Marjorie Farrel (18 page)

“I am happy that I have been of service to you, your grace. I feel privileged to have formed this friendship and am only sorry it must end. I cannot, however, take a salary for something I have not done.”

“You must at least take a month’s pay in severance,” said the duke.

“All right, your grace.” Judith stood up and was surprised to find her legs shaking. She almost sat right down again. "Would you ring for my wrap? I would rather not wait in the hall for it.”

“Of course,” Simon said, and then stood, waiting for Martin to bring Judith’s pelisse.

When she was ready to leave, she turned to him and reached out her hand to grasp his. “I wish you well, your grace.” She turned quickly and left before Simon had time to respond.

He stood there, listening to her steps. The sound of the front door closing behind her echoed throughout the house, making it feel empty and cold.

When Judith got outside, she found that what had begun as a sunny day had turned, in typical London fashion, into a cloudy, wet one. The clouds now scudding across the sky, were spitting rain. There was no hackney in sight. She was glad. She could not have faced anyone and felt driven to some activity. She decided to walk at least part of the way home. After a few blocks, the rain became heavier, and she pulled her pelisse around her, wishing she had worn her old cloak. The rain dampening her hair began coursing down her face, mingling with her tears. Her slippers were becoming wet cardboard, but she was almost glad of the discomfort, since it distracted her from the pain of leaving Simon. She was vaguely aware of rude stares and comments as she walked, but she was so lost in her misery that it took some minutes before she heard a familiar voice addressing her.

“What the deuce are you doing out in this weather, Judith? Get into my carriage before you catch your death.” Robin had been on his way to Simon’s when he noticed her bedraggled figure. “I thought this morning was one of your mornings with the duke?”

“It is ... was ... Oh, Robin, he asked me to marry him.” Judith started sobbing.

“There, there,” Robin said soothingly, giving her a hand up. “I would have thought you might be happy at that? Perhaps I have been wrong in thinking you have come to care about Simon?”

“I do, but Simon does not love me. Perhaps he could, but he doesn’t know that yet. No, he asked me to have a sort of marriage of convenience. In his heart, he does not believe a blind man is lovable, and he sees us as being mutually useful to each other.”

“Would that be such a bad beginning to a marriage?”

“Robin, I love him too much to accept an offer when he believes no one else will. What kind of marriage would that be? I want him to ask me as a whole man.”

“I didn’t think his blindness would bother you, Judith?”

“Lord, you are as bad as he is, and you take me as literally. I don’t mind that physical dependence, except for his sake. That is nothing. No, it is his sense of willingness to settle. The old Simon would not have settled. He was no coxcomb, but he was aware of his attractiveness to women. If he married me now, how could I ever trust his feeling for me? He sees it as a good bargain: my lower status weighing in the same as his blindness. Surely you see I could not accept!”

“Yes, I begin to understand. But how will he ever be convinced he has much to offer any woman?”

“Only by meeting someone else of his own rank who is attracted to him as he is. The irony, of course, is that that will not restore him to me, but take him away altogether.”

“I cannot think of any woman he could meet who would be as right for him, Judith.”

“There will be, someday. The more he resumes a full social life, the more likely it is to happen. And there is nothing I can do.”

“Let me take you to Barbara,” Robin said.

“Thank you, Robin, but, no, I’d rather go home. I will come and visit soon, but for now I need to be alone.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear.”

When they reached Gower Street, Robin gave the reins to a small boy who was standing about on the corner, and walked with Judith to the door. “Take care, Judith. We will see you soon, I hope?”

“Yes, Robin, I am not one to go into a decline, I assure you,” said Judith, attempting a smile.

Robin kissed her lightly on the top of her head and rescued his team from his new “groom,” who was so intent on fending off two friends who wanted in on the job that he had almost forgotten the horses themselves.

Hannah opened the door just as Judith was turning the handle.

“You are back early, Judith,” she said with some surprise, for Judith was more likely to stay more than her two hours with the duke than to cut them short.

“Yes, Hannah, and I fear I am back to plague you until I find another position. I will not be returning. The duke and I have had a disagreement.”

