Marjorie Farrel (29 page)

By the second week, however, when Diana arrived with her elderly companion, Simon became more and more restless. They all went riding, but he was beginning to wonder if he were holding them back. They could not gallop as freely with one rider on a lead, and although winter riding was bound to be tame, Simon was feeling more handicapped than he had in London, where park riding was more restricted.

On Wednesday of the second week he declined a ride, claiming he was tired and would keep Miss Trueblood company, and then spent a wretched two hours alone while she napped. He could do nothing. The house, though familiar to him in the past, was still confusing. He had relaxed since his arrival and had let himself be led rather than take on the task of counting steps. He could not read to pass the time. All he could do was sit in the morning room feeling sorry for himself, a state he deplored but could not help but fall into from time to time. I should take up knitting, he thought in disgust. At least I would feel useful. He wanted to take a walk on the grounds and be alone, and of course, this was not possible. In the city he had not been as blue-deviled, but here, with no secretary and no reader, he was experiencing his limitations anew.

The evenings they spent at home were also dragging for him, now that Diana was here. The engagement was to be announced after the new year. Simon was genuinely happy for both of them, but they were naturally absorbed in each other, making up for the months of estrangement.

Simon could not keep his mind off Judith. He alternated between imagining passionate embraces and worrying whether his love for her was reciprocated. He was sure now of his feeling, but the depth of his love made him realize what he would be asking of her as the wife of a blind man. He wanted to return to London immediately, and at the same time dreaded their next meeting, for what if her feeling did not go beyond friendship?

Despite his ambivalence, however, Simon felt great relief on Saturday morning when he bade good-bye to the Stanleys. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that Francis had come down with his groom.

“I apologize, your grace,” said Francis as they settled themselves in the coach, “but there were a few estate matters that needed your immediate attention, and I thought we could use the traveling time to deal with them?”

“Don’t apologize,” said Simon. “I am so grateful to have something useful to do and someone to talk to who is not in love that I will, no doubt, give you even more of a raise than I had planned.”

“You did not enjoy your holidays, then?”

“Oh, I suppose I did, yes. It is only that it was difficult to keep myself occupied without Wiggins to read to me, or my own footman, and I suppose I just got bored. I find my blindness weighs on me when I am not feeling useful. It will be good to get back to my regular routine. But how was your holiday?”

“It was good to be with my family again,” said Francis. “My father is getting older and I feel it necessary to spend as much time with him as I can.”

“And your sisters?”

“All well, and the eldest quite happy in her marriage and increasing again.”

“Tell me, Francis, and please be honest with me. How do you think a woman would feel about taking on a blind husband?”

Francis was of course aware of Simon’s call on Judith and thought he knew what particular woman the duke had in mind. Thank God, he thought, he is thinking of asking her again. He framed his answer carefully. “I think that it would depend on the woman. Some might believe, I am sure, that the advantages of rank outweighed the difficulties. But if a woman loved you? Then I think that your blindness would not weigh with her at all.”

"So you would not consider it unfair to ask her?”

"Are we speaking of a particular woman?” asked Francis a trifle disingenuously.

“Of course, this is not hypothetical. Miss Ware, Francis.”

“I thought you had already asked her, your grace?”

“Yes, and she refused upon the grounds that she did not want a marriage of convenience. But I still do not know if my blindness weighed in her refusal, despite her protests to the contrary. And now I want to offer her a very different kind of marriage, one based upon mutual affection.”

Francis chose his words very carefully. He was fairly sure Judith’s heart had been the duke’s the first time he asked her, but he had no right to raise Simon’s hopes or reveal what he could only surmise were Judith’s feelings. “I came to know Miss Ware a little, your grace, and she impressed me as a young woman of integrity, whom you could trust to be honest. If she said your blindness was not a consideration, then I would trust her.”

“So you think that I should risk asking her again, Francis?”

