He brushed her arm as he sat beside her and traced the character. The scent of mint tickled her nose. Why he always seemed to smell of her favorite herb, she couldn’t fathom; nonetheless she liked it. She waited with patience as he moved his fingers back and forth along the letter.
In the end a sigh filled with frustration slipped from his lips, caressing her cheek. “You are right. This one is more difficult. I give up, what letter of the alphabet is it?”
“An ‘e’.”
He moved his hand. “You are right.”
She giggled. “Of course I am.”
“Will you read the poem to me?”
“Why?” She pursed her lips, unwilling to trust his intentions.
“Because you can and it fascinates me.”
Against her better judgment she settled her fingers over the text, trying not to let his presence rattle her. Thunder shook the window panes at their back. Once the sound died away she began to read. “I shall never see a bird a lovely as thee, with breast of fire, inflaming my desire … ” As she read Delilah tried to ignore his disturbingly male presence but could not help savoring his minty smell. For some reason his proximity made concentrating on the letters beneath her finger tips harder than ever before. She stammered over the last few lines of the poem and then flattened her hand against the page.
“Amazing. You astound me, Miss Daysland.”
Delilah swallowed, both pleased and shy in the face of his praise. “Thank you.”
“Are you a fan of Byron?”
She smiled. “I am. I am a fan of most literature, much to my father’s dismay. I’m afraid I taxed much of his time re-writing all my requests so that I might read them for myself.”
The earl chuckled. “That would account for his neglect of the account ledgers.”
A sigh escaped her. “I have tried never to be a burden on anyone.”
“Forgive me, I did not mean to imply you were a burden to your father. I am sure he loved you and took delight in the things you are interested in.” A warm hand came to rest upon hers. “I admire your desire for independence.”
“Do you?” She titled her head in surprise. By his former demeanor the earl did not seem the type to admire independence in a woman.
“Yes.” He shifted beside her on the settee. “I knew someone … who suffered from your affliction. She did not have the spirit you possess and died like a flower which withered on a vine. It broke her family’s heart to see such a beauty give up.”
Her heart softened a little toward the earl. “I have simply tried to make the most of life, my lord, as it is. The problem is some refuse to see me only my affliction. After my disaster of a coming out ball my father and I thought it best to stay as we were.”
“What happened at the ball?”
She closed the book in her lap with a snap. “Everyone whispered. I heard them. Not one young man asked me to dance. Many came forward to greet me but it was as though they only did so to satisfy their own morbid curiosity, not out of any desire to know me. It was humiliating and I swore to never subject myself to such a display again.”
His warm hand sought her fingers and squeezed with gentle sympathy. “It is a shame many of the ton are so lacking in compassion and acceptance. It should not be that way.”
Delilah analyzed the tone of his voice but could not find any trace of pity or ridicule. Clearing her throat she slipped her hand from his under the guise of setting the book aside. “I agree, however it matters not now for I am content in my life here.”
“But you are all alone.”
“I am not alone, I have Jester and the servants, besides, I fill my time with my pianoforte, the herb garden, and reading. I find my routine enjoyable.”
“I will admit the pony is loyal, though not human companionship. As for the servants … ”
Delilah changed the subject unwilling to admit her loneliness especially since her father’s passing. “Could I press upon you to visit the book shop next time you are in the village? I would dearly like to hear something new besides these tired old poems I have read a thousand times. The village vicar comes by once a week to read to me in my father’s stead, though he prefers to read from the holy book. I am hoping to cajole him into something a little more entertaining than the scriptures.”
The chair creaked giving evidence the earl stood. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Daysland. I shall be sure to bring back something to peak your interest when I go this afternoon.”
She listened to his footsteps retreat from the library. Perhaps the earl was not so bad. He liked poetry and Byron after all.
Chapter Six
Delilah tossed and turned, fighting the memories refusing to allow her to sleep. The nightmare on the cliff grew wearisome. The dream of the little girl with curly hair, frolicking with the colt around a fire came with frequency, too, since her father’s death. She understood the returning nightmare, but why this one scene from her childhood surfaced again and again she couldn’t say. Perhaps because it was one of her last sighted memories? With a sigh she sat up, swung her legs over the bed and searched for her slippers. She found them with ease and, clad in her night dress, slipped from the room.
Static filled the air when she made her way downstairs. It was impossible not to flinch at the almost deafening thunder shaking the window panes on the first floor. Goosebumps and the hair on the back of her neck rose. She loved storms; the crackle of charged air, the crashing thunder that sometimes shook the foundations, and the smell of wet earth being rejuvenated by the nourishing rain. This was the storm of all storms it seemed. Waves of thunder crashed almost on top of each other, the wind moaning and howling its anger upon the earthbound mortals quaking in fear.
Trailing her fingers along the walls, she made her way to the kitchen. The cook wouldn’t mind her quest for a midnight snack. In fact, the woman made sure there was something left to nibble on from the evening’s meal just for her. The servant’s thoughtfulness warmed her.
