Tempting the Bride - By Sherry Thomas Page 0,32
his boldness—when Fitz’s voice came, still slow with sleep. “You are already awake, David? What time is it?”
Helena turned toward him. “What is going on, Fitz? Why do you look—”
“My God, Helena!” Fitz sprang up before he remembered the woman on his lap. He shook her. “Millie, Millie, wake up. Helena is awake.”
The woman bolted upright, nearly banging into his chin. “What? What did you say?”
Fitz was already pulling her to her feet, dragging her to the edge of the bed. He grabbed hold of Helena’s hand. The fine-boned, fine-featured woman he called Millie wrapped her own fingers around their clasped hands.
Her eyes shone with tears. “We were so worried. I cannot tell you how happy I am you’ve come to.”
Helena was shocked to see that Fitz’s eyes—at least his eyes still looked the same—were also damp. And he seemed utterly incapable of speech. Her stomach twisted. “What is the mat—”
Before she could finish her question, Venetia squealed. “Helena! My goodness, Helena! Christian, she’s awake!”
The man behind Venetia, whom she’d called by his given name, stood up from his seat to help Venetia rise. He smiled at Helena. “Welcome back.”
“Welcome back, indeed,” echoed Millie.
They all seemed to know her very well. Why didn’t she know them in return?
“I would hug you so hard, my love, if I weren’t afraid of hurting you,” said Venetia, taking Helena’s other hand. “Shall we put a few pillows behind your back so you can be more comfortable?”
“That won’t be quite necessary.” The very thought of having to move made her stomach protest. “Would someone please tell me what is going on?”
Venetia’s hand went to her throat. “My goodness, you don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“Your accident, of course.”
Accident? She looked about her and noticed yet another woman in a corner—this one in a nurse’s cap and uniform. Were the other men in the room physicians? The one Venetia had called Christian certainly had that air of cool competence about him. She glanced toward the one named David. He stared at her as if she were the Koh-i-Noor itself, a thing of infinite beauty and worth.
She looked away, discomfited and perhaps just a little flattered—for all his dishevelment, he was not an unattractive man. “When was this accident? And what kind of accident are we speaking of?”
“A carriage accident,” Fitz answered. “It happened three days ago and you’ve been unconscious ever since. We were beginning to wonder”—his voice caught—“whether you would ever wake up again.”
The accident would explain all her pains and discomforts. A three-day coma was a decent reason for tears and high emotions upon her reawakening. But it still didn’t account for the familiarity with which all these strangers treated her; nor was it reason enough for Fitz and Venetia to have aged ten years overnight.
“It’s probably a good thing you don’t remember,” said Millie. “It was a horrible accident. My goodness, when I saw you lying in the middle of the street, blood from your head soaking into the stone dust, I thought—”
Her lips quivered. Fitz handed her his handkerchief. “It’s all right. Everything will be all right now.”
“Of course.” Millie wiped her eyes. “Please excuse me.”
Venetia was dabbing at her own eyes. The man named Christian had his hand on her shoulder.
Helena could no longer contain her bewilderment, which was beginning to congeal into a cold, knotted sensation that was not unlike fear. She didn’t know whether she ought to demand the reason why her siblings had aged so much before company, so she asked, “Venetia, Fitz, would you please perform the introductions? I’d like to meet our guests.”
Her request caused a long moment of communal gaping, followed by dismayed glances among the five people surrounding her bed, which only made her stomach clench with premonition.
“We are not guests,” said Millie. “We are your family.”
Helena hadn’t thought she’d like the answer she’d receive, but she had not anticipated that it would turn incipient fear into outright fright. She bolted straight up, ignoring the pain in her head and the roiling in her stomach caused by her abrupt motion, and tried to arrive at a logical explanation. Were they distant cousins? Or perhaps…“Did I meet everyone just before my accident? My mind is quite blank concerning that time period.”
“No, no.” Millie shook her head hard, as if the force of her denial could make a difference in the matter. “We—you and I—met eight years ago at Lord’s, at the Eton and Harrow cricket match.”
Helena’s father had been a cricket enthusiast. The entire family had attended