Marjorie Farrel (17 page)

“Why, yes, your grace, I suspect most of us are lucky enough to have experienced the kind of vulnerability that love entails. It is surely a bittersweet part of life, but one I would not miss.”

“I fear my headache is getting worse,” Simon said abruptly. “I will send you home early today.”

Judith murmured the startled hope “that he would feel better,” and left. She had expressed herself far too openly and easily and didn’t quite know what to make of Simon’s hostility. For that is what his impatience and ironic tone had seemed like. She went home and had a short but good cry in the privacy of her bedroom, which relieved her immensely and enabled her to view Simon’s abruptness more objectively, as the result of his late night and drinking.

Simon, who could not indulge in a similar relief, decided to ignore all affairs of state and estates and commandeered his footman to take him for a walk. He walked quickly and easily now when on someone’s arm, hesitating only when they came to a curbstone. He was becoming adept at using a walking stick to feel for obstacles, but today he depended only upon James.

He was ashamed of himself, he decided. He had snapped at Judith because of his irritability from the night before. And, he had to be honest, because he found, to his surprise, he did not wish to think of her in love. And how did he wish to think of her? As a plain spinster, serving her brother and reading to him for the rest of her life? She is bound to marry, if only not to end up as a maiden aunt in charge of her nieces and nephews. Surely I could not want so warm and intelligent a woman to be condemned to that?

Simon realized that Miss Ware had become an important part of his life. He looked forward to what he thought of as “her” days. He enjoyed the reading not just for its own sake, but for the opportunity it afforded him to hear another view on things. Judith’s honesty and her willingness to speak her mind were as appealing as her clear voice and ability to get to the meat of an article or speech.

We have more than a business relationship, thought Simon. We have a friendship, and I don’t want her someday to move out of my life. I need her. And the only way to keep her in my life is to marry her.

He had, of course, no thought of romance. He had given up all hope of that. But we have respect for each other, we enjoy each other’s company, we share a sense of humor. And I have something to offer that could outweigh the fact of being married to a handicapped husband. I can offer her position and fortune as well as friendship. Surely that makes it not such a bad bargain. Most marriages, after all, are based on far less mutual liking and respect. And I want an heir, he thought suddenly, surprised at the intensity of his desire, for he thought he had resigned himself to his cousin’s eventual succession. I would not force myself on her, but surely we could work out a partnership that would serve us both.

Having so rationally sorted out his feelings, Simon meant to waste no time. He intended to present his proposition to Judith the next morning, before he let his conviction weaken.

* * * *

After her cry of the day before, Judith had scolded herself for her missishness. I respond with far too much sensitivity. One bad mood of the duke and I am overset. He is only a man, after all, and it is unfair to romanticize his bravery and not allow him bad moods.

When she returned the next morning, therefore, she had put the incident out of her mind and busied herself finding her place. Then she realized the duke was restlessly pacing back and forth behind the sofa, his hand running along the back as he turned. He reminded her of a caged animal.

She sat down and watched him pace a few minutes more. She was reluctant to break the silence. He obviously had something on his mind and she would wait until he was ready.

“Miss Ware?” Simon had finally stopped and turned to face her, as he located her by her voice.

“Yes, your grace?”

“I have done some thinking since yesterday. First, I wish to apologize for my bad temper.”

“There is no need, your grace. I had quite forgotten it, and so should you.”

“Thank you for your tolerance.” Simon’s tone was cool and rather businesslike, covering up his nervousness. “I have something I wish to ask you.”

“If it is for more reading time,” she broke in, “I fear I would not be able to give it to you.” Judith was unable to think of anything else Simon would want from her.

“No, it is not as your employer that I wish to speak,” said the duke. His tone softened. “It is as a friend. I hope that I may consider us friends?”

“Oh, yes,” Judith said warmly. “I am happy to hear we share the same view of our relationship.”

“Well, then, I have been thinking of how we may be of some help to each other.”