Entering the kitchen Delilah groped her way to the table and then along it to the larder. There on the middle shelf, as always, sat a plate with a few cheese slices and a miniature loaf of rye bread. Beside it sat the customary cup of almond wine. With a grin she carried her spoils to the table and followed its edge back to the door. A scuffling reached her ears before a loud clap of thunder concealed it. She froze. After the rumble died down she listened. It was quiet, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was there. A shiver of apprehension made its way down her rigid spine. “Who is there?” A slight intake of breath caused her to turn in the direction of the door. “Who is there, I say?”
A subtle dampness and the musk of oiled leather reached her before pain exploded in her head. The plate and cup slipped from her fingers. The clatter of the china broke the silence. Her mind struggled to focus. Somehow she managed to scream, the echo ringing in her ears as she slid to the floor.
• • •
“Miss Daysland? Can you hear me?”
The earl’s question refused to register to her sluggish mind.
“Miss Daysland?”
She moaned. “My head.”
“Lie still.”
The high note of concern in his tone frightened her. Was she gravely injured? Raising a shaky hand she touched her head where it hurt most. Her fingers slipped through hair sticky and warm. Am I bleeding? “What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. I was in the study when I heard a scream rivaling any banshee’s. I followed the noise and found you lying here unconscious. You must have slipped and hit your head.” He dabbed at her throbbing head with a cloth. “Where is your pony?”
She drew a sharp breath at his awkward attempt at first aid. “Jester sleeps outside at night, for I have no use of him after I retire. And, for your information, I did not slip. Someone hit me.” She snatched the cloth from his fingers and shoved his hand away.
Disbelief tainted his words. “There was no one here except you. Why would someone hit you?”
“I am telling you, someone hit me.” She tempered her anger, knowing mild-mannered reasoning was the way to win any situation. “I heard someone in front of me. When I called out they struck my head.”
He helped her to her feet. “That is absurd. There is no one here, and I doubt one of your loyal house servants would have done such a dastardly deed. They are all, so far as I can see, ridiculously protective of you. You must have simply banged your head on a cupboard or something.”
She wrenched her arm free from his grip. “I know someone was here and hit me.”
“Fine, fine. Someone hit you, if you so insist.” He patted her hand. “You need to go upstairs and rest.”
His lackluster assurance made her grit her teeth, but because of her dizziness she accepted his lead upstairs. Someone did enter the room intending to hurt her. The question was who and why? How was she to protect herself from it happening again when she couldn’t see her attacker?
Her maid met them at the door and drew Delilah into the bedchamber. Shooing away the earl she fussed, helping her mistress into bed and tucking the covers tight around her. “Oh dear. Why didn’t you ring me if you needed something, miss? ‘Tis not safe for you to be wandering the house alone in the dark. There are so many things you might hurt yourself on.”
Delilah frowned. “I did not hurt myself. Someone hit me.”
“Hit you?” A whoosh of air whistled from Teresa’s lips. “None of us would do such a thing, miss.”
“Well someone did.” Delilah cringed when the maid dabbed the cut on her head.
“I can’t believe it, miss. Perhaps we have a thief in the house.” A note of alarm strained her words. “Shall I ask his lordship to order the house searched?”
Her new guardian’s usurping authority made Delilah grit her teeth, yet she gave in to the servant. “Please do.”
Doubts assailed her. Did she imagine the whole thing? Perhaps she knocked something off a shelf, which in turn struck her as the earl believed. Could she have imagined the presence? Could it have been the wind making her think she heard something she did not? No, her senses were too keen to make such a mistake. The thought came to her in a dizzying flash: perhaps it was the earl. Could he have tried to hurt her? She was always safe wandering the estate alone, until now … until he came.
Chapter Seven
Delilah decided to forgo her usual morning piano practice because her head was still achy from the evening before. Instead she wandered out to the garden, whistling for Jester. The pony was beside her within minutes. “Bench, Jester.” Hand on his harness, she permitted him to guide her down the path to the stone bench beside the fountain. There was a slight nip to the air this morning, more to do with the coming fall than the storm the night before, she suspected. She sat on the cool stone, immersing herself in the birds’ melodic calls to soothe her raw nerves. Not a single feather of a breeze ruffled the curls already escaping her tidy bun, a clear indication the afternoon would be muggy and unbearable. Taking a calming breath, she savored the rich earthy smell, her favorite after a rain. She absorbed the sounds of her pony munching grass a few feet away and the buzz of a honey bee as it sought nectar from the flowers. Those simple sounds always relaxed her. As was her practice she vented her thoughts to her guide. “I am at a loss for what to do, Jester. A search of the house found no sign of a trespasser. Someone tried to hurt me, but who?”
The pony snuffled and continued to graze.
“Why would someone want to harm me? Surely not one of the servants, for they have never been anything but protective and considerate.” The earl was the first to my side. Did he hit me? Is he after my money? Perhaps it is all just a ruse to make me think I am vulnerable, and therefore consent to his matchmaking under the guise of protecting me. She brushed aside the unsettling thoughts. Though each idea contained merit, she was unable to commit to any theory with so little evidence.
