by Rye Hart
“I shall decline,” he said.
“You shall not! It is a dance and you shall dance,” she said firmly.
“I cannot dance.”
“You can dance. You know the steps,” she challenged.
“Are you mad? How shall I dance when I cannot see?”
“You shall dance, my lord. You shall forget what you cannot see and you shall consider what your limbs can do, and you shall dance,” Bella repeated stubbornly.
Dennison was both dubious and afraid. He had been nimble and a sought-after partner before blindness. But under Bella’s guidance, he recalled the steps of the dances. Bella herself was a graceful dancer, easy to lead. As they moved, he attended to the sound of her skirts as she performed the steps, he paid heed to her stillness when the dance ended, and he was mindful of the wafting of the scent of lavender as it drifted past his nostrils. Her hands were smooth and strong, her gait lively. When the dancing ended, he was sorry that she was no longer in his arms.
“Harold tells me that you are accounted pleasing to look at,” he said when she was preparing to leave, having declared the dancing lesson a success.
He sensed her pause as she put on her gloves. “And you are accounted handsome to behold,” she replied. “Good day to you.”
He was cross at supper that night, although it was no fault of Bess, who had prepared a meal with her mother’s skill. He went to bed early, irritated and disinclined to sleep. The house, although inhabited only by himself and the two Griffins who were servants, was in repose but its lord was not. The dance was in two days, and he had a fashionable outfit to wear. He would make, he supposed, a passable figure among the company of people of local society. It was time to seek a wife, he recognized. When the spring came, it would be time to go to London for the Season when the true matchmaking got underway. Laverly smiled, recalling Bella’s comment that, come spring, he could begin to listen for the sounds of the birds as he learned to distinguish their songs. Imagine, a gentleman up at dawn to attend to the tunes of birds. It was laughable.
Martin had progressed admirably, but Harold lingered on the day of the dance to ensure that Laverly was properly outfitted. Will Pargetter proudly took the reins for the carriage that Laverly had purchased along with the chestnuts that he had bought with Will’s assistance. He felt a moment’s doubt when Will opened the carriage door, but there was a footman ready to lead him into the assembly. Gauging his steps, Laverly found that he was able to ascend the stairs on his own, and if his pace was more measured than a young gentleman’s was wont to be, he at least had the satisfaction of standing on his own when his arrival was announced.
“Laverly, you look well! I’d no idea you’ve flourished,” Sir Godfrey greeted him. “To tell the truth, I didn’t know if you were accepting invitations, but Eleanor insisted. She says it’s time for you to consider leaving your bachelorhood behind you. Have a caution, I warn you; the ladies are ready to pounce upon you. My advice is to seek the punch bowl at every opportunity.”
Laverly laughed. “I’m looking forward to dancing,” he said.
“Dancing? Well that’s splendid,” Sir Godfrey said uncertainly. “I’d no idea.”
Lady Pennington, who was perched by the punchbowl, told him that her daughter Lavinia was most eager to hear about Waterloo. Lady Mechling was of the opinion that he should regale them with stories about Lord Wellington, who regarded Dennison so highly. Lord Bentley whispered to him that there was a game in the parlor; not high stakes, but a respite from the swarm of young ladies seeking to be the next Duchess. They were as astounded as Sir Godfrey had been when he told them that he had come anticipating the dances.
He had no dearth of partners. When he led Lady Eleanor out for the second dance, he sensed the gaze of the assembly upon him. Lady Eleanor was an excellent dancer and a woman of intuition who knew how to make her partner appear even more adept than he might by nature be. Perceiving his success, he found that he was as sought after as a belle.
“Can’t even get near you,” complained Bentley. “There’s no competing with a hero of Waterloo. I thought to take a few guineas from you tonight, but the damned damsels will not free you from their snares.”
He did not dance every dance, but when he was not dancing, he was the center of conversation. He told a few amusing stories about Lord Wellington and some light tales of life in camp, sparing them the truth about the battle and the injury that had taken his sight. He could not play cards, but there were other games, although he discovered that gambling had lost its allure. Perhaps it was because he could not see, but he wondered if the true reason was because he had found a game of chance with much higher stakes.
He spent the night in a wave of perfumed ladies, in a room where the odors of a splendid supper and a potent punch dominated the space. He was aware of the music as he had never been before, and he would not have minded sitting to listen. But he danced, and conversed, and bantered, performing all the deeds of a gentleman. He could not understand why, as he rode home, he felt that the evening, which had clearly exceeded his hopes in reclaiming his place in society, should have felt so empty and devoid of substance.
Martin helped him to undress because Martin was his valet. Dennison realized that he was quite capable of doing the task on his own. But gentlemen did not undress themselves and Martin knew his role. Laverly stayed up for a time, considering what he would tell Bella, and how pleased she would be with his achievement. Even the demanding Miss Dart, he felt, would account it a feat to have gotten through an evening with the gentry without embarrassing himself.