Judith had no inkling of what was to come. If Simon did not want to increase her hours, then what other service could she render? Advice on another employee? Advice on a matter of the heart? Perhaps he had formed a tendre for some lady of quality and was afraid to approach her. Judith’s hands grew cold as she realized they had been speaking of marriage the other day. She felt as if she were on the edge of an abyss, waiting to find out if she was to jump.

“I would like you to consider becoming my wife, Miss Ware. I can offer you my friendship, and security and position. I know this may seem rather sudden,” Simon said, after a moment of dead silence while Judith sat in shock. “I could think of no gradual way to approach this, and once I was convinced, I wished to convince you. After all, we know and like each other better than many couples do before they marry.”

Judith was speechless. If she had ever entertained the fantasy of an offer from the duke—and she had—her fantasy was one in which Simon interrupted her reading of a love lyric to tell her how much she had come to mean to him and then reached over to pull her into a passionate embrace. She would have had to refuse, of course, because of the difference in their stations. But she had never imagined a scene where he would discuss what sounded more like a rational arrangement than a loving union.

“I don’t quite know how to answer you, your grace,” Judith said slowly.

“You do not have to give me an immediate answer, Miss Ware. I know this is sudden, and perhaps all the advantages I can offer you do not, after all, outweigh the disadvantage of a blind husband.” Simon wanted that objection, which to him was the crucial one, out in the open.

Judith was beginning to get angry. Simon was correct, there was an unprecedented intimacy between them; they had spoken of it before, that feeling of equality and companionship that existed in the world of Simon’s library. He had, she knew, a warm regard for her. But he sounded as though he had been weighing the pros and cons of the match in some imaginary scale where his blindness was outweighed only by his wealth and position. On which scale they were equal only with regards to outside measurements: her lack of money and position balanced by his handicap.

“You speak of friendship and of advantage and disadvantage, your grace, but not of love?”

“Oh, I do not expect love, Miss Ware,” Simon said, rushing in to reassure her. “One of the facts I had to accept with my blindness was that I would never figure in any woman’s romantic dreams.”

“And friendship is enough for you?”

“It will have to be,” Simon answered quietly.

“And what would I get, to outweigh, as it were, a handicapped husband?”

“You would have my faithful companionship as well as all the advantage of my wealth and power. As you know, I intend to resume my seat and play an active role in politics, and your interest in reform, would, I am sure, give you an additional reason—”

“Well, that is not enough for me,” interrupted Judith. “Perhaps you do not expect love in a marriage, but I do. You speak as though you are offering me an honor, as I suppose in a way you are. But underneath you are insulting both me and yourself. You make the assumption that no woman of your own rank could love you, and therefore you are willing to settle for a poor gentlewoman whom you think dependent upon your favors. And you assume becoming a duchess would be more important to me than who my husband was, or how he felt about me.”

“You make it sound as though I am proposing a typical marriage-mart interaction,” said Simon. “I assure you I was thinking more of the fact of our friendship. I was thinking, after yesterday, of a marriage of true minds.”

“I agree that friendship need be a part of marriage. But certainly one would wish a husband and wife to be bringing more than their minds to such a serious step. In your offer is the suggestion that each of us is in some way unmarketable, that we need to settle for a rational union. Well, I wish for friendship in marriage, but I also want a more passionate kind of love, however shameless that makes me, and if I do not find a man who can give me both, I will live alone.”

Simon had been so sure she would see the mutual advantage, the way he had, that he was completely floored by her response. Was she expecting him to claim he loved her? It certainly did not sound as though she loved him. He was so convinced no woman could love him passionately that he could not even begin to guess what lay behind Judith’s anger.

“Miss Ware, I see I have made a complete mull of this. I did not mean my proposal as an insult. It merely occurred to me that a friendship was a good basis for marriage and that we both need each other, in different ways.”

“Need! Oh, I see. You protect me financially and I take care of your needs for a reader and a ... breeder.”

Simon was shocked and rather angry himself by now.

“That is not how I meant it at all. I would never have imagined you would take it this way.”

