“You speak of friendship and of advantage and disadvantage, your grace, but not of love?”
“Oh, I do not expect love, Miss Ware,” Simon said, rushing in to reassure her. “One of the facts I had to accept with my blindness was that I would never figure in any woman’s romantic dreams.”
“And friendship is enough for you?”
“It will have to be,” Simon answered quietly.
“And what would I get, to outweigh, as it were, a handicapped husband?”
“You would have my faithful companionship as well as all the advantage of my wealth and power. As you know, I intend to resume my seat and play an active role in politics, and your interest in reform, would, I am sure, give you an additional reason—”
“Well, that is not enough for me,” interrupted Judith. “Perhaps you do not expect love in a marriage, but I do. You speak as though you are offering me an honor, as I suppose in a way you are. But underneath you are insulting both me and yourself. You make the assumption that no woman of your own rank could love you, and therefore you are willing to settle for a poor gentlewoman whom you think dependent upon your favors. And you assume becoming a duchess would be more important to me than who my husband was, or how he felt about me.”
“You make it sound as though I am proposing a typical marriage-mart interaction,” said Simon. “I assure you I was thinking more of the fact of our friendship. I was thinking, after yesterday, of a marriage of true minds.”
“I agree that friendship need be a part of marriage. But certainly one would wish a husband and wife to be bringing more than their minds to such a serious step. In your offer is the suggestion that each of us is in some way unmarketable, that we need to settle for a rational union. Well, I wish for friendship in marriage, but I also want a more passionate kind of love, however shameless that makes me, and if I do not find a man who can give me both, I will live alone.”
Simon had been so sure she would see the mutual advantage, the way he had, that he was completely floored by her response. Was she expecting him to claim he loved her? It certainly did not sound as though she loved him. He was so convinced no woman could love him passionately that he could not even begin to guess what lay behind Judith’s anger.
“Miss Ware, I see I have made a complete mull of this. I did not mean my proposal as an insult. It merely occurred to me that a friendship was a good basis for marriage and that we both need each other, in different ways.”
“Need! Oh, I see. You protect me financially and I take care of your needs for a reader and a ... breeder.”
Simon was shocked and rather angry himself by now.
“That is not how I meant it at all. I would never have imagined you would take it this way.”
“You have a very poor imagination, then! You are operating under several false assumptions. One is that a marriage—or, yes, even a friendship—is founded only upon a mutual and equal meeting of needs. You think you need me, your grace, to read, to converse with, to provide female companionship and eventually an heir. You think that because I need security and my own household, I would take you despite your blindness.”
“So it is my blindness that is the obstacle.” Simon’s face was wiped clean of all expression.
“Oh, you are such a great fool,” Judith cried. “You are blind and deaf to what is right in front of you. Your sense of inferiority keeps you from seeing what you don’t need eyes for.” Which is, she thought, what is right here in this room, between us.
“I did not realize you considered me a fool,” Simon said stiffly.
“Your grace,” she said, speaking more calmly, “I do appreciate that you value the friendship between us enough to consider marrying me. But as much as I value it, I could not marry without love. Marriage, after all, is a union of bodies as well as minds.” Judith was blushing, could Simon have seen her. “I am convinced a husband and wife should be equally delighted in each other physically as well as mentally. I know very few are lucky enough to find this in marriage, yet I still hope for it myself. I am sorry you have given up that hope. I think you have come to terms with your blindness most courageously. But I think until you learn that you are still attractive to women and that you are free to choose, rather than be resigned, no woman’s heart would be safe with you. She would never know whether you wanted her for herself or only because you did not believe in the possibility of having anyone else.”
“Perhaps what you say may be true in an ideal world, Miss Ware. But here in our world what is found attractive is appearance, grace, and strength. I no longer move with grace. I am dependent. No, hear me out,” he said as Judith started to protest. “I cannot see. I have made my peace with that. I will never sink back into despair, although I know I will continue to feel it occasionally. I am, however, helpless. I cannot move across a strange room without someone to guide me. I could not dance with my wife. I could never compliment her upon her appearance, or indeed upon the beauty of our children. I cannot win a woman’s admiration by my horsemanship. I shall always be, at some level, angry and ashamed, and I cannot always hide that.”
“I cannot believe that you, of all men, think so little of women. Of course there are many to whom those things would matter. But I never imagined those sort were intimates of yours. Do you think all women value a man because he can put a hole in the middle of the bull’s-eye at Manton’s? I suppose some women are superficial enough to care that you could not see their new gown. But that you would think passion is dependent upon externals ... It is as though we have been brought up in different countries and speak a different language.”
Simon had revealed more of his feelings than he had to anyone, having been carried away in the heat of the moment and the openness that was the chief characteristic of their friendship. He could, in his resulting discomfort, only fall back upon the role of employer.
“I am sorry I have distressed you by all this, Miss Ware. I most certainly would not have made my proposal had I not thought you might be receptive to it. I did not, though you obviously think it, expect an immediate and suitably humble response. I am afraid, however, that we have gone too far to return to our comfortable companionship. I apologize both for upsetting you and for having to deprive you of this income. I feel honor-bound to continue your salary until you find something to replace this position. You will, of course, receive high recommendations.”
