Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(94)

The second time was when Dragon had come to the doorway to look in on her, his usually stoic face drawn with concern, while Gabriel had fed her spoonfuls of fruit ice. Noticing the towering figure at the threshold, Pandora had exclaimed groggily, “It’s my watchdragon,” and had demanded that he come closer to show her his bandaged arm. Before he had even reached the bed, however, she had fallen back to sleep.

Gabriel stayed at her bedside every possible minute, occasionally retreating to the moveable cot near the window for brief periods of slumber. He knew that Pandora’s family members were eager to sit with her, and they probably found it annoying that he was so reluctant to leave the room and entrust her to anyone else. However, he stayed as much for his own sake as for hers. When he spent even a few minutes away from her, his anxiety kept doubling and redoubling until he expected to find her in the middle of a fatal hemorrhage by the time he returned.

He was perfectly aware that some of his anxiety derived from the ocean of guilt he was currently floundering in. It didn’t matter if someone pointed out the ways in which it was not his fault—he could easily come up with just as many reasons to the contrary. Pandora had needed protection, and he hadn’t provided it. Had he made different choices, she wouldn’t be in a hospital bed with a surgically divided artery and a three-inch hole in her shoulder.

Dr. Gibson came to examine Pandora frequently, checking for fever or signs of suppuration, looking for any swelling of the arm or in the area above the clavicle, listening for compression in the lungs. She said Pandora appeared to be healing well. Barring any problems, she would be able to resume her usual activities in two weeks. However, she would still need to be careful for a few months. A hard jolt, such as the impact from a fall, could conceivably cause an aneurysm or hemorrhage.

Months of worry. Months of trying to keep Pandora still and quiet and safe.

The prospect of all that lay ahead of them, and the nightmares that tormented him every time he tried to sleep, and most of all Pandora’s persistent confusion and lethargy, made him quiet and grim. Perversely, the kindness of friends and relations made him even surlier. Flower arrangements were a special irritant: they were delivered almost hourly at the clinic, where Dr. Gibson refused to allow them past the entrance lobby. They piled up in funereal abundance, making the air nauseatingly thick and sweet.

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.”