Marjorie Farrel (8 page)

Judith was not returning to school with Barbara, but going on to her first position as governess. She had made up her mind to enjoy her last days of freedom, and did. Before the weather became worse, all four of them rode in the mornings. When they found themselves snowed in, they all seemed to forget their adult status and enjoyed parlor games and card-playing and endless conversations. Barbara’s talent was obvious even then, so each evening they retired to the music room and ended the day with a quiet concert.

Judith had liked Simon immediately. But as the days went by, she realized that in addition to feeling he was one of the family, she was also attracted to him. They shared many opinions, on everything from politics to literature. Simon seemed to value intelligence in a young woman, unlike the young men of Judith’s neighborhood. As the end of their stay drew near, she realized she was well on her way to being in love with the duke, a state she was determined to avoid. After all, she had resigned herself to her future: three years as a governess, and then London with Stephen.

In the abstract, not being a conventional young lady hurt not a bit, but never before had her straitened circumstances been brought home to her. Barbara would leave school and become part of the same social set as Simon. Had matters been different, Judith might have been doing the same. She might have looked forward to being introduced to Simon again, even dancing and flirting with him. But things were not different, and on the day before she was to leave, Judith awoke from a dream of waltzing with the duke with both pain and anger in her heart. She was very quiet at breakfast and shortly thereafter sought out the library for a place to be alone.

She spent some time randomly pulling books down from the shelves, and then she gave up. She could not concentrate. She moved over to the windows and stood gazing out at the gray day. The weather was becoming warmer and the snow was melting. The pristine whiteness was no longer. The snow was dirty, and Judith felt herself sinking into self-pity. But it is not fair, she thought. It is too hard. If I were a man, I would not have to become someone’s servant.

She did not hear the door open. She was utterly sunk, and tears were beginning to slide down her cheeks.

Simon said her name softly and, when she didn’t respond, moved closer and called her again. Judith started, and he apologized for disturbing her privacy. She muttered something and tried to wipe her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.

“I fear I startled you, Judith. Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” she said, still facing the window.

“I do not wish to intrude, but it is clear you are upset. Can I help in any way?”

“No, your grace,” said Judith, turning around.

“I thought we had agreed to be informal?”

“Yes, your ... I mean, Simon. I am ashamed of myself. I was just indulging in a bout of self-pity. Our holiday has been so pleasant that I will hate to leave.”

“You do not, I think, return to school with Barbara?”

“No, I have a position as a governess in Hertfordshire. My own school days are over.”

“And do you not find that hard? Watching your friends go back to a carefree existence?”

Simon’s ready sympathy touched Judith, and she lost all sense of decorum. Instead of hypocritically denying her anger, as a well-bred young woman should, she said, with a mixture of anger and grief, “Yes, I do find it hard. Had my father lived, I would have a home to go to. Might even have been brought out, had we petitioned a distant relative. But now, I must live among strangers until Stephen is down from school. I have never been so aware of the injustice in being female.”

“I feel rather presumptuous in attempting to offer you comfort,” said Simon, “but in a small way I do know how you feel. When I was younger, I felt very trapped by my position. I wanted the freedom to be myself, and not the Duke of Sutton. I was quite ready to chuck it all at one point and go live in a Godwin-like household!”

Judith smiled through her tears. “Surely your parents would have been horrified.”

“They were already gone, which, I suppose, made it seem like a real possibility.”

“Whatever kept you from it?”

“I decided that if I was born to a title, then perhaps a more useful thing to do with it than give it away to my third cousin was to use the influence I had for those causes I believed in. My ideas have modified a bit over the years, since the outcome of the revolution in France must needs give everyone pause, but I don’t think I flatter myself in believing I have done some good. I have also developed a sort of philosophy over the years. I believe we are all limited in some way, after all, merely by being human. I think we find freedom in our acceptance of necessity. Of course, it is far easier, I realize, to hold to this philosophy in a position such as mine,” said Simon apologetically. “If there were some way for me to help you, I would. But I could hardly take you under my protection without ruining your reputation.”

