by Abigail Agar
“Your brother’s going to be all right, there, Max,” she told him, her eyes brimming. “Don’t you worry yourself.” After a long pause, Marina added, “And remember that I love you both.”
Max shifted his weight, allowing his toe to graze along the edge of a floorboard. “Do you love us the way our mother loved us?” he asked.
Marina placed her palm against the bed, making Max scamper up and drop himself alongside her. Marina drew her arm around Max, hugging him against her. “Max, darling, I love all of you in my own way. Just as your mother loved you in her own way, and your father loves you in his way. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Max murmured.
“Nobody loves the same. But I love you more than I can possibly say out loud,” Marina whispered, drawing her lips to his forehead.
With a jolt, an image of all of them together: the four children, the Duke, and Marina, walking together as a family through the grounds, next spring, flashed before her mind. She imagined herself wearing a fine dress, dark green, that glided along the freshly-grown grass. Perhaps Lottie would hold her hand as Christopher and Max raced up ahead. Claudia would be behind them, in a lady’s dress herself, trying to pretend that she was disinterested. But of course, before long, she would join the laughter, the conversation, her twelve-year-old face scrunching into a wide smile.
Marina didn’t know how to hope for such a thing. She stood from Christopher’s bed, guiding Max to his bedroom, her heart pumping. The conversation seemed to continue without her, with her lending the appropriate response, even while she daydreamed about a future in which she could be their actual “mother.”
Would she ask them to call her that? Could she possibly be that for them?
But no. She had to halt that insane thought. She was grateful to have the life she did. She wouldn’t make the mistake of tossing it away, all for a romantic notion she wasn’t entirely sure the Duke shared with her.
“Good night, sweet prince,” Marina whispered at the doorway, as Max slid into his bed. “May flights of angels bid thee to thy rest.”
Chapter 27
The light had continued to pour into the Duke’s vision over the previous weeks, leading to him seeing various shadows, the whirl of Marina’s skirts over the floorboards, even a few of the leaves as they fluttered to the ground. But he still hadn’t made much mention of it, feeling sure that it might darken all over again. What a tragedy that might be: to have verbalised the beauty of seeing the world, only for it to diminish forever.
Since discovering Sally Hodgins’ and Jeffrey’s devastating affair and actions, the Duke had sent the police after Jeffrey (who’d escaped after discovering that Marina had the ledger book). He hadn’t assumed that Jeffrey would be found, as he sensed the man was far craftier than he’d thought before. Before, he’d often thought him to be a blubbering idiot. Perhaps that had been Jeffrey’s craftiness—making the Duke think one thing, while pulling the funds out from under him.
What an idiot the Duke had been. What an idiot to believe that everyone around him was worthy of his trust. He hated this about himself, knowing that he’d nearly met his ruin, only because he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
But on an early Thursday morning, Lucas the carriage boy shuffled up the steps of the mansion and demanded to see the Duke. Abigail, the new maid, brought him directly to the Duke’s study, where he proceeded to tell the Duke that Jeffrey had been found outside of London, hunkering down with his brother-in-law, “Unwashed, grovelling, speaking like a crazy man,” Lucas reported.
“Bring him to me immediately,” the Duke demanded.
He blinked at the young carriage boy, caught a glimpse or two of his bright blond hair, before he, too, faded to darkness. How the Duke so wanted to stare directly into Jeffrey’s little rodent-like eyes when he told him exactly what he thought of him! How he longed to watch him be put into prison, to pay for what he nearly put his family through.
It didn’t take long for the police to bring Jeffrey back to the estate. The Duke paced back and forth in his study, playing with the shadows that he could make out, trying to tweak his eyes. He found that he was beginning to see a few colours, the more profound and bold ones: the dark blue of an old dictionary, for example, or the bright red of the chair his father had given him, after he’d passed away. He stared at these colours until he couldn’t any longer, until the hue grew light and blotchy, and he had to rest all over again.
Upstairs, he could hear the wild scampering of his children and Marina, seemingly playing some sort of mid-afternoon game. He smirked to himself, feeling generally certain that Marina wasn’t the pure academic type. Perhaps another teacher would have to be brought in if his children were going to learn anything more than fun, games, and how to laugh till tears rushed down their faces and they were unable to breathe. The Duke had heard one such affair when they’d taken a recent picnic, on one of the last of the sun-drenched days. Marina had cried out, “Max, you’re weeping!” And he’d returned, “I can’t—I can’t stop laughing.”
The Duke had never heard of such a thing. Not since he was a boy, perhaps. When the world had felt alight, and laughter had rollicked through him like an earthquake.