The next morning, Bella listened closely to his rendition of the previous night’s success. “I danced a multitude of dances,” he said, “and didn’t tread on anyone’s toes.”
“Capital!” she praised. “Then my job is done. You have matriculated with honors, Lord Laverly and you are ready to go into the world. Your success will be the gossip of the week and you can count on having many invitations over Christmas.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded. They were in the library, seated in the magnificent chairs in front of the fireplace. He knew to an inch where the chairs were placed; he had, with ill-disguised pride, led Miss Dart to her seat as if she had never been in the room.
“This was our goal, was it not? To instruct you so that you could return to your position in society without your blindness restraining you. You have done so, clearly excelling. Our work is ended.”
“I don’t wish it to be ended,” he blurted out. “I’m sure there is more that I must master. You cannot, Miss Dart, be so uncharitable as to leave me to my own devices.”
He heard the shifting of the weight in the chair as she rose. “I must. Our work is done. You will entertain as a Duke through the holidays and when the Season begins, you will be in London, seeking a wife among the elegant young ladies who are eager for your hand. You will make quite a conquest, I have no doubt.”
“I do not know if that is my wish,” he said awkwardly.
“Nonsense,” she declared. “It must be. You have returned to your position as you must do.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I am as I always have been, I daughter of a schoolmaster who was once a gardener. My life and yours do not intersect.”
“What if I wish them to do so?” Dennison pressed, feeling a strange sort of panic at the prospect of Bella’s leaving his life.
“They cannot.” Her voice sounded different, the cushions of mirth that encircled her words gone. There was a very different tone as she spoke.
“Bella,“ He raised a hand to her cheek and his fingers came away wet. “Bella, are you crying?”
“I have a cold,” she replied. “I must go home and tend to it or I shall be all a-sniffle at the Advent service. Do not see me out, I know the way.”
The scent of lavender lingered after she departed.
Chapter Seven
Laverly slept poorly that night, wrestling with the significance of what he real
ized had come to pass. He had, entirely against his will or intention, fallen in love with Bella Dart. She had none of the guiles of the winsome daughters of society. She was not pliant and complimentary, she did not attempt to win him with the wiles of her sex. She had not attempted to win him at all. He had returned to his position in society only to discover that it was a void and as empty of vision as the eyesight which had formerly gazed upon the world of entitlement, wealth and position and thought it sufficient. It had taken the loss of his sight to discover that his path was not destined to be the traveled road of a Duke’s son. It was, instead, the pathway of self-achievement and respect which arose from what he had done and not what he had been born into. He had learned his lessons from the good-hearted innkeeper’s family and from Will Pargetter’s dogged determination not to allow his infirmity to erode his worth. Most of all, it had come from Bella Dart, a woman whose admiration had to be earned.
“Martin, will you tell Will that I need him to saddle Gwennie to the wagon. We are going for a ride,” he instructed Martin after he was shaved and dressed.
“Yes, sir,” Martin said obediently. “At what hour?”
“I shall first partake of your sister’s cooking. I find that I will need to be nourished for my endeavor.”
“Sir, is everything all right?” Martin had inherited his father’s caution and although he didn’t know what his master intended, he was aware, from his expression, that the Duke was set on an adventure of some sort.
“Quite all right, Martin.”
After another of Bess’ excellent meals, Laverly got into the wagon. Will took the reins; Gwennie was a placid horse with a good mouth and an easy manner. Laverly had ridden her around the grounds but not beyond the boundaries of the estate. He was not sure enough of the route to the Dart cottage to venture on his errand alone, but he trusted Will’s discretion.
“We are heading to Miss Dart’s cottage,” he told Will. “I have unfinished business with her. You will leave me there, and return in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Will said.
“You may visit your family during that time, or---are you courting anyone, Will?
Will confessed, bashfully, that he had begun walking out with Lizzie Cantwell, the middle daughter of the Cantwell brood.
“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it. Love is most invigorating. Do you plan to wed?”
Will said that was his wish, but it was early days yet and he hadn’t asked her father for her hand.
“Her father. Yes, of course. You must follow the rules. If you wed her, you can move into one of the bigger cottages on the estate. I hope that you will stay in my employ; you are a valued member of the staff,” Dennison said.
Wil confessed that it was his wish to do so and to continue to help Laverly build up his stables. “Word is, sir, that you’re likely to marry in the coming year yourself. They do say that you were much admired at the squire’s dance.”
“I do intend to marry,” Laverly said. “My bride is not exactly a horsewoman, but she must have the very best that the stables can afford. She must have the best of everything.”
“Yes, sir,” Will agreed, wondering why, if the Duke planned to marry well, he was heading to the Dart cottage. The ways of the gentry were more than he could understand, but the offer of a bigger cottage on the estate would be an added inducement when he approached Mr. Cantwell for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
They arrived at the Dart cottage and Laverly stepped down. ”A half hour, Will. It should take no longer than that.”
“I’ll be back on time, sir.”
Laverly knocked on the cottage door. He was greeted by the scent of lavender as the door opened.
