A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) (9 page)

‘There are many former soldiers out of work, now that the war is over,’ he responded. ‘And with the Corn Laws there are a lot of hungry people.’

Feed the poor.

One day she had helped the nuns give out bread to needy people. The looks of hunger on their faces had rendered them grotesque. An empty belly was a pain she’d never experienced.

‘What is one to do?’ she wondered aloud.

‘You’ve done well enough,’ he responded.

She jostled him. ‘But you are paying, remember? Except I will pay the stable boys. I insist upon it.’

Another stable boy led another horse out of the stable.

‘Lord, I miss riding.’ His voice turned wistful. ‘I do not suppose you have a riding horse in that stable? I’d be tempted to have one of those workers take me out riding.’

‘Only the carriage horses.’ But Daphne smiled. Surely there were riding horses to procure in the village. Perhaps John Coachman—
Smith
, she meant—would not mind his leisure interrupted to make riding possible for Hugh.

For her friend.

* * *

The very next day after breakfast when she and Hugh, complete with new hat and gloves, walked towards the stables, she remarked, ‘Oh, there is Smith again.’

‘Morning, ma’am. Mr Westleigh,’ Smith responded.

‘Good morning, Smith,’ Hugh greeted cheerfully. He inhaled. ‘Do you have a horse with you?’

‘I do indeed, sir.’ Smith grinned. ‘And one of the boys is here, as well. Henry.’

‘Hello, Henry,’ Hugh said.

Daphne smiled at the young man mounted on a horse and staring open-mouthed at her. Somehow she was glad Hugh could not see the boy’s reaction.

‘This may sound daft.’ A corner of Hugh’s mouth lifted in a half smile. ‘But may I pet the horse?’

‘I’ll do you one better, sir.’ Smith pulled the horse forwards. ‘How about you take a ride with Henry here.’

It was Hugh’s turn to be open-mouthed. ‘You are jesting.’

‘It is no jest.’ Daphne pushed him forwards. ‘Mr Pitts found us two riding horses. One for you and one for Henry, so he can accompany you.’

Hugh turned back to her, shaking his head, but speechless.

‘Enjoy yourself,’ she said. ‘Smith was told this horse will not dump you in a hedge.’

He laughed. ‘That is a good thing.’

Smith brought the horse to him and Hugh patted the animal.

‘I’ll help you mount, sir.’ Smith guided him to the stirrup, but Hugh mounted easily as soon as his foot was in it.

Smith touched his hat and walked back into the stable.

Daphne stood and watched Hugh ride away, straight backed and confident, as if he was free of the bandages.

Her heart soared with joy. Was it always this way when one did something to make another so happy? This was a gift better than any she’d ever received.

Chapter Nine

W
hat were the odds Hugh would find any recuperation enjoyable, especially this one?

For the past four days he’d ridden in the mornings before breakfast, starting the day feeling free and unfettered by the bandages covering his eyes. Afterwards, he shared pleasant breakfasts with Daphne and they spent most of the rest of the days together. Taking walks. Playing the pianoforte. Talking. In the afternoon and evenings she sometimes read the London newspapers to him or books about exotic places, places he intended to visit and see for himself. They shared dinner and afterwards retired to the drawing room where he sipped brandy and she drank tea. That she seemed happy gratified him more than he could say.

She didn’t pour herself brandy, though. Did not repeat that release of restraint that had led to the kiss he could not put out of his mind. His senses burned for her; otherwise the time was idyllic.

This morning was no different. He and Daphne walked together to the stable where Henry waited with his horse. Hugh bid Daphne goodbye and he and Henry set off. There was a field nearby where they could give the horses their heads and race at exhilarating speed.

This was Hugh’s favourite time, a time he forgot the bandages on his eyes. He merely savoured the wind in his face and the power of the horse beneath him. He’d galloped like this through cannon and musket smoke in the war. This was not so different—except perhaps that no cannon or musket fired at him. He and the horse were familiar with the field now. Hugh knew how long before the horse would slow and they would progress at a milder pace through some brush.

But now he was flying free. Life was good.

The next moment, the horse balked and stumbled back. Hugh pitched forwards, his face hitting the horse’s neck and loosening his bandages and pushing them askew. He managed to hold on to the horse, but in his struggle, he did the unthinkable.

He opened his eyes.

He saw nothing but the white of the loosened bandages. A stab of pain lanced both eyes and he immediately shut them again as he found his seat and pulled on the reins to steady the horse. The pain persisted until finally subsiding into an ache reminiscent of the first two days of his injury. He repositioned the bandages as best he could, but he’d injured his eyes again. He was certain of it.

He heard Henry’s horse approach. ‘Are you hurt, sir? You almost took a tumble.’

‘Not hurt,’ Hugh said. At least, not hurt in the way Henry meant. ‘Merely shaken. Do you know what happened?’

‘Something spooked the mare,’ Henry said. ‘Didn’t see what it was.’

‘Well.’ Hugh’s breathing almost returned to normal. ‘No harm done. Let’s keep on.’ He didn’t want to turn back. Didn’t want to admit to himself that everything he hoped for might be lost.

