in your bed, Abigail,” the housekeeper said without concern, gesturing to the mattress. “Plenty of space.”
Normally, Abby was a perfectly behaved adult and an elegant woman, but the present circumstances washed all of that away, and she glowered at Mrs. Corbin like a petulant schoolgirl without any shame whatsoever.
If that bothered Mrs. Corbin, she made no indication. She chuckled softly and put a hand on her hip, raising a brow at Abby. “You can pout all you want, child, but I am not the one who was shaking like a leaf for an entire day no matter what we did to warm you. You scared us all to hell and back again, and I will not apologize for being strict with your recovery. Why, Mr. Bichard held you for ten hours straight and slept just there, sweating his blessed hair off just to make sure you were warm enough.”
Abby felt her eyes widen, painfully so, as her mouth fell open. “He did what?”
Mrs. Corbin blinked and bustled towards the door. “Yes, well, we all did our best to take care of you, and I am delighted you are feeling well, but I insist on your remaining abed today. No excuses.”
Abby didn’t even have it within her to argue the point as she watched the woman leave her room.
She barely recollected what happened the day at the caves after she realized she could not drag herself back to Coutanche. She had been so tired, so cold, and the water had begun to flood in. She vaguely remembered Gilles coming and the warm burst at seeing him there in front of her, but the warmth evaporated quickly in the face of the ice that had begun to fill her body. She knew he had picked her up and carried her out, and it was only then that she had given in to the darkness that had been encroaching on her.
After that, she just remembered everything being dark and cold for ages. She was asleep, but not dreaming, and she could feel the cold in every part of her body. There were moments of warmth, and she knew someone had said soothing words to her that chased some of the darkness away, but none of it was clear. None of it made sense. Eventually, the coldness faded, and she had the warmth they were all apparently trying to give her, and then her sleep went deeper, and she hadn’t been aware of anything until she woke some time later.
Dr. Bisset had visited her yesterday and looked over everything, declaring it satisfactory, but asked her to be gentle with herself. He had checked her legs and determined she had certainly sprained both knees, though she might not know how severely until she tried to walk again. He was a kind man and told his opinion rather frankly, which she appreciated. She had never liked the doctors who simpered and spoke abstractly about whatever they were doing and thinking, as though a female mind could not possibly comprehend medical details.
At any rate, Abby had been assured she was not overly ill and should recover quickly.
She was personally convinced that she would recover far more quickly if she were not treated like an invalid, but that was apparently neither here nor there.
A faint shuffling brought Abby’s attention up, and she smiled at the sight of two little faces trying to peek through the slit in the barely ajar door.
“Come in, mes filles,” she invited, waving them over. “I need some cuddles.”
Giggling, Madeline and Marie-Claire pushed the door open and bounded onto her bed, clambering to either side of her, carefully avoiding her legs. They nestled against her eagerly, and Marie-Claire surprised her by wrapping both arms around her waist and holding tight.
Abby smiled down at her and began stroking her curls. “Everything all right, little one?”
Marie-Claire shook her head fiercely.
“No? Why not, sweetling?” she asked, kissing her head softly.
“Scared,” Marie-Claire mumbled as she clung to Abby, hiding her face against her side.
Abby blinked, her smile wavering. “Scared? Of what?”
“We thought you were dying,” Madeline said in a quiet voice, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the coverlet. “Marie-Claire doesn’t really remember when Maman died, but I do. I know people die and go away forever. I wasn’t that scared, but she was.”
Marie-Claire made a soft whimpering sound against Abby’s nightgown.
“Oh, mes filles…” She sighed and pulled them both closer, leaning back on her pillows a little as her eyes began to burn with tears. “I promise you, I was not going to die. I was unwell, but not that unwell. Just very tired and hurt, and very, very cold. Did you think the doctor came because I was dying?”
Madeline shrugged, not looking at her, but she felt Marie-Claire nod.