Hannah looked at Judith’s face and knew the disagreement went beyond the political or literary. She had not seen such a look on her face since Judith’s father died. She asked no more questions and, putting her arm around the girl’s shoulder, drew her in and shut the door behind them.

“You are soaking wet, child,” she exclaimed as she felt Judith’s dress.

“Yes, I was walking home until Robin picked me up.”

“Go upstairs immediately and get into something dry, or you’ll catch your death. I’ll make us a pot of tea.”

“Yes, Hannah.” Judith smiled to herself at Hannah’s mothering. Since they had moved to London, she had been treating Judith, at least, like a grown woman. (Stephen, of course, being her “baby,” would probably never be anything else in Hannah’s mind, even when he reached fifty!) At this moment, however, she was very glad to feel taken care of.

She pulled off her wet dress and stood shivering as she toweled herself dry. She pulled on an old wool gown. Her shoes were probably ruined, she thought as she slipped her feet into a pair of slippers.

When she got down to the parlor, Hannah was there, stirring up the fire. The old Staffordshire teapot that Hannah had brought with her was sitting on the table. Instead of milk, Hannah had brought a lemon, and the translucent slices were neatly arranged on a celadon plate. For one moment, Judith forgot Simon, in her appreciation of the still life in front of her: amber tea, blue-green plate, thin wheels of fruit, and thick slices of brown bread. No matter how miserable I am, there is always this, she thought—”this” being the ability to be caught up in a moment that revealed the beauty in commonplace things. She thought of Simon, who could not find any solace in what was to be seen around him, and the tears, which she had been holding back since meeting Robin, started to roll down her cheeks.

Hannah turned and saw Judith standing there, gazing at the tea tray. She quickly moved over to her, and pulled her against her bony chest. Judith’s ear remembered the feel of Hannah’s sternum, and a tendril of her hair caught on a button, just as it had when she was younger and turning to Hannah for comfort. She let herself go and sobbed away as Hannah stroked her hair, murmuring soothing phrases.

Judith at last pulled back and winced as her hair pulled free from the button. “Oh, Hannah, now you are all wet, as though you had been out in the rain! I am sorry, but I needed that cry.’’

“Here, blow your nose,” said Hannah, thrusting a napkin at Judith, “and then sit down and have your tea.”

Judith obeyed and Hannah poured her a cup. She squeezed some lemon into it and stirred in a small teaspoon of honey.

“There. That should keep you from getting a cold. And lift your spirits.” Hannah was trembling with curiosity, but would not lower herself to ask. Either Judith would tell her the details or she wouldn’t, but she would find out in any case, for nothing could remain hidden for too long in such an informal household as they kept.

“Well, Hannah, you deserve to know what I’ve done,” Judith said after a few sips had warmed her. “I’ve refused a duke!”

“Humph. You refused the squire because you didn’t love him. I don’t know that it’s being a duke makes that much difference.”

“You are right. It is not his being a duke that makes the difference. It is the fact that I love him.”

“And why, then, did you refuse him?” Hannah was secretly relieved on one point: Judith had fallen in love. She had been as worried as Stephen that her isolation and lack of portion would discourage offers. And that her intelligence and independence might keep her from feeling anything closer to passion than warm regard.

“Because he doesn’t love me. He only asked me because he thought it would be a fine marriage of convenience. No, I do him an injustice. He would be a kind and faithful husband, I am sure, and would expect the same from his duchess. But he no longer expects any woman to respond to him passionately, and so he is only looking for a full-time reader, after all.”

“If you love him, why not marry him in the hope that he will come to love you?”

“Because I am convinced Simon cannot love anyone until he knows women can still be attracted to him, that he is, indeed, still lovable. So here I am, sending him off to find love with someone else. I won’t even see him again. The only way I was ever likely to see him in London was the way I did: as his employee.”

“Major Stanley and Lady Barbara are his friends. Surely you will have news from them and could even run into him at their house?”

“He doesn’t know we are acquainted, and they can hardly introduce me without exposing our small deception. No. I shall have to make up my mind to never seeing him again. And now I am also again without an income.”

