Simon’s thank you to Robin was therefore rather distracted, and Robin’s ritual disclaimers less wholehearted when they reached the house. But they planned to ride the following afternoon and so each went to bed reassured that nothing had changed, while somewhere, under the surface, aware that everything had.
Chapter 24
While Simon was relearning the waltz, Judith was re-learning discipline. During her three years as governess, in spite of—or, now she thought, perhaps because of—her limited hours to herself, she had taught herself to keep a schedule and made sure that she had had some time for her art every day. She had no illusions about herself: she had some talent, but not genius. She knew what her limits were: no large oils, though she longed to be capable of them, but small, detailed pen-and-inks and watercolors. She was excellent at nature drawing and had notebooks full of sketches of birds, trees, and “weeds,” as the children used to call her pictures of wild-flowers. London was hardly the place for a nature artist, particularly a female one. Taking her sketchbook to the park was possible in the early morning, before many were out, but up until now, most of her mornings had been taken up by her reading for the duke and riding with the Stanleys. A long day tramping around Hampstead Heath would have been just the thing, but was dangerous alone. And so, between getting the house in good order and her post with the duke, Judith had been neglecting her drawing.
She found it difficult to get up, particularly in the middle of the week, and know there was no possibility of seeing Simon. She missed him terribly, more than she would have thought possible. They had developed a friendship unlike Judith had ever had with a man. Close as she was to her brother and however much she enjoyed Robin, neither of them knew her as well as Simon. How amazing, she thought, that someone you have known only for weeks, could know you better than a brother. Even her intimacy with Barbara, deep and long-standing as it was, was quite different from the intimacy developed in the duke’s library. Barbara and she created their closeness by long talks over tea and the conscious sharing of their feelings.
Although Simon and Judith had certainly built their friendship with words, it was in the silences between that Judith was most aware of their connection, and this connection was something not created, but seemingly discovered, having been in existence before they met, only waiting to be found by them.
And so, at first, she had to make herself go through the motions: setting aside some time in the mornings and the late afternoons, when the light was what she wanted; only adding one more day of riding; and going off by herself to find the right tree or a small bird puffing its feathers against the cold. Inside, she worked on still lifes: three apples, two whole and one sliced open crosswise to expose the star hidden in its center; Hannah’s hands kneading bread; or Stephen’s profile as he sat by the fire in the evening, engrossed by his work.
There was some solace in realizing the world was still there, waiting for her to see it. As she filled her sketchbooks, she could not think of Simon. Imagine missing this, she would think as she drew a winter tree, branches feeling like her own veins. Or the pink-tipped white flesh of an apple. I would die if I lost my sight, she thought as she rediscovered it. All of London would not be enough to destroy in her rage, and Simon had only laid waste one library.
Through Robin and Barbara she heard about Simon. He had hired a new reader, they said, and surely must be missing her, since this Mr. Wiggins seemed to be a nondescript man and hardly the reader Judith was. The duke was riding with Robin, as usual, and beginning preparation for a speech on the Corn Laws. And most astonishingly of all, he was attending the occasional ball and had actually waltzed with Diana Grahame.
“In fact,” said Barbara one afternoon over tea, “Simon has been in Diana’s company quite frequently. Except for his never failing to spend some time with plain little Alice Hyde, Diana is most definitely his most frequent companion. And I am not sure if I am pleased or not. Dev is devastated—and I don’t mean to be humorous,” chided Barbara as Judith laughed at her phrasing. “I can’t help but be relieved that Diana is not serious about him, but he is convinced his heart is broken and he will never love another woman. And maybe he won’t ...”
“From all I have heard,” Judith said, “I think this was certainly a case of infatuation, sudden and all-consuming. He had never been in love before, had he?”
“No, not since he was ten and in love with the Honorable Melissa Norfolk, who came to his birthday all in pink and white and was afraid of everything. Dev hovered over her all afternoon—it was quite touching and just as infuriating as it is now, I must say!”
“So even then you cared about him?”
“Yes, even then, the more fool I,” Barbara said.
“I think,” said Judith slowly, “he must have been drawn to Diana for some other reason than the obvious attraction of the older woman. He is quite warmhearted, the viscount, and likes to be the protector, I think.”
“Well, no one could use a protector less than Diana,” protested Barbara. “She managed to jilt Robin when they had almost come to an understanding. And that is the other thing. I am happy to see Simon enjoying himself, but it must be a strain on Robin. He accompanies them riding and is usually Simon’s companion in the evenings. I know he does not mind being Simon’s guide, but it means he is constantly with them. I have seen Simon and Diana laughing, and Robin just standing there with a polite smile fixed on his face. Of course, he has never admitted his feelings to Simon, so it is not Simon’s fault ... but what a tangle! No one is happy but that harpy.”
Judith raised her eyebrows. “Surely too strong a word, Barbara. After all, we cannot know what she is thinking or feeling. Although I certainly wish I did. I know Simon needs to discover he is still attractive to women, but I hate it that he does it with someone other than me.”
