“I appreciate that.” Thank goodness those brief words weren’t twisted. They never were when she concentrated hard enough. “Is Mr. Butler among those in the drawing room?”
“No. He went off to find Brand. Shall I call for him? You arrived together, did you not?” Interest lit Jane’s eyes. “Did you meet him previously?”
Too many questions!Caroline fought the urge to press her hands to her ears, even though it was a childish gesture that wouldn’t halt the noise in her head. “My disabled coach was.” She bit her lip and tried again. “My coach was disabled. He brought me here in his.”
“Ah.” Gently, Jane touched a hand to Caroline’s shoulder. “I know enough of your history—as well as that of the Stormes—to figure things out for myself. Please believe me when I tell you that things are changing within the family. The boys are healing, both themselves and their relationships with each other. No one will send you away again.”
It struck her as funny. “Safe in the eye of the storm.”
“Yes, exactly.” Jane nodded. “They’re good men, Caroline. If you choose to extend them your trust again, they won’t betray it.”
Healing.What must it feel like to let go of the rage, the confusion? I want to find that peace. But now was not the time, for trust had to be built and was not freely given. “I’ll come with you.”
“Good.” Jane took her arm as they navigated the corridors. “My brother is a surgeon, and my other brother is a student of psychology as well as the mysteries of the brain. If you wish for a better understanding of what your mind is doing—or not doing—please don’t hesitate to talk to either of them. They’re very forward-thinking.”
It was more than she’d been given at the asylum. Perhaps there might prove a miracle in the offing this Christmastide after all.
Minutes later, Caroline was immersed—literally—in the Storme family and its extensions. All the introductions made her head swim and her ears ring, but the people seemed friendly. She adamantly refused to sit by her mother. It was too much too soon, and she needed to acclimate herself to this new way of life before she tried to repair strained relationships. Years of being in a solitary state had left her withdrawn and wary.
So she politely nodded to her aunt and mother, then took possession of a chair farthest away from the hub of activity and conversation. She nearly vaulted off the furniture when her relatives all streamed into the drawing room, hollering and carrying on as if they were children again. Her eyes widened, for her brother held a loaf of bread aloft.
What the deuce was going on? Perhaps madness had touched them all.
How would she pass the remainder of the evening—let alone weeks of a house party—with these people related to her by blood, who were essentially strangers, and so noisy?