Judith sat completely still. Under the circumstances, it would be impossible to continue in the duke’s employment. She had said too much to ever be able to go back to an easy companionship, pretending his offer had never occurred. Had there truly only been friendship between them, a polite offer might have been politely rejected, and after some moments of embarrassment, she might have continued as his reader. We would never have flown at each other if there were no stronger feelings, she thought. It is his damnable blindness that gets in the way. And now I will never see him again. She did not know how she could bear it.
And yet she could not have accepted him. She knew that. His offer would have given her what she wanted above all: to be with him. But she was convinced both of them would have been settling for far less than they could find with each other. How could she take advantage of his insecurity? He had to discover that he was, with or without sight, still capable of attracting women. He wanted to be safe from the insecurity and vulnerability of love. Well, thought Judith, no one could be safe, or protect himself from that lover’s humility of “You could not possibly love me,” by substituting a false humility of “You could not possibly love a blind man.” She would not help him cut himself off from that experience and, at the same time, accept half of what she wished for him. She was, she realized, more of a gambler than she thought: all or nothing.
“I am happy that I have been of service to you, your grace. I feel privileged to have formed this friendship and am only sorry it must end. I cannot, however, take a salary for something I have not done.”
“You must at least take a month’s pay
in severance,” said the duke.
“All right, your grace.” Judith stood up and was surprised to find her legs shaking. She almost sat right down again. "Would you ring for my wrap? I would rather not wait in the hall for it.”
“Of course,” Simon said, and then stood, waiting for Martin to bring Judith’s pelisse.
When she was ready to leave, she turned to him and reached out her hand to grasp his. “I wish you well, your grace.” She turned quickly and left before Simon had time to respond.
He stood there, listening to her steps. The sound of the front door closing behind her echoed throughout the house, making it feel empty and cold.
When Judith got outside, she found that what had begun as a sunny day had turned, in typical London fashion, into a cloudy, wet one. The clouds now scudding across the sky, were spitting rain. There was no hackney in sight. She was glad. She could not have faced anyone and felt driven to some activity. She decided to walk at least part of the way home. After a few blocks, the rain became heavier, and she pulled her pelisse around her, wishing she had worn her old cloak. The rain dampening her hair began coursing down her face, mingling with her tears. Her slippers were becoming wet cardboard, but she was almost glad of the discomfort, since it distracted her from the pain of leaving Simon. She was vaguely aware of rude stares and comments as she walked, but she was so lost in her misery that it took some minutes before she heard a familiar voice addressing her.
“What the deuce are you doing out in this weather, Judith? Get into my carriage before you catch your death.” Robin had been on his way to Simon’s when he noticed her bedraggled figure. “I thought this morning was one of your mornings with the duke?”
“It is ... was ... Oh, Robin, he asked me to marry him.” Judith started sobbing.
“There, there,” Robin said soothingly, giving her a hand up. “I would have thought you might be happy at that? Perhaps I have been wrong in thinking you have come to care about Simon?”
“I do, but Simon does not love me. Perhaps he could, but he doesn’t know that yet. No, he asked me to have a sort of marriage of convenience. In his heart, he does not believe a blind man is lovable, and he sees us as being mutually useful to each other.”
“Would that be such a bad beginning to a marriage?”
“Robin, I love him too much to accept an offer when he believes no one else will. What kind of marriage would that be? I want him to ask me as a whole man.”
“I didn’t think his blindness would bother you, Judith?”
“Lord, you are as bad as he is, and you take me as literally. I don’t mind that physical dependence, except for his sake. That is nothing. No, it is his sense of willingness to settle. The old Simon would not have settled. He was no coxcomb, but he was aware of his attractiveness to women. If he married me now, how could I ever trust his feeling for me? He sees it as a good bargain: my lower status weighing in the same as his blindness. Surely you see I could not accept!”
“Yes, I begin to understand. But how will he ever be convinced he has much to offer any woman?”
“Only by meeting someone else of his own rank who is attracted to him as he is. The irony, of course, is that that will not restore him to me, but take him away altogether.”
“I cannot think of any woman he could meet who would be as right for him, Judith.”
“There will be, someday. The more he resumes a full social life, the more likely it is to happen. And there is nothing I can do.”
“Let me take you to Barbara,” Robin said.
“Thank you, Robin, but, no, I’d rather go home. I will come and visit soon, but for now I need to be alone.”
“Whatever you wish, my dear.”
When they reached Gower Street, Robin gave the reins to a small boy who was standing about on the corner, and walked with Judith to the door. “Take care, Judith. We will see you soon, I hope?”
“Yes, Robin, I am not one to go into a decline, I assure you,” said Judith, attempting a smile.
Robin kissed her lightly on the top of her head and rescued his team from his new “groom,” who was so intent on fending off two friends who wanted in on the job that he had almost forgotten the horses themselves.