Judith went home that day as unhappy as she had ever been in her life. It was all very well, she thought that night as she lay in bed, to have grand ideas about love and freedom, but why had she sent Simon out to find out how lovable he was? Why was she such an idealist? If the price of integrity and honesty was loneliness for the rest of her life, she was not sure she was prepared to pay it. It was one thing to see Simon regularly and know he could never be a husband or lover. Their enjoyment of each other’s company made it easy to live in the moment, and then go home and dream he would fall in love with her and sweep away all social barriers with the force of his feeling.
In fact, she thought, looking at herself honestly, I reacted as much out of hurt pride at having my daydreams shattered as I did out of care for Simon. Judith blushed in the darkness as she realized how she must have sounded to him. He had been realistic; she hadn’t. She had been living for some sort of dream of what marriage might be, when marriage wasn’t even likely for her at all. Simon’s offer of companionship was the only offer she would ever receive. Why hadn’t she accepted it, as Robin had suggested, in the quite realistic hope that friendship would develop into love? But, no, she was still too much of a green girl who read love sonnets and believed that they described real life.
To know that she herself had sent him out to fall in love with a more suitable woman out of pride and romantic idealism, hurt in a particularly devastating way. Giving him up because there was no possibility of ever having him generated a pain that was, in a way, rather soothing. I could have lived on dreams of “what might have been” quite happily, she realized, going to his library and reading to him for twenty years. This pain was different. It felt like a scouring of her insides, a burning-off of old illusions, with no promise of a new life. She felt like a burned-off field, one that would remain unplanted, dead, and dry.
In addition to the desolation, she felt a stirring of jealousy. Why should Lady Diana be loved by Simon? She had her choice of anyone; she had rejected Robin; she had encouraged Dev; she had money, rank; and Judith had nothing. Her art! Small consolation at this time of night.
It seemed to Judith that all the hurt at losing her fa
ther and being forced to work as a governess and all the buried anger at her lost freedom were rising up in her, swelling her throat until she could barely swallow. When at last the tears came, they came in great wrenching sobs. She buried her face in her pillow and let them come, until she fell asleep against the cold, wet linen.
When she awoke the next morning, she looked and felt awful. Her eyes were still swollen, and she had to bathe her face for a few minutes before she was presentable enough to go downstairs.
Stephen looked up quickly from his paper to greet his sister and stopped in midsentence.
“Whatever is wrong, Judith? You look dreadful.”
“I am fine now, Stephen. I just had a restless night.” Judith had not confided in her brother. He was, as young men are, quite absorbed in his work. She had not spoken about the duke very much, but Stephen could see she found the position satisfying and stimulating. They would often find themselves discussing politics after dinner on the days Judith had been to read, and his sister, who had always been more conversant in literature and art, was becoming an astute commentator on the domestic economic situation. Stephen was too young and too oblivious to emotional subtleties to think more about Judith’s obvious enjoyment of their new life together.
He would never have dreamed that his sister would be thinking of the duke as anything but her employer. A companionable and sympathetic one, to be sure, but the social distance was great enough that Simon would not imagine bridging it. He knew something had caused a disagreement, but Judith had chosen not to burden him with the details of her dismissal beyond a bland “It was mutually decided we would no longer suit. The duke needs someone now who is more familiar with parliamentary language,” was the way she had put it. She had not wished to tell her brother of Simon’s offer and her refusal. And it all seemed so fantastic now, the offer itself and her scruples, that she wished to forget she had ever met the duke.
“Why don’t you go back to bed, my dear, and let Hannah bring you some chocolate? It looks like you need a day devoted only to rest and pleasure.”
“I may rest later. But right now, I think I need some strong tea.” She took nothing from the sideboard but a muffin, and barely nibbled at that.
“Well, I am off,” Stephen said as he folded the Gazette. “I am likely to be late again tonight since we are still working on that difficult brief. Are you sure you are all right?”
“Yes, Stephen, please don’t be concerned.” Judith smiled, not wanting him to pry into her unhappiness further. “We will see you later.”
Judith spent a restless morning, unable to settle down to anything, housework or painting. Finally she grabbed her woolen cloak and, telling Hannah that she would return for tea, decided to see if a visit to Hatchards would lift her spirits.
At Hatchards she immediately sought out the latest Minerva romance. I am not up to anything heavier, she thought, and noticed a new novel by Mrs. Hazeltine. Delighted, she started to page through it, and was quite caught up in the first few pages when she heard Simon’s voice. She stood as still as a deer caught in torchlight, afraid she would be seen, forgetting Simon could not see her. Then as she realized she would remain unobserved, she turned, ready to pull the hood of her cloak up to avoid the gaze of John, the footman who often accompanied the duke. It was not John with Simon, but a stranger, an older man quite smothered in a long muffler. Judith realized this must be the reader who had taken her place.
Simon was asking at the desk for Miss Austen’s latest, and the clerk pointed Wiggins toward Judith. “I shall be right back, your grace,” he said awkwardly as he let go of Simon’s arm. He was not used to guiding the duke and was so careful that Simon was ready to scream.
