by Heather Boyd
A wild, painful thudding began in his chest, rising to a dull throb. “Now see here.”
“No, Peter. It is done.” She stood and held out her hand. “I am very glad for you, but the life you are headed for has no room for me.”
He surged to his feet and grasped her shoulders. It seemed vital that he hold onto what he had started with Imogen. “Of course it has. And I don’t care if you continue to write your stories. You know full well that, despite my initial surprise, I’m your biggest fan and supporter. I’m proud of you. Just think of the life you could lead and the inspiration you could find when we meet new faces and situations.”
Her hands rose to his chest and kept him at a distance. She met his gaze directly, hiding nothing of her certainty in her decision. “I have done all of that. My imagination is quite good, but it would be selfish of me to deny you the freedom to choose with your heart. Go to London, visit your estate in Hereford, and enjoy your good fortune. Who knows, you may even find a woman who could love you as you deserve.”
Sharp humiliation stabbed his chest. It was no secret between them that their arrangement had been for practical purposes. She had offered him her fortune to save him from debtor’s prison and he had meant to repay her by being the best husband he could be. Lust or love had not been part of their relationship, but Peter had never understood before now that Imogen had never intended to let him close.
He dropped his hands from her arms, appalled that he had secretly hoped for more from their marriage, a deeper connection with his future wife. While he’d been imaging how their life together would unfold, she had likely been planning nothing of the sort. Would she have spent the wedding night alone, writing more stories to publish under the alias K.D. Brahms? He studied her face and saw the sad but determined expression that lingered there. She didn’t truly want a life with him. Damn, then why offer her fortune to save him in the first place? Had Abigail convinced her of the necessity and only now that Imogen had the flimsiest of excuses could she get out of it?
The idea of being a mistake, or being found wanting, wasn’t a new sensation, but with Imogen involved, he took it to heart. Peter stepped away. “Perhaps you are correct.”
“I am,” she said briskly. “How soon will you go?”
Could she not bear the sight of him a moment longer than necessary? Thank heavens he’d learned of her lack of feeling before the wedding day was upon him. He’d been saved a life of misery while hoping to win her heart. He willed his raging pulse to slow, to hide how great his disappointment. He glanced outside to the ending Brighton day and wished he could travel miles away in an instant to escape this humiliation. But he still had to pack and wait on Hawke. Tomorrow, on the journey, would be soon enough to break the news to his sister and her husband that there was nothing for him to return to Brighton for. He drew himself up to his full height, determined not to appear as broken and pitiful as he was inside. “Tomorrow. Quite early, I suspect since Hawke is arranging the carriage. I don’t believe I shall see you again.”
There was a long pause before Imogen spoke. “I imagine not. Pleasant trip, Sir Peter.”
And that was it. Peter was a free man.
He strode from her house without a backward glance and into the sun setting on a summer’s day that couldn’t hope to warm him. His heart, wherever it had taken refuge, was better off without Imogen George. He stepped inside his empty house, grateful that he didn’t have to face his sister or her husband, and slammed the door behind him. He would not give in to self-pity and bitterness. It was better to leave with no illusions. A year from now he would be blissfully happy with another woman. One who couldn’t wait to see him each and every day.
CHAPTER TWO
One year later …
Imogen stared at the pinprick of light held before her eye and willed it to come into sharper focus or grow to its fullest size. The flame wavered and then the world went dark again as the doctor’s candle was extinguished. The scent of melted wax, strong coffee and tobacco wafted over her signaling the doctor had just exhaled heavily and had no clue what to do to help her.
Another day with no good news. Imogen had long accepted darkness was her fate. Only her brother searched for a cure that likely didn’t exist.
“Are you in any pain, Miss George?”
The deep rumbling inquiry set her nerves on edge. The same question as dozens had asked before, dozens of times. There was no pain. No discomfort but the suffocating black void of her new and unwanted world. Could they not think of a new way to question a patient whose senses were reduced by the most important one? The tell-tale clunk of a small glass bottle being deposited on a side table sounded beside her and she struggled to keep her temper in check. “There’s nothing. I’ve no need for potions either, so please return that bottle you set on the table to its proper place before you go. I refuse to take it.”
A significant side effect of her loss of sight was her improved hearing so she overheard the doctor’s whispered promise to her brother that the potion could cure her. What utter rubbish. Along with her loss of sight was her lack of patience with her fellow man, especially when they were trying to sell her brother some concoction that would make her sick to her stomach.
She smiled pleasantly as her brother led the charlatan away, turning aside his claims of efficaciousness with promises to consider it. At least Walter had gained a degree of sense in detecting the signs of a money making scheme when he saw one and no longer grasped for cures. When she could no longer hear their heavy tread in the hall beyond her bedchamber, she turned her face to the warmth granted by the sun shining through the window and basked in the light breeze stirring the air. Another perfect Brighton day. If only she could be a part of it.