The Duke remained in his study, listening to the clopping of hooves as another carriage approached the mansion. He drew his hands over his lap, his nostrils flared, and his eyelids closed. Within minutes, he could hear the howling of Jeffrey downstairs, his voice echoing against the foyer walls. “Get your hands off me! I know where I’m going! This was once my place of business, don’t you see? Lend me the last of my dignity, won’t you? The Duke, he’ll see to it that you, that you …”
But whoever had Jeffrey ensured that he shut his fat trap. The Duke stood, clutching his cane, and making his face stoic, trying to imitate his father. He remembered the glare of his father when the Duke had done something wrong, as a younger man. How horrendous, that face had been. The face had given him more shame than he possibly could say.
Abigail rapped at the door, and the Duke boomed out: “Come in.”
When the door opened, the Duke could see the outline of Jeffrey as he ambled in, perhaps a bit thinner than the Duke remembered, wearing an outrageous-looking, ragged coat, which flickered towards the ground. The man’s boots looked busted, with one of the bases dragging along the floorboards. Lucas and another man were handling Jeffrey from behind, holding him at the elbows.
“Duke, won’t you tell them to unhand me?” Jeffrey demanded. “Let me have a moment of dignity, won’t you?”
The Duke held up his hand, his palm flat and towards Jeffrey. Jeffrey stopped making noise, stopped moving. Lucas and the other man dropped their hands, allowing Jeffrey’s arms to swing at his sides.
“That’s more like it,” Jeffrey stuttered.
“Jeffrey, I’m going to need you to be quiet,” the Duke boomed. “For you to come into my house at this time and assume that you have any rights whatsoever, that’s an insanity. You know you don’t. You’ve nearly put my house and my life into ruin. My business nearly folded, all because of you.”
“Duke, for so many years, I fought for you. I helped you,” Jeffrey began, his voice high-pitched, like a whine.
“Don’t. Don’t pretend that you were ever a part of my world,” the Duke stated. “You were only clinging onto me, like some sort of spider, waiting to attack. And the moment you saw a hole open up, you did just exactly that. Alongside one of my most trusted servants, Sally Hodgins. You know that you will rot in jail for what you did.”
As he spoke, the Duke noticed that he was able to make out more and more of Jeffrey’s little, snivelling nose. He could spot the outline of his acorn-like eyes, far too small for his face. The Duke stepped forward, blinking several times, until he was peering just a few inches from Jeffrey’s face. He could smell the snot dripping down Jeffrey’s nose. He could inhale the smell of the scum in which Jeffrey had been living, somewhere outside of London. But most of all, he could se
e him. He could truly, really see him.
“Ah, Jeffrey. There you are,” the Duke murmured, his eyes glittering. “I so longed to see you again before they sent you away, so that I could imagine every single day that you were rotting away in that jail. So that I could remember just what your face looked like, the last time you ever saw the light of day.”
“Duke? What are you saying?” Jeffrey whispered. “You can see?”
“I can see you for all you’ve ever been to me, Jeffrey. Absolutely nothing,” the Duke spat. He drew his eyes across Lucas’ face, and then muttered: “Take him away from me, and make sure that he’s locked away in Leeds to await trial.”
“The police are downstairs,” Lucas said. “They insisted to come to bring you in for a proper statement. If you’re up for such a trip, Sir.” He paused for a moment. The Duke tried to follow Lucas’ eyes as they skated across the Duke’s face. “You can truly see me, can’t you?”
“Please, alert my children that I want to see them at once,” the Duke said. “Tell the police that I will be in town first thing tomorrow morning to give my statement for trial, and that I will be available to them throughout the duration of the trial.”
“Very well, Sir,” Abigail said from the corner before scurrying upstairs.
Lucas and the other man, who the Duke didn’t recognise, pulled the blubbering man towards the hallway. The Duke reached towards his desk, drawing a match from the drawer and striking it, so that he lit the candle atop his desk. The sun skidded beneath the clouds, casting the mansion in grey darkness. As he stood at the candle, he drew his fingers around the light, feeling the warmth. He was fascinated at its brightness, its wholeness. How had he missed so much, for so long?
With a jolt, he remembered that now, perhaps that very day, he would get a real sense for what Marina Blackwater looked like. He could finally see the curvature of her cheek, or watch the light glint across her eyes. He could finally discover what she truly looked like when she gave him that little, nervous laugh, when, perhaps, she felt she wasn’t supposed to be laughing with him. He would finally see the woman whom Sally Hodgins had assured him “wasn’t quite pretty, Sir, not really at all.” He’d always felt certain that Sally Hodgins was lying to him in this respect.
And, pretty or not, the Duke wasn’t entirely sure he cared. He was tumbling into love with this woman. And being able to link a face to her incredible aura was perhaps the biggest miracle of his life. He felt sure of it.