“Surely he would not have sent you off with nothing?”

“No, as a matter of fact, he offered to pay my wages until I found a new position, but I would accept only a month’s severance pay. I suppose I will end up tutoring or teaching young ladies to draw, after all. But I don’t have the heart to start looking again.”

“And so you shouldn’t. We certainly have enough to run the house. I think you should give yourself some time before you go off to another position. You need to get back to your own drawing, and spend more time with the Stanleys. You must, it seems, avoid occasions when the duke might be there, but I see no reason for you to continue your stubbornness about accepting invitations from those you meet at Lady Barbara’s.”

“Perhaps you are right, Hannah,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will accept an invitation to call or to a small dinner. It would keep my mind off the duke. Barbara has offered me a gown, and I could use some of my wages for a walking dress or two instead of more books. It would be something to look forward to, now that there is nothing else.”

Hannah nodded in agreement. She was convinced Judith needed to be with her peers, not just to help ease her heartache, but also for enjoyment. Lord knows, the girl has had no fun in her life for the past three years, she thought. She has not danced or flirted, and her work with the duke would hardly fit into the category of light entertainment. They had obviously both needed the intimacy, but a lasting attachment must move out of the hothouse atmosphere of two together and survive exposure to the outside world. It will be good for him too, she mused further, to miss her and not take her for granted. From what she has told me, he does need to find his way socially again, and this he can do only alone. And eventually they very well may encounter each other by accident at a dinner party or musical evening ...

On Thursday morning, Francis was surprised to see the duke still at breakfast at ten o’clock. Judith was usually a few minutes early, and Simon was always in the library waiting for her.

The duke heard him in the hall, and called out, “Is that you, Francis?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Can you join me for a cup of tea?”

“Certainly.” Francis sat down and the footman in attendance poured him a cup and offered him muffins from the sideboard.

Simon nodded to the footman and said, “You may leave us,” and sat silent for a moment, staring in front of him.

“Is
there anything in particular that your grace wanted?” Francis asked.

Simon started. “I am sorry, Francis. Yes. I wish you to write out a draft to Miss Ware for a month’s wages. And write her a letter of recommendation for me to sign. She will no longer be reading for me.”

Francis took a minute to absorb this news. As far as he knew, Judith had been a very satisfactory reader. Francis was usually busy when Judith came and went, but on the occasion he was in the hall when they were saying good-bye or greeting each other, he had seen that the duke and his reader were on comfortable friendly terms. He was grateful to Judith for her part in Simon’s recovery, and had grown to like her very much. She always had time for a short conversation with Francis himself. He could not imagine what could have happened to upset what was obviously a satisfactory arrangement for all concerned.

“Was Miss Ware unhappy here, your grace?” Francis did not want to press the duke. If he wanted to let down the barrier between employer and employee, he could, and he often did.

But Francis was never the one who took the initiative. He left it to Simon to confide in him.

Simon sighed. “No, Francis, it isn’t precisely that. Tell me honestly: if you were a woman, would you consider marriage with a blind man?”

Francis was not sure what the question had to do with the matter at hand, but Simon was clearly inviting him to answer as an intimate, and it was also clear that Simon was considering a painful reality. Francis had no illusions about the ton. As the younger son of a country squire, he himself carried no value on the marriage market. No parent would wish his daughter to contract an alliance with someone who had no inheritance, no matter what his prospects as the secretary of a nobleman. Money and rank were the first considerations in most minds.

After fortune and position, appearance was of the greatest importance. What most of society shared was the belief, however illusory, that they were above the common herd. Appearance was all, and any falling away from outward perfection that might remind them of their own vulnerability was shunned. So Simon’s question, obviously already answered in his own mind, was one that Francis knew emerged from a real concern. He was not about to dismiss it with a glib, optimistic answer. He spoke thoughtfully, “I think many young women would not, your grace. I would guess a particularly conventional young lady and her family would be looking for ‘perfection.’ And even some less superficial woman might still draw back from the difficulties. But I would think an intelligent woman in love with the man would not see his blindness as a reason to reject him.”