“My lord!” Bella exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see your father. Is he about?”
“Yes, he is within. Why do you need to see him?” she asked with curiosity.
“Bella, have we guests?”
“It’s Lord Laverly, Father, he’s come to see you.”
“Has he indeed?”
Laverly heard Larkin Dart chuckle. “My lord, welcome. Will you join me for a taste of Bella’s excellent butter cake?”
“I would be pleased to do so, sir, but I have business with you that must be attended to first,” Laverly said.
“I see. Bella, will you leave us?”
“Why on earth should I leave you two? What business can you possibly have?” she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice.
“Bella, will you show your father such disrespect?” Laverly inquired.
“I do not disrespect my father,” she challenged firmly.
“Excellent. Then be a dutiful daughter and leave us to our business.”
The silence revealed that Bella was not convinced of his reasoning.
“Bella, my dear,” said her father. “Please do as Lord Laverly requests.”
“I shall leave,” Bella said, plainly irked by the mystery. “But I shall return soon.”
Laverly heard her putting on her winter cloak. “Please return in fifteen minutes,” he told her.
She did not answer, but the slamming of the door gave her response.
Once he was sure Bella was out of earshot, Dennison got down to business. “Mr. Dart, I have come to ask for your permission to marry your daughter.”
“I thought that might be it,” Dart replied.
“You knew?”
“Please to be seated, my lord. Such matters are best discussed sitting down,” Larkin said.
“How did you know?”
“As you have learned, to be blind is not to be insensate. I knew from my daughter.”
“Has she indicated an affection for me?” Lavelry asked eagerly.
“No,” Dart replied, “but she has been disconsolate since she broke off the lessons with you. I knew that she previously had been in excellent spirits when she returned from the Hall, until the day when she came home and insisted that she was afflicted with an ague and was not crying. She has had that ‘cold’ for days, and Bella is always in superb health.”
“I see,” Laverly said with renewed hope. “Do I have your permission then?”
“You have my permission, but it is Bella who must be convinced. She is a proud young woman and she will not marry a Duke only to be held in contempt because she is not of your station.”
“Sir, if we marry, she will be a Duchess and she will bear my children. Can I offer any greater indication of my regard for her and her worthiness?”
“Do you love her?” her father asked.
“I cannot live without her,” Dennison said in response.
“She is obstinate, she is not biddable, and she is independent. She will challenge you. You must not expect a wife who intends to pay heed to the marital vow which holds her to obedience; she is not an obedient woman,” Larkin said, to push the point that Dennison must be sure of his intention.
“She is what I need, sir, and I believe that I am what she needs.”
“Yes,” Dart considered. “I believe you are correct.”
When Bella returned, Dart had donned his winter coat and expressed the intention of stepping out for air. He had closed the door behind him before his daughter could remonstrate with him.
“Bella,” Laverly said. “Will you sit down?”
He had turned one of the chairs so that it faced outward from the table. He heard her sit down. When she did so, he lowered himself to one knee. “Bella, I have asked your father for his permission and now I ask for your consent. Will you be my wife?”
“Your wife? Are you drunk or mad?” she asked, surprise in her voice.
“That’s a fine response to a marriage proposal,” he said indignantly.
“Get up. You look absurd on bended knee like some lovesick swain. You are stepping on my dress and will tear it,”
“You neglected to teach me how to properly comport myself when proposing marriage; it is entirely your fault if I disappoint you. Do I disappoint you, Bella?”
“No,” she said, her voice obscured by what sounded like tears.
“Bella, are you crying?” he asked tenderly.
“I have a cold.”
“That cold is lasting too long. You should summon Dr. Keating for medicine.”
“It will end in good time,” she responded.
“You have not answered me.”
“I cannot marry you.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said simply.
“That is insufficient.”
“I do not need to give a reason.”
“Shall I give one then?” He gave her no chance to answer. ”You are afraid to accept my proposal because you fear that you will not receive the respect from the gentry who may consider their breeding to be higher than yours. You fear that you will be shunned because the schoolmaster’s daughter will be the Duchess of Laverly. You fear that you will have to learn new ways and you are accustomed to being the one who teaches. In short, my dear, beautiful, beloved Bella, you are a coward.”
“I’m not afraid of anything!” she cried indignantly.
“Are you afraid of loving me?” he asked softly.
“And I’m not beautiful. You can’t see, you have no idea whether I am ill-favored or fair,” she ignored his question.
Laverly took her hands in his. “Tell me then,” he said. ”Tell me what I would be looking at if I could see you with my eyes.”
She sniffed, and a handkerchief brushed against his cheek as she pulled it from her sleeve.
“I am too short for you. We should look ridiculous.”
“As long as we can reach to kiss one another, our height is perfect.”
“My hair is not fashionable; I do not have ringlets.”
“Then I shall not muss it when I kiss you,” he countered.
“My nose is not demure.”
“Is it overlarge?” he asked with amusement.