“I think you are, after all, in the position of any one of us. There is always a risk involved in loving, blindness or no. She may not love you, but you will never find out unless you ask.”

“Of course you are right. Now I will just have to summon up the courage.”

* * * *

Judith spent the days after her visit with Wiggins alternating between hope and despair. In some daydreams she started to read to Simon and in the middle of a love poem he would move close to her and enfold her in his arms. In others, as soon as he heard her voice, he stopped her and sent her home out of friendship. She wondered why she had ever decided to go there alone. It was a bold action that she was contemplating, and laid her open to the worst suspicions. And how would Simon react? Perhaps he would be shocked at her actions, or respond only with pity, send her home, and never call again. At that thought, she almost sent a note to Wiggins, calling the whole deception off.

By Tuesday, however, she had moved from agitation to an almost numb determination. She and Simon could go on as friends, but the only way she could think of to recapture any closeness and show her feelings for him was to turn back the clock, reappear as his reader, and hope his feelings had undergone a transformation.

She dressed in the old cloak and red dress she had worn on her first visit and took a hackney, so she would be on time. Indeed, she seemed to have gone back in time, for she was feeling the same nervousness at the door that she had in late September. She rapped hard at the door and spoke quickly to Cranston’s surprised face.

“Mr. Wiggins has laryngitis, Cranston, and asked me if I could come and take his place.”

As she had predicted, Cranston was so surprised to see her again that he never thought to question her acquaintance with Wiggins, an unlikely one, surely. He let her in, took her cloak, and was about to announce her presence when she put her finger to her lips.

“I would like to surprise his grace, just as a small jest...”

Cranston nodded and, after hanging her cloak, went down the hall to tell the news to James, who, of course, passed it on to the kitchen. Soon the whole house was aware that the nice Miss Ware was here again. And what did it mean?

While the servants speculated, Judith was hesitating at the door of the library, which was open. Simon was sitting in his usual place with several newspapers ready, and he lifted his head and called to the door, “Is that you, Wiggins? Come on in.”

Judith walked in, holding her skirts close, so their rustling did not give her away. What she could not know was that Simon became aware of her presence almost immediately she stepped through the door. The delicate scent of her cologne brought back the memory of all their former meetings in the library, and Simon’s initial desire was to make one of Judith’s wilder fantasies come true. But he was curious to see why she had come. He wondered where Wiggins was and whether he would be announced also, and a little anxious still about her feelings for him. But why would she have come if she didn’t care?

“Sit down, sit down, man. Here are the Chronicle and the Times.”

Judith sat, unable to open her mouth. What would he say when he heard her voice? How had she imagined that she could carry this off? Why could she never remember that reality was always different from imagination, and that while poets spoke of perfect communion, such communication was rare outside of the pages of a book? The greenhouse atmosphere that had protected them in the earlier days was gone. Too much had happened. Simon had returned to the real world, and so had she.

She had intended to enter silently, pick up a book of love poems, and begin reading something like Donne’s “Good Morrow,” pausing at a line like: “If ever any beauty I did see which I desired and got...” waiting for Simon to complete the stanza. All would be understood, all encompassed by the poet’s vision and they would ...

“Start with the Gazette please, Wiggins.”

Judith was still rather paralyzed. Perhaps she should just whisper hoarsely that she had laryngitis and get out as fast as she could, hoping Simon didn’t recognize her voice.

Simon wondered when Judith was going to open her mouth and what she would say to explain her presence. He decided to tease her a bit more, as she was clearly frozen into silence.

“Come, come, man, what’s wrong?”

Judith tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She finally, after several attempts, got a few words out almost in a whisper.

“I beg your pardon, your grace, but it is not Wiggins. It is Judith ... Miss Ware.”

“Miss Ware! What on earth are you doing here? Alone, I gather?”

Judith’s wits were so scattered that all she could say was “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you are alone or not?” Simon felt perhaps this was a bit cruel.