“You have a very poor imagination, then! You are operating under several false assumptions. One is that a marriage—or, yes, even a friendship—is founded only upon a mutual and equal meeting of needs. You think you need me, your grace, to read, to converse with, to provide female companionship and eventually an heir. You think that because I need security and my own household, I would take you despite your blindness.”

“So it is my blindness that is the obstacle.” Simon’s face was wiped clean of all expression.

“Oh, you are such a great fool,” Judith cried. “You are blind and deaf to what is right in front of you. Your sense of inferiority keeps you from seeing what you don’t need eyes for.” Which is, she thought, what is right here in this room, between us.

“I did not realize you considered me a fool,” Simon said stiffly.

“Your grace,” she said, speaking more calmly, “I do appreciate that you value the friendship between us enough to consider marrying me. But as much as I value it, I could not marry without love. Marriage, after all, is a union of bodies as well as minds.” Judith was blushing, could Simon have seen her. “I am convinced a husband and wife should be equally delighted in each other physically as well as mentally. I know very few are lucky enough to find this in marriage, yet I still hope for it myself. I am sorry you have given up that hope. I think you have come to terms with your blindness most courageously. But I think until you learn that you are still attractive to women and that you are free to choose, rather than be resigned, no woman’s heart would be safe with you. She would never know whether you wanted her for herself or only because you did not believe in the possibility of having anyone else.”

“Perhaps what you say may be true in an ideal world, Miss Ware. But here in our world what is found attractive is appearance, grace, and strength. I no longer move with grace. I am dependent. No, hear me out,” he said as Judith started to protest. “I cannot see. I have made my peace with that. I will never sink back into despair, although I know I will continue to feel it occasionally. I am, however, helpless. I cannot move across a strange room without someone to guide me. I could not dance with my wife. I could never compliment her upon her appearance, or indeed upon the beauty of our children. I cannot win a woman’s admiration by my horsemanship. I shall always be, at some level, angry and ashamed, and I cannot always hide that.”

“I cannot believe that you, of all men, think so little of women. Of course there are many to whom those things would matter. But I never imagined those sort were intimates of yours. Do you think all women value a man because he can put a hole in the middle of the bull’s-eye at Manton’s? I suppose some women are superficial enough to care that you could not see their new gown. But that you would think passion is dependent upon externals ... It is as though we have been brought up in different countries and speak a different language.”

Simon had revealed more of his feelings than he had to anyone, having been carried away in the heat of the moment and the openness that was the chief characteristic of their friendship. He could, in his resulting discomfort, only fall back upon the role of employer.

“I am sorry I have distressed you by all this, Miss Ware. I most certainly would not have made my proposal had I not thought you might be receptive to it. I did not, though you obviously think it, expect an immediate and suitably humble response. I am afraid, however, that we have gone too far to return to our comfortable companionship. I apologize both for upsetting you and for having to deprive you of this income. I feel honor-bound to continue your salary until you find something to replace this position. You will, of course, receive high recommendations.”

Judith sat completely still. Under the circumstances, it would be impossible to continue in the duke’s employment. She had said too much to ever be able to go back to an easy companionship, pretending his offer had never occurred. Had there truly only been friendship between them, a polite offer might have been politely rejected, and after some moments of embarrassment, she might have continued as his reader. We would never have flown at each other if there were no stronger feelings, she thought. It is his damnable blindness that gets in the way. And now I will never see him again. She did not know how she could bear it.

And yet she could not have accepted him. She knew that. His offer would have given her what she wanted above all: to be with him. But she was convinced both of them would have been settling for far less than they could find with each other. How could she take advantage of his insecurity? He had to discover that he was, with or without sight, still capable of attracting women. He wanted to be safe from the insecurity and vulnerability of love. Well, thought Judith, no one could be safe, or protect himself from that lover’s humility of “You could not possibly love me,” by substituting a false humility of “You could not possibly love a blind man.” She would not help him cut himself off from that experience and, at the same time, accept half of what she wished for him. She was, she realized, more of a gambler than she thought: all or nothing.