Imogen quashed the wish immediately. She’d had long enough now to prepare for the loss of her sight and not to hope for things beyond her reach. For two years she’d struggled with failing vision and her writing until she accepted that she’d have to give it up completely. She couldn’t see to write. She couldn’t review the words she’d written to make sure it all made sense and was free of errors. In fact, she couldn’t even write her own letters to her best friend Abigail who now lived in London most of the year. Walter had that unfortunate chore, though he never complained out loud about her frequent correspondence.
For a time, she’d considered hiring a secretary. Someone to record her stories and read them back to her and make corrections. She’d even got so far as to discuss the matter with her brother, but Walter had been afraid of her secret writing life being discovered and what that might do for her reputation, and his.
In the end she had to agree that the risk to the family’s reputation was too great. She also conceded it might also be a trifle awkward to speak such bold words as she was accustomed to using in her writing before a complete stranger. Her writing was private. No one knew what she’d given up because only her brother, David Hawke and Abigail knew the truth. Of course, her former betrothed had been informed of the real source of her wealth when the marriage contracts had been drawn, but she’d not heard of him since the day she’d broken their engagement a year ago. She hoped he continued to keep her secret.
So, KD Brahms had retired from writing and Imogen George had retired from life. It was better this way, but not at all easy. Every now and then, she forgot she couldn’t see and crashed into someone or something in her hurry to act. It was all rather embarrassing and had given her detractors ample amusement over the past months. That was why she preferred to remain at home.
She stood and reached for her walking stick, using it to guide her through the house and down the stairs. She’d fallen just last week due to a careless misplacement of a chair and she wasn’t quite so confident when she moved around still. Guided by the number of steps she took, she moved to the sitting room, took a place beside the window on her favorite wide couch and waited for her brother’s return. They always discussed the latest treatments presented by the fellows he brought to her. Today she
was determined to make him stop his search for more.
She didn’t have to wait long.
“You could have at least heard him out,” Walter grumbled as he fell into the chair opposite with a great crash.
“What was the point? They all say the same thing. Bed rest, a daily sip of a potion so vile it should not be inhaled, and faith that I will see again. I’m tired of it all. Please don’t bring another stranger home with you again.”
She heard the heavy sigh and the creak of furniture as her brother shifted. “Very well. No more strangers.”
Although that might sound like a promise, Imogen knew better than to believe her brother would give up entirely. He’d been all she could have hoped for. He even accepted why she had entered and ended her engagement to Peter Watson so quickly last summer without argument.
“Good.” Imogen kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. “Now, what are you doing for the rest of today? I hope you’re not planning to loiter about in case you’re needed again.”
Walter’s chair creaked. “I don’t like to leave you all alone so much.”
Imogen grinned. “I won’t be alone today. Miss Radley sent a note ‘round saying she was coming to call. No doubt she has juicy gossip after the ball last night so I should be well entertained.”
“Good,” Walter said. “As long as it’s not Miss Merton coming to call with her. I will not have that woman in this house ever again.”
Imogen sighed. “Really, brother. You must make allowances for petty ignorance. I blame Miss Merton’s parents for her groundless fears. As if blindness was catching. Her elder brother is an enlightened man. Perhaps in time Merton can convince her I am not diseased.”
In truth, Melanie Merton’s ignorance had been a startling shock at first. Her former acquaintance would not even stand beside her now. Imogen was very glad not to see the expression on the woman’s face anymore but she could hear the odd tremble in her voice from time to time when their paths crossed. Most days, she strove to ignore it.
“I thought she had a brain in her head,” Walter said savagely. Walter could not seem to follow her example.
Imogen hated it when Walter became upset and searched for a way to change his mood. “Well, perhaps it was on holiday when she learned the news about my loss of sight. I forgave her a long time ago. Surely you can do the same.”
A humph was all he managed.
Imogen held out her hand and her brother quickly took her small one in his. She squeezed. “Get along with you now and enjoy the day. Don’t come home smelling like the bottom of a barrel. My sense of smell is very keen now.”
He kissed her cheek. “Miss Merton’s a fool but we’ve an invitation to dine with them tonight. Valentine believes that time will prove her fears groundless. I won’t allow you to hide from her as if she is right.”
Imogen shook her head. “Be sure to offer my apologies. Don’t argue. You know you’ll only lose.”
Another deep grumbling sigh and Walter withdrew from the room with a reluctant farewell. He thudded around the entrance hall and then the front door opened and closed with a heavy crash. Imogen clenched her hands together, disappointment and resolve filling her. Dinner parties were utterly impossible. She didn’t dine before others anymore as there had been too many messy accidents in the past, moments where nervous laughter was smothered but heard anyway as she accidentally scraped food onto the tablecloth or knocked over a wineglass. However, she did miss the lively conversation that often sprung up between her neighbors. They were such a complex range of characters, all playing out their lives with no idea she’d been studying their every sly look or indiscretion and basing the occasional character on their foibles.
She rested her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the loud ticking of the clock while she sat doing nothing. In the past, these quiet moments alone with her thoughts had helped her solve problems in her story telling. But now that she could not write, her story ideas only tormented her with no hope of release.
A floorboard creaked, and even though she couldn’t possibly see, she opened her eyes.
“Drat,” a feminine voice muttered close by. “Still not quiet enough to get by you undetected.”