* * *

By the end of the ride Hugh had composed himself. Mr Wynne was due to call this very day. He’d change the bandages and they’d again be tight. Until then Hugh must simply remember to keep his lids closed. Maybe Wynne would tell him he was still on the mend. Maybe he had not done terrible harm.

He managed to act normally during breakfast. Daphne needn’t know he might have ruined all her efforts at taking care of him.

‘I must go into the village this morning,’ Daphne told him. ‘Monette asked me to accompany her. I’ve neglected her of late.’

‘You’ve neglected your lady’s maid?’ This was indeed an odd statement.

‘She is not accustomed to being in England.’ Daphne explained, sounding embarrassed. ‘Nor to being around so many people.’

So many people? In a village?

‘Besides, I think there is something on her mind,’ she went on. ‘There is nothing like a nice walk to help loosen tongues.’

He must be careful not to agree to a walk with her today, then.

‘I should be back by the time Mr Wynne calls,’ she added.

He was due in the afternoon.

‘I’ll find some way to amuse myself.’ Hugh would probably sit in his bedchamber and worry, but she need not know that.

* * *

She was gone most of the day, which was just as well. Hugh heard her voice outside as she returned. He left his rocking chair to make his way down the stairs.

‘There you are, Hugh!’ she said brightly.

Were her cheeks flushed from the exercise and fresh air? he wondered. Would he ever see such a sight?

‘Welcome back.’ He made himself sound cheerful. ‘Are you there as well, Monette?’

‘I am, sir,’ the maid answered shyly.

‘Did you ladies find much to look at in the village?’ he asked.

‘We had a delightful time,’ Daphne answered. ‘We had tea in a very nice tea shop and we browsed through all the stores we could find.’

‘Browsed? Do not tell me you did not find something to purchase? I do not believe my mother ever merely browsed in a store in her life.’

‘We purchased some fabric for Monette and a few other things. Some lovely marzipan from a confectioner. We should have that with tea later.’

Marzipan was typically formed into fancy shapes and colours, to appear like fruits and vegetables. It was a confection that was better to see than to eat.

Would he ever see it? ‘That sounds quite nice.’

‘I trust Mr Wynne did not call early?’ Daphne said.

He could hear the handling of packages wrapped in paper. ‘He sent a message that he would arrive late.’ More waiting. At least Daphne would be a distraction.

Hugh reached the bottom step.

‘Pardon, sir.’ Monette passed by him.

He felt Daphne walk near. ‘Were you bound for the drawing room? I will join you shortly. I must change. My skirts are full of dirt from the road.’

He nodded, knowing she could see, even if he could not.

It pleased him to hear the sound of pleasure in her voice from a simple walk to village shops. So often he felt sadness around her, even as they were entertaining themselves at the pianoforte or taking a walk or reading. Maybe he was the reason, if spending a day away from him lightened her spirits.

Blast. He was acting gloomy. The least he could do was avoid inflicting his low mood on her.

He made his way to the drawing room and distracted himself at the pianoforte by playing the scales and chords she’d taught him.

It did help to pass the time. It seemed only a few minutes before she came in the room, saying, ‘Carter will bring us tea. You can taste the marzipan.’ She walked over and stood behind him. ‘You are improving very quickly. I am astonished.’

He made himself laugh. ‘Not as astonished as I am.’

‘Do you wish to keep practising? Do you want another lesson?’ Her scent wafted around him.

‘No.’ He placed his hands in his lap. ‘Why don’t you read to me a little?’

‘Should we continue with
The Annual Register
?’ she asked.

‘Yes.
The Annual Register
.’ They’d found an old Annual Register from 1808. Among the usual topics covered in
The Annual Register
, like politics, finance and notable world and local events, were chronicles of travels, places he’d like to see for himself.
See
for himself—if he could see.

‘Banks of the Mississippi from Mr Ashe’s
Travels in America
,’ she began.

‘Mr Ashe?’ he interrupted. ‘A relation of yours?’

She did not answer for a moment. ‘Ashe. Asher. Two different names.’ Her voice was stiff.

‘Of course.’ He’d been trying to make a joke even though he did not feel like joking. ‘Proceed.’

She cleared her throat. ‘“In many respects the Mississippi is far inferior to the Ohio. The Mississippi is one continued scene of terrific grandeur...”’

While she read, Hugh drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and only half listened. It was Wynne he wanted. Let the man finally show up and get the bad news over with.

* * *

Wynne did not arrive until near the dinner hour. ‘So sorry to be late,’ he said as he bustled into the room. ‘Busy day today.’ He paused. ‘It is delightful seeing you again, Mrs Asher. I hope I find you in good health?’

‘I am in excellent health, thank you, sir. I would offer you tea, but Mr Westleigh has been waiting a long time.’ Daphne spoke as if she was the hostess of a London ball, but her voice was edged with impatience. The tea was tepid now in any event.

‘It would be a pleasure to partake of tea in your company, my dear lady, but alas, I am not at liberty today.’ The surgeon sounded mournful. ‘I hope you will renew the invitation at a later time. Today, I fear I must not tarry. I have another patient to see before I shall be free to return home to my dinner.’

