Marjorie Farrel (12 page)

Francis reached out and took the glass from Simon. His fingers brushed the duke’s and he could feel them shaking. All of a sudden he wanted to put his arm around him, as he would have done with his own brother. As though sensing this, Simon drew back.

Francis sat down opposite the duke. “Your grace, Cranston tells me you wish to have Betty dismissed. Did you want me to give her the usual month’s wages?”

“What? Not done yet?”

“No, your grace.”

“Well,” sighed Simon, “that is just as well. Why should she suffer because of my helplessness? I overreacted this morning.”

“I am happy you have reconsidered. Betty begged me to give you her apologies. Your servants care for you a great deal, your grace.”

“Do they? I can’t imagine why. I treat them no differently than most employers.”

“It is not how you deal with them, although that is most generously, but who you are. All your staff wish you well.” Francis was afraid to say more. The brandy had relaxed the duke, and some barrier was down. Francis stood up and placed his almost-untasted brandy on the table. He turned to go, and without thinking, he placed his hand on the duke’s shoulder, attempting to convey his own affection and sympathy. He let it rest there for a moment and then turned quietly and left.

Simon sat still for a moment and then lifted his glass toward the door, as though in acknowledgment.

* * * *

The next day found Simon in the same mood: having at last given up hope, he was no longer placing the same barriers of irony between himself and others. He was more obviously hopeless, but also, in a strange way, more open and receptive, for hopelessness needs no protection. When Judith walked into the library, she immediately sensed the difference. There was no edge to the duke’s voice when he greeted her.

“Do you wish to continue with poetry, your grace?”

“I will leave it up to you, Miss Ware. I have no strong feelings one way or another these days.”

Judith began to search the shelves again. “I see you have Clarissa right next to Tom Jones,” she said teasingly. “I am quite sure Mr. Richardson would not approve! Mr. Fielding would appreciate the irony, however!”

“Have you read both novels, then?” asked Simon.

“Yes.”

“And which did you prefer?”

“Mr. Fielding’s, of course,” Judith answered without hesitation. “I find Mr. Richardson’s heroines to be self-servingly virtuous, and in the case of Clarissa, quite morbid.”

“You would not, I take it, write letters upon your own coffin in the event of being, ah, ravished, Miss Ware?”

“And what a poor-spirited woman she was, to be sure.” Judith laughed. “And Richardson is so tantalizing in leading up to the seduction scene that I suspect him of wanting to titillate the reader’s sensibilities. Fielding is a breath of fresh air in comparison,” declared Judith, quite forgetting they were discussing subjects not considered quite the thing for young ladies.

She turned back to the shelves and said, “I see that you have several of Miss Austen’s works. Have you read them all? Much as I admire Sophy Western, I find myself more sympathetic to women like Elizabeth Bennet.’’

“I am not acquainted with Miss Bennet.”

“Of Pride and Prejudice? You have not read it? It is not her latest, but if it is new to you, I would enjoy introducing you to the Bennets, your grace. It is not an excessively long novel, and we should be able to finish it in a few weeks.”

“As I said before, Miss Ware, I will go along with whatever you prefer. I have enjoyed Miss Austen in the past, and if you recommend this one, I will trust your judgment.”

“Then let us begin, and I hope I can do justice to Eliza.”

Perhaps because Simon and Judith were more familiar with each other, perhaps because of Simon’s new mood, the next few reading days fell into a comfortable pattern. Judith would arrive and almost immediately open to the page they had ended on, and she and Simon would enter again into the life of the Bennets. They laughed together over the absurdities of Mrs. Bennet and argued in quite a friendly way over Darcy. Was he indeed insufferably high-handed in his treatment of Bingley and Jane—Judith thought so—or was he merely honest and candid in his appraisal of the Bennet family? Simon defended him stoutly.

“After all, he said nothing about them that Elizabeth did not know herself.”

“But it is one thing to criticize your own family—quite another for an outsider to do it.”

“Would you have refused him, then?” asked Simon as they came to the end of Volume Two.

