Marjorie Farrel (28 page)

To Judith, of course, Robin’s presence meant one thing: Simon was not romantically interested and had brought his friend along as a protector. She tried not to let her disappointment show as she was helped into the carriage. After all, it was not Robin’s fault Simon did not love her, and she would have to save her despair for later.

Simon had ordered the old landaulet, since there were three of them, and he and Robin settled back to face Judith. They fell into an animated discussion of new farming methods as Judith listened. They were both good men, she thought, with a sense of responsibility that exceeded some of their contemporaries.

Simon suddenly realized that they were so engrossed they had quite ignored Judith, and he stopped midsentence to apologize.

“That is quite all right, your grace. I have enjoyed listening to you, and though I know very little about farming, was able to follow you very well. I was thinking how fortunate your tenants are, to have responsible landlords.”

“Enough of business,” Simon said, brushing off Judith’s compliment. “You will be at Ashurst, Miss Ware?”

“No, your grace. I have been invited, but I do not wish to leave my brother and Hannah on the first Christmas in our new home.”

“I understand,” the duke said, not letting his disappointment into his voice. He had been sure that Judith would be present and had hoped that being together daily would enable him to discover the state of her feelings toward him. The two weeks with the Stanleys did not seem so inviting, now that he knew that Judith would not be there.

They had almost reached the park, and the sun, which had kept them a bit warm, was being obscured by clouds. “It looks like we are in for more snow,” said Robin, glancing up at the graying sky.

“Are you warm enough, Miss Ware?” asked Simon as he himself began to feel the cold.

“For the moment, your grace.”

“Well, we will not go too far into the park,” said Simon. “We will have to keep our drive shorter than I had planned.”

Judith was fairly subdued for the rest of the ride. Simon had not sounded at all let down by her holiday plans. In fact, he had probably only asked to be polite, she thought. She had looked forward to being alone with him this afternoon, and they had had no chance for personal conversation. She was almost relieved when they reached her door and the groom helped her down.

“Thank you for the outing, your grace. I wish you both a happy holiday.”

“And you also, Miss Ware,” Simon replied in the same formal tones. Had Judith heard him as they drove away, however, she would have felt quite different.

“Damn,” he said as the carriage turned the corner, “I thought she was sure to be at Ashurst. Now I won’t be able to see her for almost two weeks.”

“I should be insulted, but I understand, Simon. Will you be traveling with us?”

“If you have room for me, Robin.”

“We are bringing my father’s coach, so you are very welcome.”

“Till Sunday then,” Simon said, when he dropped Robin off, and returned home, now impatient for the end rather than the beginning of the holidays.

Judith had hoped to hear from the duke again, and when he did | not call before leaving for Ashurst, was even more convinced that her place in his life was as a friend and not as a romantic interest.

How can I ever hope to move beyond friendship if we never see each other? she worried. The fact that Simon couldn’t see her was becoming more important. Now that she was aware of him physically, she realized he had been right: one did, quite naturally, wish to be seen, to be complimented, to attract by one’s dress or the sheen of one’s hair, or the green in one’s eyes brought out by a particular shade of green. If he couldn’t see her, then how on earth could he keep her in mind? And while she may be able to see him at the Stanleys’, the initiative was all his. Judith felt her poverty and lack of position more keenly than she had ever done.

The holidays, which she had been looking forward to, were rather lonely, although Christmas Day itself was lovely. After breakfast they all attended services at the local parish, and although the day was foggy and cold, they were warmed by the candles, the sermon, and the realization that they were together as a family. After three years of being an onlooker at other families’ holidays, Judith was happy to be returning to their own house, which smelled of apples and sage and onion from the small capon Hannah was roasting. They toasted one another, and Judith sat down to dinner in her green dress. Stephen’s gift to her had been paints and brushes, and she had bought him a new scarf and gloves. For Hannah, they had both gone in on a coach ticket so she could visit her family. After supper, they spent the evening reading in front of the fire. But the next day, Stephen was back at work, and Judith was on her own. No Barbara to have tea with, no riding, and no hope, false or otherwise, that Simon might call. She painted, she read, she walked when the weather was dry, but the days after Christmas seemed to crawl by.