Judith smiled at him. “Oh, there is nothing anyone can do, your grace. And indeed, I am being quite foolish. I have already made up my mind to what I must do, and this is only a moment of weakness. Three years is not forever, after all. I will see my brother occasionally and then I shall be free. I do not truly want to live the life of a lady of fashion. I just find myself, at times, wanting things that I don’t really want, if that makes any sense at all to you?”

Simon nodded. “I do not find that hard to understand. And I admire you very much, Judith, and wish you well.”

Judith left the library feeling comforted by Simon’s sympathy. She left Ashurst the next day and relived the memory of that Christmas holiday many times. Until she had heard Simon’s name again today, however, she had not been fully aware of how well she remembered him. In fact, she realized that someday she would probably have questioned Barbara about him, and that one of the reasons she had been happy to resume her friendship with the Stanleys was a hidden hope that she might one day meet Simon again.

I am no better than a schoolgirl, she thought. I suppose all along I have been dreaming that we would meet again and that he would immediately fall in love and rescue me from Gower Street. And now I will be going to his house under false pretenses.

Somehow it seemed all right to daydream occasionally about bumping into Simon at Barbara’s, or of Robin bringing Simon along for one of their rides, for that would have involved no deception other than pretending to have forgotten him, and no action on her part. But to reenter Simon’s life as Miss Ware, taking advantage of his blindness, made her feel a bit guilty. She had originally wanted the position thinking it was someone else. She still wanted it, but was confused about her motives. Was it only to be near the duke again? Could she not have kept looking for another situation? But Robin was so sure that the situation was ideal, since he would get firsthand reports on Simon’s progress. Robin had no second thoughts, but then Robin had never been an impressionable eighteen-year-old who formed an attachment to a good-looking, sympathetic duke.

Surely that is over, thought Judith. I have lived three years on my own, and am, I hope, matured. I do read well, I certainly care about the duke as a friend, and after all, he may well refuse to interview me.

Two days later, Judith paid the hackney driver and turned toward the duke’s town house. She hesitated, almost ready to jump back in the cab. Why on earth was she here? How could she have imagined this would work? Why had she been so impetuous and presumptuous? She heard the clatter of the horses moving away, and walked up the steps.

The young footman who opened the door stared at her rudely.

“Yes, miss? Do you have some business here?”

“I have an appointment with the duke,” Judith answered tentatively. Perhaps Francis had not been able to get her an interview? “My name is Judith Ware.”

Francis appeared from behind the footman. “This must be Miss Ware. Come in, his grace is expecting you. I hope you had no trouble getting here?”

“Oh, no. It is not that great a distance by cab.”

“Before I bring you in to the library, I would like to speak with you myself. As the duke’s secretary, I screen all applicants for any positions, no matter how highly recommended they come.”

“Of course,” replied Judith, and followed him into his office.

“Please be seated, Miss Ware.”

Francis walked over to the window, his back to Judith. He seemed to be searching for words, and after a moment he turned back to face her.

“I am not sure you truly understand what this situation will be like, Miss Ware. I understand Major Stanley’s concern for the duke and his frustration at continuously being turned away. I know why you yourself need and want the position. But I am not sure either of you realizes how different the duke is from what you remember. He has hidden himself behind the facade of his rank. He becomes furious at the least condescension. Or, I should say, cuttingly sarcastic, since that is his usual tone these days.”

“I must confess to feeling some pity,” Judith said, slowly. “Who could not? But I do not think I am here to bolster my sense of usefulness or virtuousness. I think I am aware of the danger in that. And, after all, I am mainly here for my own self-interest. I need an income, and am here to exchange my reading for it.”

Francis visibly relaxed. “I am sorry, Miss Ware. It must sound rather presumptuous of me to question your motives. But I do not wish any setbacks from what I sense as the first progress in weeks.”