‘I do understand, Mr Wynne,’ Daphne responded. ‘You must tend to your patients and your family, of course.’

Hugh heard the sound of a strap being unfastened. ‘How have you fared, Mr Westleigh?’ Had Wynne finally been able to tear his attention away from Daphne so as to tend to his patient? ‘You have kept your eyes closed, I trust.’

‘I opened them today.’ There, it was out. ‘I closed them right away, but I did open them.’

‘Hugh!’ Daphne cried.

‘The bandages came loose when I was riding and my eyes opened before I could think about it.’ He sounded as if he were making excuses.

‘You were riding?’ Wynne sounded incredulous.

‘Not alone,’ Hugh assured him.

‘Hmmph.’ The surgeon clearly disapproved. ‘When you opened your eyes, did you experience pain?’

‘A sharp pain, yes.’ And the ache persisted. There was more he’d noticed. ‘I can feel my eyes move under my lids a great deal when I want to look at something, but they have remained closed except for that one instance.’ Now it hurt every time his eyes moved.

‘Well—’ Wynne sighed as if all was lost ‘—let us take a look.’

His hand cupped the bandages on Hugh’s head and lifted them off rather than unwinding them. Amazing how light-headed Hugh felt with the bandages gone. His lids fluttered.

‘Keep them closed.’ Wynne briefly touched Hugh’s eyelids to still them.

Through his closed lids, Hugh saw nothing.

He felt the warmth of a candle come near. ‘Do you see the light?’ Wynne asked.

Daphne must have had the candle ready.

‘I see light,’ Hugh responded, but no better than during that first examination.

The candle moved away, and Wynne’s fingers touched his eyelids again. ‘Your lids have healed very nicely, Westleigh. I see no signs of infection.’ He felt the man back away and heard him rummage in his bag. ‘I’m going to apply a salve to your eyes and bandage them up again.’

The salve felt cool and the new bandages clean. Wynne wound the cloth tightly around Hugh’s head. ‘I dare say you have re-injured the eyes, though. The pain you felt confirms that. We may hope they heal again, but we will not know until another week goes by.’

He rummaged in his bag again and Hugh heard him rebuckle the straps. ‘I must take my leave.’ Hugh heard Daphne’s skirts and presumed she’d stood, as well. ‘I regret not being able to spend more time, my dear,’ Wynne said.

‘You are a very busy man,’ Daphne replied.

He heard them walking to the door. Wynne had told him nothing encouraging. He’d been too busy making himself pleasing to Daphne.

That was unfair. Wynne had examined him equally as carefully as he had the first time. Hugh had not expected good news. He had no choice but to wait.

And hope he kept his eyes closed. And hope he healed.

* * *

Daphne saw Mr Wynne to the door and hurried back to the drawing room. ‘Hugh!’ She rushed over to him. ‘Why did you not tell me?’

He shrugged. ‘I do not know. I suppose it would have made it seem real.’

She knelt in front of him and took his hands. ‘You must be worried.’

‘I cannot deny it.’

He leaned towards her and she rested her forehead against his. ‘You poor man.’

He inhaled and she leaned back. What was she thinking? Acting so intimately with a man. He was her friend. He was a Westleigh. She must expect nothing of him.

Carter knocked on the door. ‘Dinner, ma’am.’

She squeezed Hugh’s hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘Come. You must be hungry.’

During the meal she tried to cheer him up and she guessed he tried to pretend it was working, but the prospect of his blindness shrouded them.

After dinner, back in the drawing room, she poured him a glass of brandy, and a little for herself, just to warm herself and to calm the emotions she sensed inside him.

‘Shall I continue reading from
The Annual
Register
?’ It was not the book she would have chosen for her own entertainment, but it interested him and might distract him from his worry.

‘Certainly, if you like,’ he responded without enthusiasm.

She refilled his glass, adding more for herself, as well.

Opening the book, she found the place where she’d left off. ‘We were about to begin the part about the price of gold in Abyssinia.’

He made no comment.

‘“Price of gold,”’ she began. ‘“Gold at a medium, sells for ten pataka each wakea, or ten derims, salt...”’ The words meant little to her but they lulled her as she read about the price of gold, about weights and measures, about servants’ wages, about how they made beer and finally about marriage. ‘It sometimes happens that the husband and wife mutually, without any cause of ill will, agree to part. In this case the effects brought by the wife are united with the sum stipulated by the husband, then divided into equal shares of which the parties take each one, and return to their former places of abode.’ She stopped reading. ‘Oh, my.’ Had she read correctly? ‘What do you think of that?’

‘Of what?’

‘Of what I just read.’ She scanned the words again to be certain. ‘In Abyssinia, a husband and wife can end their marriage by mutual agreement. They divide their agreed-upon settlements and that is it.’ She could not believe this. ‘And their church sanctions it.’

He turned to face in her direction. ‘Daphne, why does this interest you?’

She could not answer him. ‘No reason.’

‘You have read of all sorts of odd things,’ he pointed out. ‘Why did this one interest you?’

‘I do not know.’ More truthfully she did not wish to say. ‘I suppose it is because it is such a shameful and difficult thing to get a divorce in England.’