She kissed both of their heads quickly. “Sometimes,” she said after an emotional pause, “a doctor just comes because he can help someone to feel better. Or to help us know what is wrong. Did your papa or Mrs. Corbin tell you that I hurt my legs, too?”
“Oui,” Marie-Claire said softly, shifting her face to at least make her words more clear.
“Dr. Bisset looked at the places where I hurt my legs to see if I needed some help to get better,” Abby explained, keeping her tone as light as possible. “Two of them needed a little help, but they are going to be just fine. And I don’t even have a fever anymore. Feel my head, see if it’s warm at all.”
Both girls sat up and felt her forehead, though Abby doubted they would have known if she had a fever at all, unless it was raging out of control. Still, anything she could do to alleviate their fears would be good. The idea that they feared so much was devastating.
“See?” Abby pressed when they both dropped their hands. “I am well now.”
Madeline frowned, her expression so like her father’s that it was endearing. “Then why are you still in bed?”
Abby smiled and brushed the girl’s hair back a little. “Because Mrs. Corbin won’t let me get up!” she whispered loudly, making a scared face.
Both girls giggled at that, and Marie-Claire sat back, looking up at her. “Nobody argues with Mrs. Corbin,” she vowed seriously, still smiling.
“I know,” Abby assured her. “That’s why I’m afraid to get out of bed on my own.”
Again the girls laughed, and only the sound of the door pushing open farther broke their giggles.
Gilles stood in the doorway, smiling at the scene, his blue eyes crinkling in their usual handsome way. He wore no coat, only his shirt and weskit, without even a cravat for decoration. And there was something softer in his smile that Abby did not quite understand.
Something that made her heart skip several beats and her cheeks flush, as well as created a strange dryness in her throat.
Which, of course, made her want to swallow, which was rather difficult.
“I see the patient is well enough for visitors,” Gilles murmured, his smile turning crooked. “Might I enter?”
Abby nodded jerkily. “Please do, sir.” She looked at the girls, who were beaming at their father, and felt herself settle marginally. “Though I fear there is no more space on the bed. You will have to make do with a chair.”
That made the girls laugh again, their merriment the most delightful music in the world.
Gilles paused in the act of coming over, his eyes latched on to Abby’s, and his smile deepened. “Ah, well, I suppose I may endure suffering such an indignity. This time.” He gave his daughters a look of mock severity that only made their giggles worse.
Abby beamed at his playing along, her heart still skipping its own little jig in her chest as he situated himself in a chair near her bed. He winked at her, still smiling and looking perfectly at ease.
“Papa, she has no fever,” Marie-Claire reported with a smile, leaning back against Abby.
“Très bien, ma fée,” he replied. “And are her hands cold?”
The girls quickly gripped her hands to check. “No,” Madeline said quickly.
He cupped his chin, making a show of pretending to think. “What about her cheeks? Are they hot or cold? Or just right?”
Small hands clapped onto Abby’s face again, making her laugh loudly.
“Just right!” her little would-be doctors announced.
“Is her nose cold, Mariette?”
Marie-Claire put her palm to Abby’s nose, snickering as she did so. “A little cold.”
“Hmm.”
Abby glanced over at Gilles, seeing him putting his own palm to his nose.
He frowned. “Mine is, too, so I don’t think that counts.”
Madeline fell back on the mattress, giggling incessantly as her arms wrapped around her stomach.
Gilles snapped his fingers as though an idea had struck him. “Check her toes! See if her toes are cold!”
The girls immediately scrambled for the bedcovers before Abby had a chance to protest and she looked at Gilles in distress.
He winked at her again. “You’re still bandaged, Abigail. They will see nothing.”
Relief had never tasted so sweet, and this was the first time Abby could actually recall tasting relief on her tongue.
And it was almost as sweet as Gilles knowing exactly what she had been afraid of and already knowing it would be fine.