“Mr. Bolton, your devotion is so obvious there is nothing to forgive. Now, what can you tell me about him, and this position, that will help me obtain it?”

Francis sank gratefully into a chair and leaned forward toward Judith. “You understand that the duke’s face, his eyes, have not been injured?”

“Yes, Robin told me he looks the same as ever, aside from a scar from the initial blow.”

“I think he finally is convinced of his blindness,” Francis said. “But on some level, he still cannot accept what this means to him. So there are some days when he is himself: warm, cheerful, and sure that with time his life will return to normal. These days, however, are fewer and fewer, as the weeks go by and nothing changes. More of the time, he is withdrawn, rather bitter, and obviously despondent. He allows himself to be dressed. He breakfasts. I might read him the latest news, and then he shuts himself into the library for hours. He admits no one.”

“What does he do in there?”

“I don’t know. Brood. I suspect that a certain amount of rest and quiet has been good for him. He was still suffering from headaches when we arrived in London. But the fact he will still not go out or admit any of his friends worries me. His close friends, like Major Stanley, are faithful. But acquaintances tend to drop off after a while, and invitations decline. His estates are my responsibility, and the more he relies upon me, the harder it will be for him to resume control. And his place in politics? Well, the government has always managed to carry on without the contributions of honorable, intelligent, committed members.” Francis smiled. “This desire for a reader is the first sign he has given of any interest in returning to life, and I don’t want his first step back jeopardized.”

“Mr. Bolton, as you can see, I am no feather-witted, spoiled young beauty, and I am not likely to be scared away by the duke’s moodiness. Nor am I given to doing things I do not intend to finish. I met the duke briefly a few years ago and remember his sympathy at a difficult turn in my life. I value that memory, and now I have a chance to do something useful for him.” She stood up and looked down at Francis. “I assure you, although your acquaintance has been longer and more intimate, I share your concern and do not take this position lightly.”

Francis found himself looking up into serious hazel eyes that held determination and purpose. He blushed for his near rudeness, but as he started to slammer an apology, Judith waved her hand.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I can only admire your devotion. If I have acquitted myself honorably, should we not go in to his grace? Will I need to give a reference? The Thorntons would be happy to vouch for me.”

“I think he will leave that in my hands, if he approves of you. As he has left everything, these past months.” This last was said almost as an aside, and Judith looked at him more closely.

“Why, you must be exhausted, Mr. Bolton. You have obviously had to assume all responsibilities for the duke. And, I suspect, with little thanks from him at this time,” she said shrewdly.

Francis started to protest, but seeing her genuine concern, he admitted that he was close to the breaking point himself, as much from his worry about the duke as from the extra work.

“Well, then, you now have some help,” Judith said, extending her hand.

Francis took it gratefully and held it for a moment before letting it go and resuming his own air of competence again. “Let me bring you in to the duke, Miss Ware.”

As she followed Francis down the hall, however, Judith wondered how on earth could she have sounded so confident that this was the right thing to do? So lost in her own nervousness was she that she sensed, rather than saw, him stop in front of the large, paneled library door. She stood behind him, cold and trembling. He knocked and then opened the door, motioning her to step inside.

The room itself was smaller than many libraries that she had seen, but that only added to its charm. It was clearly a room that had been much used. Books lined the walls, of course, but they also sat in small piles on the floor, and on the large oak desk in the corner. One bookcase to the left of the fireplace held folios and older volumes. These were the only shelves that looked neat. The rest in the room held books like a cornucopia, all the rich “fruit” spilling out, ready to be tasted. Clearly the duke was a great reader. Or had been, Judith corrected herself with a pang of sadness.

There was a red Turkey carpet on the floor, and the mahogany furniture seemed to reflect this red in its luster. A large leather sofa was placed in front of the fireplace, and in the corner of the sofa, seemingly gazing at the fire, sat the duke. He turned toward Francis as he heard them approach, looking not quite at him, but a little beyond.