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 More of the time, he is withdrawn, rather bitter, and obviously despondent.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.
“Your grace, I have interviewed someone I found very satisfactory for the position of reader. I told you she would be here this morning. May I introduce her to you?”
“And I asked you to advertise for a gentleman, not a lady, Francis,” the duke said, quietly enough, but with a slight undertone of sarcasm. “Whatever made you consider her?”
“She was recommended by Whithedd, your grace, who knows of her brother. She has had some experience as a reader already, having been a governess in a family where there was a blind aunt.”
“I hope I am not to be compared with a helpless woman whose preference was likely for gothic novels.”
“Not at all, your grace,” Francis said patiently. “But I did think it important you have a lively and experienced reader.”
Judith was happy to see that Francis was not intimidated by Simon’s rudeness. He approached the duke respectfully, but not fearfully. She had instinctively determined that taking his sightlessness as a given, and not something to be remarked upon sympathetically, was the best way to approach the duke. She was, however, becoming a little impatient at being talked about as though she were not there, although perhaps the duke was not truly aware of her presence?
“I was also considering,” Francis continued, “this young woman’s need. She is a young gentlewoman living with her brother, and she wishes to supplement their small income. If you give her the post, she will be able to obtain a measure of independence.”
The duke seemed to listen with a different quality of attention to Francis’ last remarks. For weeks he had been concerned only with his own immediate needs, and this reminder that others were also dependent stirred his dormant but innate generosity.
“Very well,” Simon said, his voice less harsh, “I will meet her.”
Francis beckoned Judith closer. She approached Simon and stood in front of him. It was her first sight of him in three years. As he turned toward her, she took a quick breath as his gray eyes looked straight at her as if they could see. She was sure he would extend his hand, laugh, and say, “It is Barbara’s Judith, is it not? What is this masquerade about?” A scar running down his temple was the only reminder he could not see.
“Miss Ware, your grace.”
Startled by Francis’ voice, Judith gave a small gasp.
“I hope, Miss Ware, my face is not as intimidating as all that?”
“It is not your face which startled me, your grace. Indeed ...”
“Yes? Indeed what?”
“The scar is hardly noticeable. It is just that I was convinced you could see me.”
“I assure you, Miss Ware, I am truly blind, albeit temporarily, as my secretary may have explained to you. I find that one’s other senses do sharpen, and I located you by the rustle of your dress and the smell of your perfume. I understand you have had some contact with a blind person before?”
“Yes, your grace. In my last situation, in addition to my duties with the children, I was also responsible for reading to an older sister of my employer. She wore dark spectacles, however, and it was easy to remember her ...”
“Disability?” Simon’s voice com
bined hauteur and shame, and, yes, even a tinge of self-pity, thought Judith.
“I was going to say her sightlessness, your grace. She was by no means disabled. In fact, she was only limited in the most obvious ways,” replied Judith, her voice becoming stronger as she thought back to Lady Harriet. “She went blind gradually, you see, and had time to adjust herself.”
“And what caused her blindness, Miss Ware?” Simon’s tone was still somehow mocking.
“It was evidently some inherited weakness, since her father had lost his sight in the same way. There was no reason the doctors could discover, and no cure. She had the advantage of knowing it was going to happen, and prepared herself.”
“Well, Miss Ware, my disability is only temporary. My eyes themselves have not been injured, and the doctors assure me that my eyesight may return spontaneously.”
Judith gazed ruefully over his head at Francis, who shrugged his shoulders.
“You are indeed fortunate, your grace. In the meantime you wish a reader to ease the boredom?”
“Precisely. I find myself wearying of my own company, yet do not wish to go about society until I am myself again. What else can you tell me about yourself besides the fact you have been a governess? And have references, I presume?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Miss Ware. Francis, you may leave us alone for a few minutes.”
“Certainly,” he replied, and gave Judith an encouraging look before he left, closing the door behind him.
“You need not worry about the proprieties, Miss Ware. You are obviously quite safe with me.”
“I am not at all missish, your grace, nor am I a young lady of the ton. I have been in charge of my life these past few years. And Mr. Whithedd recommended you highly,” Judith answered, a trifle sharply.
The duke could not help smiling. “I think you have got something backward, Miss Ware. Surely it is that Mr. Whithedd recommended you highly? Is it not usually the applicant who is to be judged?”
Judith laughed. “Of course, you are correct. Yet although I want a position, I would not work for anyone. I am at last free to make some choices.”
“And how long have you not been free?”
“For the past few years, your grace. Since my father died.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yes. Stephen has just started working in the City. He is a year younger than I, and has only come down from Oxford. We have been looking forward to being together.”
“And have you not enjoyed being a governess?”
“In my last position, yes. Very much. I became quite fond of the whole family and they of me, and in some ways it was hard to leave. My first post, on the other hand, I was relieved to escape.”
“Oh?” Simon’s eyebrows lifted, questioning. “Don’t tell me. There was a dissolute younger son who was not adverse to paying unwanted attention to a pretty young governess.”
“Oh, no, your grace,” protested Judith. “I am not that pretty,” she said ruefully. “And it was a dissolute older man, the uncle of the little girl I was teaching.”
“Ah, a variation on a very old theme.” Simon’s face was more relaxed, and he smiled. “Well, I don’t mean to make fun of your very real trials and tribulations, Miss Ware. But you have a sense of humor about them. I congratulate you, for I seem to have lost mine. If I understand it correctly, you wish this position to supplement your brother’s income?”