Toward the end of the fortnight, Judith was ready to cry in frustration. She decided she’d better take herself in hand and walk to Hatchards to survey the latest novels. The exercise and having a particular destination would do her good.

The bookseller’s was quiet, so it was almost like being in a private library. The sight and smell of new books, as well as her walk, calmed her down, and she was quite lost in a collection of Byron’s poems when she felt someone near her. She looked up, and across from her, equally engrossed, was Simon’s reader. He looked up and caught her looking at him. She lowered her gaze, but could no longer concentrate on the words in front of her. Perhaps he was purchasing something for the duke’s return. She looked up again and saw that what he was holding could only be the latest novel from the Minerva Press. The duke might enjoy Miss Austen, but Judith could not conceive of his tastes running to errant monks or dashing earls, so this man must be a devotee himself. Judith smiled to herself at the incongruous picture. To see an older man just as absorbed as the usual bevy of giggling young ladies, was amusing and also somewhat touching. He looked as though he had had a hard life, and perhaps a romance or two helped him escape his troubles. Surely that was a worthier result than confirming your ladies in their silliness.

I wish I were reading for Simon again, thought Judith. I know that then I could tell if Simon loved me, or if it is only friendly interest. As she watched the avid reader in front of her, she was suddenly inspired. Did she dare? Well, it was no worse than her original venture. She moved around until she was standing next to Wiggins. “I beg your pardon,” she said.

Wiggins looked a little dazed as he lifted his head. He had been wooing Lady Lucinda Luxley and to be brought back to the reality of the bookstore was jarring. It took him a moment to recognize Judith as the young lady he had seen before.

“I know this is forward of me, but may I ask you a question?” she said.

Wiggins blinked in surprise and nodded.

“Are you employed by the Duke of Sutton as his reader?”

“Why, yes, miss. However did you know?”

“I saw you in here with him a few weeks ago and you spoke to me briefly. I would like to talk to you privately. If you have a few minutes to spare, could we sit down to tea across the street? I know this seems a bit bold, but it is very important to me.”

Wiggins had liked Judith immediately. First of all, she was not Lady Lucinda, who though wonderful to woo in fantasy, would have been intimidating in a real-life version. Judith was wearing her old cloak, and her manner, though straightforward and direct and her request unconventional, was not what his wife would have called bold. He was sure that whatever she wanted to talk about had something to do with Simon. Her eyes were begging him not to refuse, and his curiosity was not going to let him rest, so he nodded his agreement, and out they went, heading for the tea shop on the corner.

“Shall we have some scones with tea?” asked Judith. Wiggins nodded, and they both sat silently until the tea and the warm triangles were set in front of them.

“I know this must seem rather odd to you,” Judith began. “Perhaps I had better explain from the beginning.”

Without giving every detail, Judith sketched out her acquaintance with Simon. Wiggins liked her more and more as she spoke. It was clear to him that she loved the duke. He had no way of knowing whether the duke loved her.

“The duke has forgiven me my deception and called upon me since the dinner party, but I have no way to be in his company naturally, as a young lady of the ton might be.”

Wiggins had been nodding sympathetically during the story. Although Judith came from a good family, she had had to work for her living just the way he had. She had courage, he decided, for while he had never expected his life to be anything other than an eight-to-six position, she had been brought up differently. His clerkship, in fact, had been considered a rise in station by his family. His father kept a butcher shop, but recognizing his son’s “scholarly” qualities, had sent him to school. Over his years as clerk, Wiggins had often wished he had taken after his father, for though butchering was messy, hard work, it certainly afforded some creative outlet, if only in cutting chops to the right size. And it afforded one the freedom to chat with customers and move from task to task. Hunched over his desk, raised high on his stool, Wiggins would sometimes see himself in a blood-splattered apron, bringing his cleaver down neatly to separate the leg and arm joints of the owner of the firm. But, however much he didn’t like it, he had risen while Judith had fallen in station. He pulled himself back to the present as she continued.