“Yes. He gave her no indication of his feelings for her. And to begin a proposal by stating how hard he had fought his inclination ... !”

“It seems to me,” Simon said, “that Darcy’s fault is one shared by many of my sex: the inability to put into fine words one’s deepest feelings. And women seem to value words somewhat more than one’s actions.”

“There is some truth in what you say, your grace. I place more importance on friendships where I am able to utter my deepest thoughts, and tend to undervalue those who demonstrate their care in more practical ways. But do you not think that there is nothing more desirable than expressing oneself freely and without fear?”

“Do you realize, Miss Ware, our conversations range over subjects not generally discussed between men and women? Are you like this with everyone?”

“Oh, no, your grace. I can be quite insipid and conventional when I need to be. I generally speak my mind only where I feel safe.”

“Safe? And do I seem safe?” There was an edge to Simon’s voice that had not been there for days. “Does my blindness make me innocuous, then?”

“Your grace, no one looking at you could forget you are a man, and a handsome, vital one, despite your blindness. You no longer have the advantage of seeing yourself in the glass, so perhaps it is easy to doubt your attractiveness. Even as I spoke, I was marveling that I could speak so here. But by safe, I mean, able to be myself. Perhaps your blindness does have something to do with it,” Judith said hesitantly. “Because you cannot see me, I do not have to worry about how I look. Women are always being seen and having to see ourselves with others’ eyes. When I walk in here, I know if I express myself openly, you are not thinking either: She is quite beautiful, too bad she is a bluestocking, or the reverse: How boring, a plain, bookish young woman. I feel that you hear me first, and my beauty or lack of it cannot get in the way. I am sorry if this sounds like I am pleased that you are blind. Maybe ‘safe’ is not the right word? Maybe I feel equal?”

“And does a man have to be helpless for you to feel equal?”

“Oh, no,” Judith protested. “I—truly I cannot explain this well. I believe every woman, whether she knows it or not, is somehow an outsider in society. You will, no doubt, not agree, and I do not wish to start a debate. I am only trying to explain what it feels like to be a woman.”

“And an unmarried, poor one.”

“Yes, I suppose that adds to it. Your blindness makes you an outsider too, despite your wealth and rank; that is all I meant. And in this room, surrounded by the words I read, we are quite outside the working-day world, and in quite another. I am groping for words that will not quite express what I experience. But, no, your grace, you are not safe,” she ended vehemently. “And I must go.”

Simon rose with Judith. “And are you quite plain or quite beautiful, Miss Ware?”

“Neither, your grace,” replied Judith.

“Describe yourself to me, if that is not an intrusive request?”

Judith paused, wondering if her description would give her away. Well, her description would fit many women, after all.

“I am a little below average height, your grace.”

“Yes, I can tell that from your voice.”

“I have brown hair and hazel eyes, and I am afraid I am cursed with freckles. In short, I am rather average-looking and not at all in fashion.”

“And were I to look in my own glass, what would I see?” Until he asked his question, Simon did not realize how serious it was. The more obvious handicap of blindness was the lack of visual stimuli and his utter inability to find his way through his own house or city. Until this moment he had not realized how disorienting sightlessness was: when one sees another’s reaction and sees one’s face in a mirror, one’s existence is subtly confirmed.

Judith answered hesitantly, “You would see a man of above-average height with an almost handsome face and hair a bit longer than is fashionable right now.”

Simon was amused at Judith’s matter-of-fact description of “almost handsome.”

“Fine gray eyes,” Judith continued.

“Staring blankly beyond you, I suppose?”

“Truthfully, your grace, you are quite good at locating someone by the sound of his voice, and looking directly at him. Let me finish. Your face looks rather drawn, and I would guess from the way your clothes hang that you are thinner than you used to be.”

Simon and Judith stood still for a moment. Then they both moved at once, she toward the door and Simon to ring for Cranston. Neither was able to say anything but an awkward good-bye, and Judith left quickly.

After she was gone, Simon brushed his hand through his hair, which was long, he realized, even for a windswept look, and shrugged his shoulders, amazed at how comfortably his coat moved with them. He was no dandy, but he had always prided himself on his quiet elegance. He rang again, to summon his valet.