Footsteps approached. After careful consideration she determined them to be the earl’s by the soft, sure tread.
“You should be resting.”
Frowning, she folded her hands in her lap. “I am resting.”
“Upstairs, I mean, lying down.”
“One does not have to lie down to rest. Besides, I feel fine,” she lied, trying to ignore the slight throbbing of her head. He snorted, giving her reason to believe the large lump on her temple was in all likelihood uglier than the gentle inspection of her fingers this morning led her to believe.
“Do you still think someone hit you?” His tone carried the slightest hint of mockery to it most people, except her, might have missed.
She shrugged. Perhaps it was best to let him think she discarded the idea for now.
He sat beside her on the bench. “Something strange is going on here. I think it is best if I find you a husband as soon as possible. For your protection, I mean.”
“My protection?” She knew this was the excuse he would use. “You are making more of this than it is, my lord.”
“Am I?”
With effort she made her response as firm as she possible. “Yes.”
He snorted again. “Are you not the one who is convinced someone intentionally did you harm last eve?”
“Are you not the one who is convinced my servants are stealing from me?” Cocking her head, she awaited his answer. His heavy sigh was enough to show her needle irritated him. Checkmate.
“Come on.” His warm fingers gripped hers, tugging with gentle persistence. “I will show you the truth of my claim.”
“Show me?” She gave a hollow laugh, snatching her hand away. “Have you forgotten I am blind?”
“Not at all. Come on.” Again he took her hand in his warm one, pulling her to her feet. Settling it in the crook of his arm he led the way.
Having no other choice she followed. When they got to the house he turned toward the barns. With trepidation she dug in her heels. “Stop. I cannot go this way. I am not familiar with the path.”
“Have you so little trust in me you think I will allow you to stumble and fall?” The quiver in his reply shamed her.
Could she trust him? Did she have a choice? Taking a deep breath, she followed his lead with disguised caution, stifling the urge to thrust out her hands and feel the way for herself. They walked for a few minutes in silence before the temperature decreased. As their footsteps took on a hollow echo she discerned they entered the barn. The smell of moldy hay and dust tickled her nose, confirming her suspicion. She sneezed.
“Bless you.”
She was about to thank him when she realized there were no sounds of animals snuffling in their stalls or munching feed. “Where are the animals?”
“I asked myself the same thing.” He paused to kick something out from under foot. The object rolled up against the wall with a hollow clunk. They continued on. “There is not an animal in any of the barns, and everything is covered in dust as if none have been here in a long time.”
“I can smell that.” She scowled, irritated he believed she needed his sighted observations.
“Oh, yes, I suppose you can.”
They stepped out into the courtyard and she raised her face to the sun. The fresh air was welcome after the abandoned odor of the stable. After walking through all four barns she was satisfied he told the truth. Deep in thought, she allowed him to escort her back to the house. Why are not at least a few stock in the barns? Could the earl be right about the servants stealing from me? A thought came to her and she decided to voice it. “Perhaps the stock is out to pasture.”
“No, nor are there any un-harvested crops in the fields.” He paused at the foot of the back steps. “What happened to your father?”
She puzzled his question. What did her father have to do with the missing livestock? “He rode out one day in a storm. The stable lad said he fell from his horse down into a steep ravine. By the time he was found it was too late.” She shivered, trying not to think of the hours her poor father must have suffered, lying there in the midst
of the storm, broken and bleeding, hoping for help to come. “Why?”
His hand covered hers in a comforting gesture. “Did it ever occur to you perhaps his death was no accident?”
Though the idea was voiced with soft inquiry, the words startled a gasp of shock from her. Was it safe to admit to him she wondered the same thing? No, it was better to keep the idea to herself; she wasn’t sure she could trust the earl. “Who would want to do such a terrible thing and why?”
Fierce resolution stiffened his answer. “I do not know, but if it is the case I mean to find out.”
Was he truly interested in what happened to her father or was he only trying to divert any suspicions she had as to his involvement in her attack the evening before? If he too found her father’s death suspicious then had her gut feelings been right all along?
Chapter Eight
Delilah seated herself at the piano, resting her right hand on the familiar keys. She allowed her fingers skip along the keyboard and then back in a simple warm-up scale. She repeated the gesture with her left hand before striking a few major chords. Fingers ready, she began the intro to one of her favorite pieces, humming and swaying in tempo with the light-hearted melody. Soon she was lost in the world of the piano notes dancing behind her sightless eyes. Images from long ago mingled with the tune. The memory of color was a small joy in her dark world. A bird with a fiery red breast, sunny daffodils bending in the summer breeze, and Jester as a tawny color colt, wobbling toward her on laughably long legs. A six-year-old’s vague, rusty memories were all she retained, but they were something at least. How old would Jester be now? Sixteen? Yes, he turned sixteen this spring. He has many years yet. What will I do when he is gone? She pushed the thought from her mind. It was morbid to think of such things now; she chastised herself, returning her attention to the last few bars of the music. When the final note faded away she smiled and dropped her hands to her lap.
“That was beautiful.”
Through Gypsy Eyes Page 4