Wiggins approached the table where Judith was standing, and hesitantly asked her if this was indeed where Emma was located. She nodded, and Wiggins picked up a copy.
“Do you read many novels, miss?” asked Wiggins, surprised at his own boldness in addressing a strange young woman, but from her worn cloak, he guessed she was not a young lady of quality, and he was very nervous at what seemed to be his next reading assignment.
“Yes ... yes, I do,” said Judith distractedly, gazing at the duke.
“I am a reader for his grace, and I have never read a novel,” said Wiggins. “I am very nervous about reading anything but straight prose.”
“Never read a novel?” asked Judith, looking at him for the first time. “How sad.”
“Sad? I have never thought about it that way, but I have never had the time. I have been a clerk my whole life, you see, and am used only to things of a practical nature.”
“I see.” Judith smiled. “You will have a treat in store for you, then.”
“Do you have any advice, ma’am, as to how I should read a novel aloud? I wish to go on pleasing my employer, but I am afraid I will not be able to read dramatically enough.”
“I suggest you read it as though the characters were real and the author was next to you, gossiping about them. You need not be a Kean to read in an entertaining manner. I never tried to sound too dramatic when I read to him, and his grace seemed perfectly satisfied.”
Mr. Wiggins looked up from Emma in surprise. Judith was so distracted by Simon’s presence that she did not even realize what she had said. But Wiggins, who had heard a few scattered comments from the servants about his predecessor, knew this must indeed be that “nice little Miss Ware” who always had a smile for even the lowest housemaid and whom the duke had dismissed for no known reason.
“You had better get back,” said Judith. “The duke is beginning to look restless.”
Simon was indeed wondering what was keeping his reader. He could hear customers talking around him, and he felt his usual anxiety about being left alone in a strange place. It was galling to stand and wait, knowing he could not move without making a fool of himself, and so, when Wiggins returned, his tone was rather sharp. “Did you find the book?”
“Yes, your grace, yes, and I am sorry I took so long.”
“Well, let us pay for it and get home,” Simon said, determined never again to go into a public strange place without a friend to accompany him.
Judith watched them leave and then went up to make her purchase. She was shaken by seeing Simon.
Mr. Wiggins was distracted on the way home. He wondered why the duke had dismissed so nice a young lady and why she had looked so sad. As he told his wife later, she was a small, wren-like girl who reminded him of his sister Joan: frail on the outside, but inside, tough as an oak.
“And how did your first reading of the novel go?” asked his wife.
“Quite well, I think, once I warmed up and got into the swing of it. I think I will take a bit from my next wages to join a circulating library and treat you to a reading of Miss Austen too!”
Mrs. Wiggins was delighted, and was privately convinced that the demise of his former employer had been a blessing in disguise. For years her Joseph had come home, head aching and body stiff from bending over his work, with barely enough energy to eat his supper and chat in front of the fire before they took themselves off to bed. But now her husband had energy to spare when he came home. He had new sights and sounds to chat about, and new ideas. His eyes were clear again, instead of red and strained, and his walk to the duke’s house was beginning to make him feel younger.
The salary was generous; it almost matched what he had been making as a clerk, which meant they did not have to draw upon their meager savings. The servants were welcoming and often asked him to share a light luncheon with them before he went home. It is an ill wind, thought Mrs. Wiggins. I am not happy that that poor young man has lost his sight, nor that this young woman lost her position, but my Joseph deserved something good for all his years of drudgery, and I am glad he has finally gotten it!
Chapter 25
Simon had thrown himself so thoroughly into his political preparations during the day, and into a more active social life at night, that while he had occasionally found himself thinkin
g of one of their discussions, at first he had managed not to think of Judith. At the moment, he found Wiggins a satisfactory if colorless reader, and Lady Diana very pleasant to be with.
While he and Diana were enjoying more than a little frisson of excitement from their flirtation, Robin became more and more aloof. Instead of using the opportunities Simon was trying to give him to reestablish a relationship with Diana, Robin excused himself and sought out Lady Lenox. He cared too much for his friend to interfere in what he thought was becoming a romantic attachment. Diana was perhaps what Simon wanted, after all: a sophisticated woman of his own rank to support his career. Judith hadn’t stood a chance, thought Robin. Perhaps there had been some feeling between the duke and Miss Ware, but now it seemed as though he had forgotten her existence.
Simon and Diana continued to enjoy each other’s company. Because it was clearly understood by both of them that the flirtation was only that, they were free to enjoy it. There was an undercurrent of physical attraction that both were aware of and both comfortable with, since there were clear boundaries on the relationship. For Simon, it was wonderful to know that he could kindle attraction in a woman, despite his handicap. Judith had been correct, although he was still not aware of it. His helplessness had led to a certain resignation and he had lost his sense of himself as a man. He had never been one who needed to dominate a woman, but he did need to be able to take the initiative and respond to a woman’s physical vulnerability with a feeling of strength. Simon could sense Diana’s tension when Robin was with them, and her pain as he continued to address her with a cool and precise courtesy, and he felt protective of her, as well as stimulated by her.
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