“No, no—I mean, I don’t know what I am doing here ... that is, I thought I did, but now I see that it was all wrong to come.”

“And where is Wiggins?”

“At home, your grace?”

“Is he ill? And however would you know? Are you acquainted?” Simon decided to continue his adversarial tactics a bit longer.

“Not exactly. That is, I saw him in Hatchards with your grace once, and then this past week, when I saw him again, I introduced myself and we started talking ...” As Judith came nearer to the truth, she realized how forward she was going to sound. What she had done was too unconventional, and how could she ever explain it? “... And I asked him if he would let me come in his place today.”

“And Wiggins agreed?” Simon asked, in the most forbidding tones he could summon up. He wondered if that would be enough to push Judith to open her heart.

“Oh, please, your grace, do not blame Mr. Wiggins. I persuaded him against his will. This was all my idea.”

“I hope your persuasive powers are strong enough to convince me, Miss Ware. This puts us both in a very compromising position. You are here alone, without a chaperone, having called without an invitation, and you are no longer in my employ. Or did you think that my blindness would protect us from a scandal?”

“I didn’t think at all,” Judith said miserably, for, indeed, she had never thought that she was putting Simon in a position where any honorable gentleman would feel compelled to propose to her. What had seemed romantic looked only shabby now.

“Why did you come?” Simon asked quietly.

For a moment, Judith was dumb. What could she possibly say to excuse her conduct? She looked over at Simon and around the familiar room, which most likely she would never see again, and spoke, without thinking, what was in her heart.

“I came because I miss you.”

“Miss me? We have just seen each other a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, but ... Oh, this is much harder to explain than I thought.”

Simon needed to be sure, once and for all, what her feelings were.

“Please try.”

“It is not the same, seeing you socially upon occasion or having you invite me for a drive. Here, in this room I somehow feel closer to you. I don’t want only a friendship.” What difference did it make now, thought Judith, she had nothing to lose, having lost it all by her stupid precipitous action. “I love you,” she said through the tears that were falling and started to get up before she made an even greater fool of herself.

Simon had begun to move when she made her confession and was in front of her chair, on his knees, before she could stand up. He reached up to touch her face and felt it wet with tears.

“My dear, I am sorry for teasing you. I knew it was you the moment you entered the room. It was only that I wanted so much to hear you tell me you loved me so I could be sure you meant it.”

Simon began to trace Judith’s face with his long fingers, and when he reached her mouth, he stood up and, pulling her up with him, guided her to the sofa, and finding her mouth again, covered it with his, all the while smoothing her hair gently with his hands. Judith closed her eyes, and they were both lost in a darkness that dissolved barriers and brought them close. She kept her eyes closed as they broke apart, and reached her hand up to Simon’s face, to “see” it in another way. But she was too hungry for the sight of him, and her eyes flew open, and seeing his face bending down over her, realizing he would never see the love in her eyes, she quickly covered his mouth and forehead with light kisses, murmuring, “Oh, my dear love, I am so sorry. I don’t think I realized it till now.”

Simon knew immediately what she meant. “It is all right, Judith. If it doesn’t matter to you, then I am only glad that out of a great loss has come such happiness.”

“I want you to see how I love you,” whispered Judith.

“I can feel it. And that is truly all that you will miss?” said Simon. “I will be dependent upon you, to a degree. I will never be able to compliment your appearance. Some people will, no doubt, say we made the marriage of convenience that I once offered you.”

It was so wonderful to Judith to have her love returned that she could not, in that moment, conceive of any greater happiness.

Simon pulled back. “We must stop ... or I do not trust myself.’’

“Nor I.”

They both sighed at the same time, and then had to laugh at themselves, which broke the tension.

Simon moved a little farther away, as though to weaken the current between them.

“Miss Ware,” he said in mock-serious tones, “I am aware that having compromised you so thoroughly, I must now offer for you and will call upon your brother this evening.”