“Perhaps I am too impatient, or too unladylike, but I cannot see how friendly calls from the duke or occasional dinners with the Stanleys will result in anything. I want something more like the intimacy that existed when I was reading for him.”

Wiggins was beginning to get nervous. Was this young woman going to ask him to give up his position so she could see the duke more regularly? If she offered, why would the duke not accept? Who wouldn’t prefer a vibrant young woman to a dried-out old man like himself? Wiggins had himself halfway home, preparing to tell his wife the bad news, when Judith leaned forward, saying, “I want to ask you a favor.”

“Yes, yes, I agree. It would be better for the duke if you returned. I will hand in my notice, but I would ask for a few weeks more.” Wiggins was about to push back his chair and rewind himself when Judith realized what he was talking about.

She put out her hand and patted his arm, saying, “Oh, dear, I’ve muddled this whole thing. Of course I would not presume to replace you. It is your position now and I am sure the duke is very satisfied with you. And now that he knows who I am, his grace would consider it improper of me to be there alone with him. He can’t rehire the good friend of his friends.”

Wiggins was wiping his brow with his napkin—a gesture that left a few crumbs—and sank back in his chair as though released from an awful tension.

“What I wish to ask is much easier, I think,” said Judith. “When do you next read for his grace?”

“Tuesday next, and then on Thursday and Friday.”

“Could you let me take your place for one day? I am sure if I had some time alone with him, I could tell if he has any deep feelings for me. If need be, I will ask him,” Judith said suddenly and vehemently, realizing that she meant it, however shocking it sounded.

Wiggins let his breath out slowly. He had been foolish to let his fantasies run away with him, but he had survived so many years of drudgery by allowing his imagination the freedom he lacked that it was an ingrained habit by now.

“Do you think one morning will be enough?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Judith. “It will have to be, for he certainly will not let me return.”

“What if he sent you away immediately?”

“I will deal with that hurdle when I come to it. He can hardly have me thrown bodily out of the house. And the very fact I am there will open up a conversation that goes beyond friendly politeness.”

“I will do it,” Wiggins, said, feeling like a character in a Minerva novel. She was the sort of woman that would do for the duke, he decided, and he would do his small part to help her.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wiggins. I could kiss you, right here—”

“Please don’t,” said Wiggins. He was not ready to step completely off the conventional path that was his life.

“Of course not!” Judith smiled. “Let us order another pot of tea and biscuits, shall we?” And over the second pot she began to draw him out. He told her of being the first in his family to read beyond the basic level required by a shopkeeper and how proud his father had been to see him settled in as a clerk.

“To him, I was better off because my hands were dirty with ink and not cows’ blood.”

As Judith listened, she began to sense that behind a rather odd exterior was a thoughtful person, leeched by circumstances, drained by years of subservience and deadening work. How could she ever have resented her time as a governess?

“You must be very happy in your position with the duke?”

“Oh, yes. I was surprised that he hired me, but his secretary told me I was just what he was looking for.”

Judith smiled to herself. She could imagine Simon, determined to have a reader as different from Miss Ware as possible.

“It is agreed, then,” said Judith, “that I will be at the duke’s at 10:00 on Tuesday? I will tell Cranston that you are ill and I have come to take your place, and walk in boldly before he has a chance to wonder how we are acquainted.”

Judith settled their bill and bade Wiggins good-bye at the door. She walked to the nearest cabstand, both tired and exhilarated. Tired, for it had been a long day, but excited, because she would soon be together with Simon, where surely the intimacy they had created would revive.

Simon’s holiday was not as lonely as Judith’s. For the first part of his visit, he found the time passing quickly and pleasantly. He and Robin and Barbara enjoyed their rides, which were fairly tame, due to the frozen ground. The evenings were spent in comfortable informality, except for their occasional socializing. There was a dinner at the local squire’s, and the Stanleys entertained their neighbors with a small dinner and dance the day after Christmas.