“Honestly, Julia, that’s not a nice trick to play on a blind woman.” Imogen scowled but found her friend’s attempts to fool her sweetly endearing. Julia Radley meant no harm and it gave them something else to talk about besides gossip. The exuberant young lady was the perfect distraction on a dull day.
“I’m testing your hearing,” Julia warned her footfalls coming closer. “You claim it’s superior now that your sight has deserted you, but you didn’t notice my arrival over the noise of your brother’s departure. You’ve a way to go before you can claim pre-eminence yet.”
Imogen laughed and held out her hand. “How are you today?”
Julia took it before thumping onto the cushion at her side. “Oh, well enough.” She wriggled around at Imogen’s side and the sound of a twig snapping reached Imogen’s ears. “How did that get there? Never mind. I definitely think I can make it out my window and scale the trellis in less than half a minute. I’ve done it twice already today.”
Imogen raised an eyebrow. Julia enjoyed setting herself impossible challenges. Her latest scheme was attempting to escape her house unnoticed and by any unconventional methods possible. Climbing out the window was new though. “In a gown?”
“Of course in a gown.” There was a pause. “I did acquire a pair of Linus’ old breeches before I made the attempt, adjusted so they would stay securely affixed to my waist and wore them underneath my gown.”
Imogen pressed her hand to her chest in horror but laughed anyway. There was nothing Julia wouldn’t do to escape being a complete lady. “A wise precaution. Suitably scandalous but at least if you fall and become entangled in the trellis there’s not a chance of your rescuer seeing more than he should.”
Julia tutted. “As if I’d need rescue.”
She squeezed the hand she held, imagining Julia’s indignant face. The only person who would need rescue would be the gentleman Julia set her heart on to marry. Her friend hadn’t mentioned anyone for the past year, not since Imogen’s own marital prospects had ended, but it was only a matter of time before the young woman singled out a handsome, dashingly romantic man she meant to sweep off his feet. “What shall we talk about today?”
“I have news.” Julia grasped her hands tightly and shook them up and down in her excitement. “My challenge to race one of the boys has finally been accepted and the date is set. Tuesday at noon.”
Dread filled Imogen as Julia paused, her breath rushed. A year ago, Julia had dared the gentlemen of the street to a swimming race in the ocean and been refused. At the time, no one had believed the challenge was worth the effort or the notoriety such a scandalous activity would bring down upon those involved. Imogen had hoped the matter had been forgotten. “Who accepted?”
“On that, I am sworn to secrecy until the very moment of our race though I am bursting to tell you every exciting detail. He threatened to change his mind if so much as a whisper of his name was heard. I’d be cross with him if the idea of beating him wasn’t so appealing.”
Imogen clutched Julia’s hands. “Please think of the consequences. You may ruin your reputation so badly that no decent man would marry you.”
Julia huffed softly. “Well, I wouldn’t want to marry a man who thought my reputation ruined by a bit of harmless sport. For years now our brothers and their friends have lorded their sporting prowess over us and it is time to challenge them to prove it. Will you come or not? It would mean so much to me if you were there to see my triumph.”
Imogen pulled her hand back into her lap. What she dreaded most was stumbling about in public. The constant worry that her escort would forget and desert her sent an uncontrollable panic through her every time she considered the chances. Walter wasn’t always the most attentive brother. “You know I will not
be able to see your victory.”
Her hand was caught up again. “I know but please. It would mean so much to have a friendly face in the crowd. Come on, Imogen. You hardly ever leave the house. I will miss hearing your thoughts about the race and what you discover is said from the shoreline.”
When Julia pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, Imogen’s resolve to remain apart from society cracked. If Julia was prepared to resort to sweet kindness to get her way, which she usually avoided, Imogen may as well admit defeat before the poor girl embarrassed herself. Nothing stood in Julia’s way when she had a goal in mind. “Very well. I’ll do my best to be there. Now tell me the particulars so I can convince my brother to deliver me to the beach to watch. Or listen as in my case.”
Julia quickly told Imogen the plan for the event without slipping out the tiniest detail of whom she was competing against. The girl knew how to keep a secret, but Imogen still worried. “Who knows,” Julia continued, “you may catch the eye of a chivalrous gentleman and be swept off your feet by his attentiveness.”
Although her fears for the event outweighed her own misgivings, Imogen had to laugh at her friend’s unwavering support. Until her sight had been lost, she had never known truer friends than Abigail Watson and Julia Radley. Imogen caught Julia’s hand as tears filled her eyes. “Dearest Julia. You are such an optimist. How many times must we have this discussion? That part of my life is over. No man would marry a blind woman if he had a better choice.”
“Maybe Sir Peter will come back and be moved by your situation.”
Imogen shook her head sadly. Julia had never lost her faith that her one-time-betrothed would return to Brighton and be so distressed by her condition that he would immediately propose and swear his undying devotion. But Peter had moved up in the world and moved on with his charmed life. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since she had ended their betrothal. Even Abigail did not write of him and she’d never dared ask. “I couldn’t bear to be married now and I am certain Sir Peter has many more pressing concerns. I’m sure he’s never given me a second thought.”