Chapter 21
Hannah opened the door just as Judith was turning the handle.
“You are back early, Judith,” she said with some surprise, for Judith was more likely to stay more than her two hours with the duke than to cut them short.
“Yes, Hannah, and I fear I am back to plague you until I find another position. I will not be returning. The duke and I have had a disagreement.”
Hannah looked at Judith’s face and knew the disagreement went beyond the political or literary. She had not seen such a look on her face since Judith’s father died. She asked no more questions and, putting her arm around the girl’s shoulder, drew her in and shut the door behind them.
“You are soaking wet, child,” she exclaimed as she felt Judith’s dress.
“Yes, I was walking home until Robin picked me up.”
“Go upstairs immediately and get into something dry, or you’ll catch your death. I’ll make us a pot of tea.”
“Yes, Hannah.” Judith smiled to herself at Hannah’s mothering. Since they had moved to London, she had been treating Judith, at least, like a grown woman. (Stephen, of course, being her “baby,” would probably never be anything else in Hannah’s mind, even when he reached fifty!) At this moment, however, she was very glad to feel taken care of.
She pulled off her wet dress and stood shivering as she toweled herself dry. She pulled on an old wool gown. Her shoes were probably ruined, she thought as she slipped her feet into a pair of slippers.
When she got down to the parlor, Hannah was there, stirring up the fire. The old Staffordshire teapot that Hannah had brought with her was sitting on the table. Instead of milk, Hannah had brought a lemon, and the translucent slices were neatly arranged on a celadon plate. For one moment, Judith forgot Simon, in her appreciation of the still life in front of her: amber tea, blue-green plate, thin wheels of fruit, and thick slices of brown bread. No matter how miserable I am, there is always this, she thought—”this” being the ability to be caught up in a moment that revealed the beauty in commonplace things. She thought of Simon, who could not find any solace in what was to be seen around him, and the tears, which she had been holding back since meeting Robin, started to roll down her cheeks.
Hannah turned and saw Judith standing there, gazing at the tea tray. She quickly moved over to her, and pulled her against her bony chest. Judith’s ear remembered the feel of Hannah’s sternum, and a tendril of her hair caught on a button, just as it had when she was younger and turning to Hannah for comfort. She let herself go and sobbed away as Hannah stroked her hair, murmuring soothing phrases.
Judith at last pulled back and winced as her hair pulled free from the button. “Oh, Hannah, now you are all wet, as though you had been out in the rain! I am sorry, but I needed that cry.’’
“Here, blow your nose,” said Hannah, thrusting a napkin at Judith, “and then sit down and have your tea.”
Judith obeyed and Hannah poured her a cup. She squeezed some lemon into it and stirred in a small teaspoon of honey.
“There. That should keep you from getting a cold. And lift your spirits.” Hannah was trembling with curiosity, but would not lower herself to ask. Either Judith would tell her the details or she wouldn’t, but she would find out in any case, for nothing could remain hidden for too long in such an informal household as they kept.
“Well, Hannah, you deserve to know what I’ve done,” Judith said after a few sips had warmed her. “I’ve refused a duke!”
“Humph. You refused the squire because you didn’t love him. I don’t know that it’s being a duke makes that much difference.”
“You are right. It is not his being a duke that makes the difference. It is the fact that I love him.”
“And why, then, did you refuse him?” Hannah w
as secretly relieved on one point: Judith had fallen in love. She had been as worried as Stephen that her isolation and lack of portion would discourage offers. And that her intelligence and independence might keep her from feeling anything closer to passion than warm regard.
“Because he doesn’t love me. He only asked me because he thought it would be a fine marriage of convenience. No, I do him an injustice. He would be a kind and faithful husband, I am sure, and would expect the same from his duchess. But he no longer expects any woman to respond to him passionately, and so he is only looking for a full-time reader, after all.”
“If you love him, why not marry him in the hope that he will come to love you?”
“Because I am convinced Simon cannot love anyone until he knows women can still be attracted to him, that he is, indeed, still lovable. So here I am, sending him off to find love with someone else. I won’t even see him again. The only way I was ever likely to see him in London was the way I did: as his employee.”
“Major Stanley and Lady Barbara are his friends. Surely you will have news from them and could even run into him at their house?”
“He doesn’t know we are acquainted, and they can hardly introduce me without exposing our small deception. No. I shall have to make up my mind to never seeing him again. And now I am also again without an income.”
“Surely he would not have sent you off with nothing?”
“No, as a matter of fact, he offered to pay my wages until I found a new position, but I would accept only a month’s severance pay. I suppose I will end up tutoring or teaching young ladies to draw, after all. But I don’t have the heart to start looking again.”
“And so you shouldn’t. We certainly have enough to run the house. I think you should give yourself some time before you go off to another position. You need to get back to your own drawing, and spend more time with the Stanleys. You must, it seems, avoid occasions when the duke might be there, but I see no reason for you to continue your stubbornness about accepting invitations from those you meet at Lady Barbara’s.”
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