Love Is Lovelier (17 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
NNE PUSHED BACK
the blanket the nurse had placed on her when she couldn’t stop shivering and slipped down from the gurney she’d been left on while waiting for her X-rays to come back.

She was halfway across the floor of the cubicle on her way to ask again about William when the drapes flew back—

And her girls rushed to surround her.

“Mama—oh, Mama, where are you hurt—”

“What are you doing out of the bed?”

They surrounded her, all talking at once, her girls, and she clutched at them for strength. “I’m all right,” she soothed.

“You’re not. Look at you. You’re all bruised, and—”

All of them were worried, but Charlotte was a wraith. “Mama, I’ll never forgive myself. What have I done?”

Anne reached for her and stifled a gasp when Charlotte hugged her tight.

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. Where are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Just sore. Come here.”

Gingerly, Charlotte complied. She held her mother carefully and pressed their heads together. “Mama, I—”

“Hush,” she said. “Not a word of that. I can’t think about any of it now. I have to find someone to tell me what’s going on with William.” Realizing Charlotte would do better with a mission, she gave her one. “Get me out of here, Charlotte.”

“We’ll take you home, Mama,” Sylvie said.

“No. I’m not leaving until I know if William—” She swallowed a lump the size of North America. “He has to make it. I only want out of this—gown. I want my clothes. I need—” Her voice cracked. “I need to be with him.”

“But he’s in surgery,” Melanie pointed out.

“I know. But I have to be as close as I can get.” She pinned her eldest. “Talk to them, Charlotte Anne.”

Charlotte nodded. “As good as done.” She left, and Anne knew that nothing short of God himself would stop her.

Relief made her head light. She swayed.

“Mama!” Renee steadied her. “Get back in bed.”

“No. I—”

“Please,” said Sylvie. “Just until Charlotte springs you.” With a move as smooth as any she’d ever managed herself, Sylvie had her back in the bed before she realized what had happened. “Have they run tests?”

“That’s what they’re waiting on, X-rays and blood work. But it’s been forever.”

“I’ll go see what I can find out about William,” Renee offered.

“Oh,
chère,
thank you. And hurry back, please. He—he was shot, saving me.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Melanie asked.

Renee’s steps slowed.

“Please,
chère,
go on. I’ll tell it all again, but I have to—” Tears filled her eyes. “He has to make it. I love him.”

Renee nodded and left.

Sylvie’s own eyes were bright. “Oh, Mama…”

“He’s a good man. He wasn’t doing anything underhanded. I’m certain of that now.” She blinked to clear her vision. “I should have been all along. He was only protecting me. He’s very strong-willed and accustomed to taking charge. I don’t say I wasn’t angry, because I was, but—” She covered her lips. Bit them. “Oh, please,” she whispered. “Please give me a chance to take it back.”

Sylvie and Melanie flanked her, squeezing her hands. Stroking her hair. “Shh, Mama,” Sylvie said. “Let’s pray for him, shall we? We can hear the story later.”

Anne gripped their hands tightly and took comfort in the sound of Sylvie’s voice. The three of them huddled in silence, then, and slowly, Anne’s terror receded. She was borne up by her daughters’ love and felt faint stirrings of hope.

The girls settled, each on one side of her, the warmth of their bodies seeping into the chill of her own.

And Anne offered up silent pleas for the return of the man she wanted more time to love.

I
T FELT LIKE DAYS
but was less than an hour before Charlotte worked her magic.

An odd sensation, for a mother, to be dressed by the children for whom she’d once performed the service, but Anne was too sore to manage by herself.

And there was a soothing that came from simple human touch. It could sweep right past words to the heart of things.

Renee popped in again, this time with a fragment of news. “He’s still alive, Mama. They hope it won’t be much longer before the surgeon comes out.”

“Thank you,” Anne murmured. “Oh, thank you.” She held out a hand to Renee. “I can’t tell you how much it helped to have you up there.” She looked around. “I’m going upstairs.” She waited for objections.

Their faces were grim, but, as so often before, her daughters ranged themselves around her.

And, whatever they believed of William, offered her their full support.