Her cheeks flamed with heat as she waited for the girls to cover her toes with their hands and give their answer to their father.
“They’re warm!” Marie-Claire told them all.
“Whew!” Gilles wiped at his non-perspiring brow. “You had better cover her legs and feet now, mes chéris, to make sure they stay that way.”
The girls quickly pulled the bedcovers back over Abby’s legs, tucking her in like she was the child and they the doting mothers or nannies.
It was adorable.
When Abby was perfectly encased in the fabric, practically unable to move, the girls looked at their father for further instructions.
Gilles was clearly fighting laughter at their expressions, but somehow managed to avoid any sounds of it whatsoever. “Then we must conclude that she is warm enough and healthy enough for you to show her the drawings you made for her to get better.”
Both girls gasped, looking at each other in delight, and bolted from the bed as well as the room, barreling out of control towards their nursery.
Abby snorted softly, biting down on her lip hard to keep from laughing any louder, casting her eyes to Gilles as she did so.
He sat back in his chair, his mouth curved in a wide, crooked grin, his eyes delightfully crinkled. “They should be a few minutes,” he whispered loudly. “They don’t remember where they put them.”
Fighting laughter again, Abby put a hand over her eyes, shaking now with mirth. Then the shaking became something else entirely, her eyes burning again with tears that fell as rapidly as they formed.
“Abigail?” She heard Gilles move from his chair and felt the mattress beside her dip, then the brush of his arm against hers as he sat beside her. “Ma douce, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, hissing her breath in and out between nearly clenched teeth. “Th-they thought I was going to d-die, Gilles. Marie-Claire was afraid. And Madeline… She said she knows people die and go away, and she’s trying so hard to be strong and accept it, but they… Oh, they are breaking my heart, and I can’t…”
“Shh, shh, come now, ma douce… ” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest tightly. His lips pressed against her hair, then rested there. “I thought we might lose you, too, you know. When I first brought you back. I have seen death far more often than they have, and I was almost sure it was coming again. It was not until you were awake and aware of the conversations around you that I truly believed you were safe.”
Abby sniffled, her tremors easing but not subsiding entirely as she listened to his low, soothing voice and felt his words against her hair. It was like slipping into the warm pool again, but gentler and more consuming of everything she was. This was… right. Natural. Easy.
Home.
She shuddered in his hold, allowing herself to lean further into him as the truth sank into her. Being in his arms felt like home.
She did not have a home anymore apart from the school, and that was certainly where she was most comfortable, but it was also her identity and her life’s work. Here she was, for all intents and purposes, a governess and nothing more or less than Abigail Chorley ever was. Gilles only knew the woman she pretended to be, and she was only pretending her name and her aims for being here. Everything else was entirely her.
And he only knew her as that person.
And somehow it was enough.
Ma douce.
My sweet.
It was an unexpected endearment, and perhaps inappropriate for an employer to use with her, but it did not feel like she was being cared for and embraced by her employer.
Not in the slightest.
“I am so relieved you are safe,” Gilles whispered, his chest rumbling with the words. “And well. And whole. You have no idea how I… what I… but even I cannot comprehend how terrified you must have been, ma douce.”
His hands began to run over her hair and her back, his fingers tangling in her long, unbound tresses. The motions were almost hypnotic, sending fiery ripples of pleasure down her back and into the tips of her fingers and toes.
“Will you tell me, Abigail?” he asked, his lips moving temptingly against her hair to her brow. “Tell me what happened.”
Abby curled into him, laying her head against his shoulder, her fingers finding the buttons of his weskit and fiddling with them absently. “It was really rather simple,” she murmured, smiling as she replayed the way he said her name over and over in her mind. “I wasn’t marking my steps and slipped. I landed on both knees rather hard, and scraped my hands.” She held one palm out, looking at the angry scratches and abrasions.
Gilles cupped that palm and brought it to his lips gently.
Her breath stuttered in her lungs, feeling caught on each rib.