He waited, listening as his children scampered closer and closer to his study, their high-pitched squeals echoing across the house. Marina marched behind them, giggling. “Come now, children. I don’t know what kind of surprise your father has in store for us. But let’s be on our best behaviour, now, shall we?”
Chapter 28
Marina followed behind the children: Christopher, holding both of his crutches yet no longer using them, Claudia, who tossed her hair as she walked, and little Lottie and Max, who both flashed back anxious looks to Marina, uncertain. They’d been called to their father’s study in the wake of a bit of commotion from out front. Marina and the children had gazed down from the tower of the playroom, watching as Lucas and another man had pulled Jeffrey Brambles from the innards of the carriage. Seeing the man’s ruddy face again had shaken Marina to the core, making her hands draw into fists. How she longed to tell this man exactly what she thought of him!
At the doorway of the study, however, Marina could hear the howls of Jeffrey Brambles from down below, ensuring that he was no longer in the study with the Duke. Claudia clanked her knuckles across the door, waiting. And moments later, the Duke whirled open the door, his eyes wide and flashing from one face to another as if he could see.
“Father!” Claudia cried, bringing her hand to his bushy beard. “Father, can you possibly see me?”
Their eyes linked. The Duke dropped forward, drawing his arms around his eldest child. Marina felt a chill up and down her spine. Frequently, over the previous weeks, she’d felt that the Duke’s sight had been growing, but she hadn’t been certain.
“It’s a miracle,” Marina murmured, watching as the Duke bent down to each child, placing his hands on their cheeks.
Lottie immediately began to cry. She leapt into her father’s arms, dropping her cheek against his shoulder. He lifted her, perhaps in a way he had before he’d gone blind, and twirled her in a circle. She squealed at this, tossing her feet back and forth.
“You’ve grown, Lottie darling.” He sighed. “You’ll soon be far too big for me to lift, you know?”
“That’s not so, Father,” Lottie cried. Big, glittering tears snuck down her cheeks, falling down her neck.
“You can really see us, Father?” Max asked.
With Lottie still perched on his shoulder, the Duke brought his arm to Max’s shoulder, hugging the boy against him. Claudia’s eyes turned back towards Marina, who remained a few steps away, watching everything unfold as a play might on a stage. A million thoughts swarmed her mind. Thoughts of what would change, now that the Duke could see her.
What would he think of what she looked like? She tugged at her dress, pressed her hair. Had his sight been growing over the previous few weeks, as she’d suspected? Had he been able to see her coiled curls the previous night, or when she’d smiled so big at his joke—something she wouldn’t have wanted to give away? Sometimes, her body betrayed her. And now, he would know. He would see so plainly what her feelings for him were.
What would he do with that information? For even Marina could feel how much love she beamed out from her eyes.
Christopher hobbled into his father, dropping his crutches to the side. The Duke cackled, bringing his free hand to Christopher’s blond curls and shoving them back and forth. “You old man,” Christopher said. “As if you could possibly keep up with me, now.”
“I sure as hell will try.” The Duke laughed.
He tugged the children in with him, onto the rug before the fireplace in his study. They all beamed up at him, all seemingly wanting to be the only thing in his line of vision. Surely, it was strange to be seen after so long—to see consciousness behind that sight. Marina tapped in after them, almost grateful she hadn’t yet been included in the festivities. It felt too intimate. Yet, oddly, she felt addicted to the conversation and the chaos before her. As if it was a drug.
The Duke sat on the floor with his children, in the centre of the rug, with Lottie between his legs. Claudia raced forward, digging her fingers through his hair, while Max stood near his feet, beaming down upon him. Christopher did little laps around them all, singing an old song he’d taught to Marina once. One that their mother had sung to them, a long time ago.
The sight filled Marina’s heart. Although she knew, at least at this moment, she couldn’t be a part of it.
“Come on, Marina!” Christopher cried. “Come over here!”
The other children turned towards her, their eyebrows high. Lottie beckoned for Marina to join them, her little hand waving wildly like a leaf flapping back and forth. Marina did as she was told, careful not to make eye contact with the Duke as she went. For whatever reason, looking into his eyes now felt akin to looking into the sun. Just as she would see what he thought of her, behind those eyes, perhaps he would see what she thought of him.
She wasn’t fully prepared to give such information away.
Marina sat on her knees, spreading her skirts around her like a circle. The children continued their rampant talk, with Claudia acting something out in a way that made the Duke flash his arms back and forth, imitating her. “You can’t get away with your clown moves any longer, my Claudia,” he cried. “I will spot you again and again.”
“Father!” Claudia giggled. “You look foolish.”
“I don’t care, as long as you’re terribly embarrassed, my darling,” the Duke offered, swinging his arms around her and drawing her close against him.