J
UDITH WAS PACING
the surgical waiting room. Glen had left to make some phone calls, as cell phones weren’t allowed in this part of the hospital.

It was just as well. She was useless for small talk, and no one would tell her anything.

Except that her father was still alive.

When the door opened, she whirled, hoping for news—

But stopped in shock. She had never met Anne Marchand, but she’d seen her pictures.

The woman in the doorway was battered and hardly the elegant creature one would expect, but there was a dignity about her still.

And if Judith had had any doubts about her identity, the blazing eyes of Charlotte Marchand and her sisters would have cleared them. Judith didn’t move, uncertain how to feel. From what the police had told her, her father had been shot trying to rescue this woman from an attempted carjacking, yet he’d inexplicably tried to buy her hotel from under her. To make matters more confusing, when Judith had confronted him, he’d seemed more concerned about Anne’s reaction than her own.

The awkward silence stretched out.

Then Anne Marchand came toward her.

“Mama—” Charlotte reached out as though to stop her.

“I’ll be fine,” Anne murmured. She made her way with slow steps, obviously in physical pain.

But her eyes revealed pain of another sort. Judith had no idea what to say to her.

Anne took her hand. “You’re Judith. William has told me how proud he is of you.”

Judith’s eyes swam with tears.

“He saved my life. I was—” Anne’s own eyes were wet. “I was awful to him, and he still—” Her hand squeezed Judith’s.

Judith squeezed back. “So was I.”

Anne looked startled for a second, then spoke again. “Whatever is tangled between our families, right now we have something very important in common, and it overshadows all else. You must be frightened, and so am I. Will you sit with me, Judith, and we’ll keep vigil together for a man we both love?”

Her words were said with such emotion, such reverence, that Judith found herself leaning into Anne’s quiet strength. “I can’t think,” she admitted. “If he dies—”

“He won’t,” Anne said firmly. “We have to believe that. I won’t lose him.”

Judith was reminded that this woman had lost a man she loved once before. This must be incredibly painful for her, waiting and not knowing—

“Please.” She gestured to the chair beside her. “Won’t you sit down? I’d—I’d like very much to wait with you. If—” She cast a glance at a frowning Charlotte. “If you think your daughters won’t mind. I don’t really understand all that’s going on with your hotel and The Regency, but—”

“Shh, dear.” Anne, though several inches shorter than her, patted Judith’s shoulder and made her feel cherished. “None of that matters in the face of William’s struggle.” Her voice wobbled, but her shoulders were straight, her eyes kind and comforting. “Everything else can be worked out later.” Gently, Anne sat and drew Judith with her.

Then she looked at her daughters. “Renee, please see if you can find us tea, would you? Sylvie, who is with Daisy Rose?”

“Jefferson has her.”

“Good for him. Melanie, does Robert know where you are?”

Melanie smiled. “I’ll call him, now that you’re okay.”

“She’s not okay,” Charlotte challenged. “She should be home in bed.”

Anne arched one eyebrow. “But I’m not. Should you be back at the hotel?”

“They know how to reach me. Julie and Luc are staying late and dissuading the entire hotel staff from charging over here to check on you.”

“I’ll bet none of you have had dinner.” She turned to Judith. “Are you hungry, dear?”

Judith shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

Anne smiled sadly. “Nor I.” She glanced over at her daughters. “Why don’t you go see what there is for you and your sisters after you call Robert, Melanie.”

“You need to eat, too, Mama,” Charlotte argued. “You’re injured.”

“Then you go find something small for me, Charlotte. And Sylvie, you help Melanie carry.” With the efficiency of a small general, she dispatched her daughters, however unwilling they were to leave her.

Judith began to see why this woman fascinated her father.

Anne settled into her chair and patted Judith’s hand, which she hadn’t let go. “Now, there. My girls will come around,
chère,
but for now, we’ll just wait by ourselves. Do you want to talk?”

Judith had endured all the strained conversation she could bear, with her nerves screaming. “I don’t know what to say, Mrs. Marchand.”

Another pat. “Then we won’t talk. But I’m here if you change your mind, and please call me Anne. You’re not alone, dear. And William will be all right. He’s a very stubborn man.” Judith could feel her fingers trembling, but Anne’s voice was steady and calm.