He pressed her hand against his heart and nodded against her, saying nothing.
Abby tried to swallow, but it was impossible. “I went into the warm pool afterwards,” she said, her voice rasping against her dry throat. “It was magical. There was some pain, but I quickly learned where it was and how to avoid it. I was able to move my leg in ways I never thought I would again. I felt so strong, so capable…” Her voice caught as she recalled the thrill and excitement she had felt, the dreams that had opened back up, the hope that had filled her soul…
Gilles continued running his fingers through her hair, murmuring wordlessly against her brow when she didn’t go on.
Shaking her head, Abby exhaled slowly. “It was amazing. I got out and determined I would come back often and try to get better and better, perhaps ridding myself of my limp one day. Then I would no longer be a cripple.”
“Don’t call yourself that, ma douce,” Gilles whispered, his arms tightening around her. “Please.”
His words sank heat into her heart, making her shiver in his hold. “But… while I was redressing, I fell again. Slipped, but also… my bad leg gave out. It must have been fatigued from the work I did, and from the fall before. I hit the ground, harder than the first time, and fell into the pool again. I could barely get out that time. My legs wouldn’t sustain the effort, so I had to pull myself out. And I could not stand after that. Not even on my good leg, so I tried to crawl. And then I couldn’t even do that. I couldn’t get out. I was just w-waiting, and then the w-water started coming in…”
Gilles tucked her head under his chin then, his arms enveloping her so completely, she felt as though she might actually melt into his body. His heat warmed the echoes of her chilled memories, reminded her she was safe and whole here. The beating of his heart tapped a steady, lulling cadence against her hands, pulsing life into her skin. His hold was so secure, so comforting, so invigorating…
Home, she had called it.
Yes. Yes, this was home.
He was home.
“I am so sorry, Abigail,” Gilles said softly. “Sorry for your experience. Sorry I did not think to go with you. Sorry it took me so long to realize…”
“Don’t apologize,” Abigail insisted before he could say more. “How could you have known? I am stubborn and determined to not be fragile or a victim. I ought to have realized that it would be wise for someone else to be with me. If I did not have more pride than sense, I might have seen… I might have avoided… But accepting limitations has never been something I can do easily. I should, considering I am… Well, that I am now…”
He pulled back and looked at her closely, his eyes searching hers. One of his hands moved to her cheek, the other still on the back of her head. “You have more strength than anyone I have ever known, Abigail. You are not fragile, nor weak, if that was going to come out of your mouth in the near future. Anyone could have suffered injury down there, and many have, even with remarkable physical strength or stature. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. Do you believe me?”
“No,” Abby whispered, a pair of tears falling from her eyes. “I know myself too well.”
He brushed her tears away, exhaling slowly. “But you do not see. You cannot.” He smiled softly, his thumb stroking her cheek.
“Mr. Bichard…” she whispered, her heart thundering in her ears and throat at the tenderness she saw in his eyes.
His smile turned rather wry. “I think we are beyond mister or miss anything by now, don’t you, Abigail?” He leaned closer, pausing just a moment before his lips gently touched hers.
She stilled at the contact, unaware of breath or pulse or light or anything but the feeling of his mouth. She could not move, could not think.
He waited a moment, and when she did not pull away, he kissed her again, leaning more fully into it, his mouth grazing hers and tenderly pulling at her lips again and again. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, but so very exquisitely.
She shivered again, this time from head to toe and without any sort of chill whatsoever.
His lips parted from hers, hovering just a breath away.
“Gilles…” she breathed, shaking in his hold.
He laughed very softly. “I could not help myself,” he murmured as his nose brushed hers. “Should I apologize, Abigail?”
Abby reached up, her fingers curling around his wrist and keeping his hold on her face. “No.”
She felt his smile as his lips took hers yet again, no less tenderly, but with more certainty and more feeling, and now, filled with the fire that only he had ever stoked, she kissed him in return.