“Yes. I was able to save some money, but I do not wish to be a burden to Stephen. A little extra money will mean we could enjoy the theater or opera occasionally. And my reading is far superior to my sewing.”
“An unconventional young woman. You are well-read?”
“Yes. And I must confess that your library, now that I have seen it, beckons to me quite as much as the idea of the salary. I hope you will consider me.”
Judith sensed a sudden withdrawal. Simon had appeared to be relaxing into his former, charming self, but then his face became again cold and removed.
“I will, Miss Ware. You may start the day after tomorrow, in the morning. I will want you here for two mornings a week. We will try it for three weeks and see if we suit each other. I will leave Francis to settle the details of salary. Thank you for coming,” the duke said, obviously dismissing her. He rang for Francis and, when the secretary returned, said, “I have decided to give Miss Ware a trial, Francis. I will speak with you later.”
Judith got up, smiling rather tentatively at Simon, as though attempting to bring him back to their few minutes of warmth, and then remembered he couldn’t see her smile or her quick curtsy. Francis gestured her out, and Simon turned again to the fire, as though he could indeed see it and was searching the flames for an answer to some important question.
Francis drew the library door closed behind him and gestured Judith down the hall. He sent the footman for her pelisse. They looked at each other for a moment and then let out simultaneous sighs of relief, releasing the tension of the past fifteen minutes.
“Well,” Francis said, “you must have done splendidly.”
“I was very nervous, and that sarcastic undercurrent almost did me in. I don’t remember Simon, I mean the duke, ever speaking like that.”
“No, of course not. But since he has returned home, it has become more and more the tone of every interaction. I think it serves as a protective device, and enables him to keep everyone at a distance.”
“There was a minute or so when he did sound more like himself.’’
“Did he? Then you must have had some effect. Perhaps this scheme will work out, after all.”
“I wish that above all things,” Judith said. “But for now, I must go.”
“We will see you soon again, then, Miss Ware?”
“Yes, Mr. Bolton, I am looking forward to it.”
Francis walked Judith to the door and watched her down the street. Her warmth and intelligence had left an impression, and he thought to himself that under different circumstances she was the sort of woman who would have been attractive to the duke.
In the library, Simon lifted his head as he heard the heavy front door close. He tried to picture Miss Ware, but found he had no imaginative capacity for creating a face out of nothing; indeed, he seemed to be losing his memory for what familiar faces looked like. He was lost in a black void, seeing nothing but the occasional flickerings of his last sight of Viscount Alderstoke’s blood spilling out over his hands, just before the rifle came down on his head.
Chapter 10
Two days later, Judith was admitted by the butler, who took her wrap.
Francis emerged from his office to greet her with a warm smile. “His grace is expecting you, Miss Ware. I will take you in today, but Cranston will admit you in the future, since this is a busy time for me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bolton.” Judith again found herself in a state of anxiety. In what mood would she find Simon? Would he have had any second thoughts about her employment? What had all seemed so simple in her imagination was in reality ... reality. Something that existed of itself and could only be discerned from moment to moment. Something she could not control.
Simon was sitting in the same place on the sofa, dressed, or so Judith first thought, exactly as he had been on Tuesday. Then she realized he was wearing a different coat this morning, and there seemed to be an air of expectancy about him, as though he were more conscious of his appearance.
His head turned as he heard the door open, and when Francis announced her, he nodded in their general direction.
“Good morning, Miss Ware. Excuse me if I don’t rise. You are prompt, I see. Or should I say, I hear. The clock just rang ten, and here you are. Please come in and sit down.”
“Good morning, your grace.’’ Judith could think of nothing to say in response to Simon’s ironic reference to his sightlessness. His compliments were at odds with his voice. It was almost as if he had decided it was his duty to be read to. She seated herself nervously on
the edge of the arm chair.
“Perhaps before you begin, you may wish to consider that our first meetings will be a trial employment to see if we suit each other. I may well find that your reading is not sufficiently dramatic, or restful, as the case may be. And you, to be fair, may find my present mood too much a burden. I hope you do not picture yourself as a messenger of fortitude and hope, Miss Ware?”
“I assure you, your grace, I am here as your reader, nothing else.” Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she said, “Do you have anything in particular you want me to read, your grace?”
“Since this is to be a trial period,” Simon replied, “I think we should start with self-contained pieces. I would not have you begin a novel and then leave me in the middle of a Radcliffe romance, never to find out whether the heroine is rescued from the diabolical monk.”
“Perhaps we might start with some poetry, your grace?”
“Just the thing. If you can read verse to suit me, I am sure we will deal well together. Unless someone has rearranged the shelves, you will find volumes of poetry to the left of the fireplace, starting”—Simon frowned as he attempted to picture the shelves—”at about my shoulder height. I will leave the choice to you.”
Judith got up and was soon caught up in the delight of browsing through old favorites and discovering new ones, as though she were at her favorite booksellers.
“This is a revelation, your grace,” she said spontaneously. “I would not have expected such a selection, and they all look well-read. You must be ...” She paused, embarrassed by her blunder, and continued as naturally as possible. “You must have been a prodigious reader. I am one too. It must be difficult to have lost what was obviously a great pleasure to you.”
“If you wish to remain, Miss Ware, I will have no pity,” Simon said sharply. “There is no need, after all,” he continued, with a change of tone that Judith found profoundly disturbing in its self-deception. “I am only temporarily deprived of the pleasure. Please, get on with your choice.”
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