“Martin, you have been very forbearing these past weeks. I’m sure I have tried your patience.”

“Oh, no, your grace,” Martin protested.

“You are being too polite. My coats must have you despairing, and my hair. I want you to summon a barber and a tailor. Do you think you could persuade Mr. Weston to send an assistant here?”

Martin’s eyebrows lifted so high in surprise that they almost met his hair. He had suffered even more than the other servants from Simon’s lack of interest in his appearance. He had always regarded his master’s simple, yet elegant appearance with pride.

“I am sure that he would be happy to oblige you, your grace. But would you not rather go yourself and have more choice?” Martin was hoping to get Simon out at last. On a trip to the tailor, he would be more than likely to meet friends.

“Choice of what? Colors? I cannot discriminate with my fingertips, Martin, and I trust Weston to send his best quality. I will not make a spectacle of myself in a public place, being led around like a performing animal,”

“Yes, your grace. I will send a footman over right away.” And Martin bowed his way out and then smiled at himself for continuing that now meaningless habit.

Even if he won’t go out yet, he thought, at least he is back a bit to his old self, if he is concerned with the fit of his coats!

Judith’s life had fallen into a comfortable pattern: two mornings a week with Simon, early rides with Barbara and Robin, and occasional shopping trips with Barbara. While there had been no miraculous transformation, Simon was at least involved in something outside himself if only for a few hours a week. He was clearly paying more attention to his appearance and had even allowed a footman to accompany him on some early-morning walks in the immediate neighborhood. Even this small bit of exercise had increased his appetite, and between gaining back a few pounds and his new wardrobe, he was beginning to resemble the old Simon.

After that one day of unparalleled closeness, both Judith and Simon resumed their lighthearted mode of conversation. Miss Austen’s humor and gentle satire was just the thing to help them maintain a polite distance.

As they neared the end of Pride and Prejudice, Judith decided that if Simon said nothing, then she would directly ask him if she had secured the position. He seemed to enjoy their reading and their conversations, and she could not imagine him letting go of the one thing that occupied his week.

After a Thursday, with four days stretched before him, she often returned to find Simon sunk back into a passive hopelessness. There were times when her heart ached for him, but there were more and more times when she wanted to shake him out of his apathy.

This was one of the latter. It was a beautiful fall day, crisp and clear, and Judith had walked the last few blocks. She came in smelling of fresh air and iris, her exercise having intensified the smell of her light cologne.

“It is so beautiful out, your grace,” she said as she picked up the book. “We should leave Elizabeth and Darcy inside Pemberley and go out for a walk.” She had begun rather facetiously, but as she spoke, she realized she meant it. She could not bear another minute inside the library. Simon had hovered by the fire long enough!

She stood up and impulsively reached out for his hand. “Your grace, come out with me. I would go for a long walk and would like your escort.”

Simon pulled his hand back and said, more coldly than he had in weeks, “You forget yourself, Miss Ware. If you wish to be outdoors this morning, instead of reading to me, I will excuse you and send a footman with you.”

Judith was a bit taken aback by his tone, but she was feeling so delighted by the weather and, had she thought about it, so delighted to see Simon again after four days that she was not hearing him fully.

“Thank you, your grace, but I am sure it would be good for you to get out also. You cannot stay locked inside your library forever.” Judith had completely and for the first time forgotten her place, and was speaking impulsively, as to a friend and not an employer. The walk had blown all the cobwebs out of her head, and she realized that there was a certain amount of energy that she toned down with Simon, as though he were an invalid.

There is nothing anyone likes less to hear than “It would be good for you.” Simon was himself beginning to wake up to the fact that not only would it be good, but necessary, to pull out of the morass of self-pity, or soon completely drown in it. He was terrified, however, of taking the first step back into what would be a very different life. He could hardly admit to himself, much less anyone else, how frightened he was. Fear on the battlefield was one thing; there he had not been alone, but supported by others who were facing the same dangers. This was different. And he did not want anyone telling him what was good for him.