A little of Judith’s panic eased, with this formidable woman at her side. She put some effort into aiding Anne’s attempt to put the best face on things. “He’s the strongest person I know.”

Anne nodded her approval. “And we’re strong women.” As if that insured his recovery.

Judith’s heart lightened a little. Anne’s presence fortified her.

And if anyone up there were listening, she could not imagine that Anne Marchand’s will would not make an impression.

Judith drew her first deep breath of the evening.

And squeezed the hand of the woman who obviously loved her father.

Oh, Daddy, come back to me.

She cast a glance at the woman beside her, bruised and battered but resolute. Eyes closed, her lips moving slightly as if in prayer.

Come back to both of us,
she amended.

T
HE NIGHT DRAGGED ON
. Anne’s food was untouched, her tea barely tasted. Weariness sank deep into her bones, and she was getting stiff from sitting so long.

But she betrayed none of that to the young woman beside her, so frightened for her father, or to her girls, who would surely push for her to go somewhere and lie down.

All Anne could think was that she had been thousands of miles away when Remy was dying, and she couldn’t leave William, no matter how long this took. With effort, she tamped down, once again, the panic that wanted to rise into her throat. A thousand times in her memory, she’d heard the shot. Had seen William fall.

Watched his blood soak his clothing. Pool on the ground.

She’d longed to touch him, that thick silver hair only microns away from fingers forbidden to make contact, to stroke him, reassure him. Only her voice was allowed to seek him out, and she’d put all her will into urging him to stay, not to leave her, not to die, though the blood had been everywhere—

Stop it, Anne
. She realized she was squeezing Judith’s hand nearly as hard as she’d gripped William’s in the ambulance. Begging him, cajoling—demanding him to live.

She’d only had that one instant when his eyes had half opened to hope that he heard her. That somehow he knew that she was sorry to her depths, that she would regret forever if their last words had been—

“Ms. Armstrong?” A voice from the doorway.

Judith made a small, frightened sound.

Anne’s head snapped up. She rose, along with Judith. Kept pace with her, though her legs would barely move.

Her daughters crowded around her.

She couldn’t read the doctor’s expression, and her heart stuttered. She found Judith’s hand, already grasping for her own.

“Yes?” Judith said, her voice trembling.

“Your father made it through the surgery.”

Anne breathed for the first time. “His condition?”

An expression of rue. “The bullet did more damage than it should have, perhaps a combination of the shooter’s position and the fact that Mr. Armstrong was apparently leaping at him when the gun went off.”

Anne’s mind went back to that moment, to William’s roar of outrage, the look of determination and fury on his face.

“He was,” she confirmed.

“So, it came in at an angle, caught the spleen, pierced the liver and nicked a lung. A lot of bleeding, and a great deal of damage to repair. His condition is very serious. His age is a factor, though the fact that he’s kept himself in shape is very much to his advantage.”

“But he will live, yes?” She forced herself to ask the question Judith seemed afraid to.

“We’re very optimistic. He’s survived the worst of it. We’ll keep him in ICU at least overnight, then we hope to release him to the surgical floor tomorrow. He’ll need to be patient—”

Anne couldn’t hear the rest in the clamoring of joy inside her and around her. Judith flung herself into Anne’s arms, and Anne held on tight, with her girls surrounding them both.

Charlotte would get her the details later, for no matter how Charlotte felt about William, she would always be there for her mother. Anne hoped for a time when there would be less need for the support, but right now, she was profoundly grateful for every one of her daughters and the love they showered on her.

Unexpectedly, her knees gave way; there was a rush to get her seated.

“Mama—”

“Oh, Mama, are you all right?”

“Get the doctor back, Mel—”

“Mrs. Marchand. Anne—”

Anne heard them all, these daughters she loved, and the young woman who might become another one. But she was too busy to respond in the first instant.

Thank you. Oh, thank you for saving him. Thank you for letting me have him back.

A voice rose inside her head.
Le bon Dieu shines on you, ma belle. He knows a good woman when he sees one.