by Rye Hart
“She is very spirited, sir,” Harold agreed.
“Spirited! She is the very devil incarnate! You could not conceive of the terms she demanded.”
“I can, sir. She is no coward.”
“She is most unwomanly,” Dennison grumbled.
“She is not, sir,” Harold dared to disagree. “She is accounted quite comely.”
“What does she look like?” Laverly asked, trying to sound uninterested but unable to keep his curiosity to himself.
“Her hair is as black as your own, sir. She has most pleasing blue eyes that are always showing some merriment, though what makes her mirthful is not always apparent. She is not too tall and not too short; I believe she comes to your shoulder, but you are taller than most. She is accounted to have a most pleasing figure. She has more education than most of the village lasses; her father was a schoolmaster and he taught her as much as he taught his students, even if she is but a girl with no real need for Latin or Greek. She is skilled at sewing and makes her own clothing. ‘Tis said that she has a different dress to wear to church for four Sundays in a row. I pay no mind to such frivolity, but my womenfolk do and they are agog at her frocks. She is popular in the village for all of her learning and her spirit, and she is a kind girl, sir.”
“Does she not have a young man? How old is she?” he demanded to know more.
“She is twenty-one years. ‘Tis said that no young man dares to ask for her hand for fear of her tongue, although I have never heard her speak ill to any of the lads. It’s generally held that she will end up a governess.”
“I think she’s more likely to end up a scold, but that’s neither here nor there. She has told me that she will be at the Hall at nine in the morning to begin to teach me how to see while still blind. Will you be on hand to shave me? And Harold, do you know anything about the tying of a fashionable cravat?”
Chapter Six
Harold was both prompt and reasonably adept at the tying of a cravat, clearly an innkeeper who accepted the diverse needs of his clientele. Laverly felt that his taskmistress would find no fault with his appearance; he could not see his cravat but he ran his fingers along its folds after Harold had finished and pronounced it suitable. He was upright when she entered the library and bade her to sit down after she entered.
But it was not a day for sitting down, it seemed. It was a day for walking. As the Griffins were cleaning the upstairs, Bella decided that Dennison would learn to make his way through his home. When he reached for the bookshelf or the chaise to guide his path, she told him that he must learn to walk with his hands at his sides. “You shall learn where the furniture is,” she told him, “and gauge its presence with your body, but you must not grip it as if you cannot stand on your own.”
“That’s all very well when I am at home,” he said crossly after he’d stumbled over the elegantly carved leg of a chair, “but when I am at the homes of others, I will not perceive where they have positioned their furnishings.”
“You will develop a sense for it,” she said calmly. “I told you: other senses will come to your service.”
“Shall I smell the settee, then?” he ask with sarcasm. “Or perhaps lick the armoire?”
She laughed. “Very good, sir. You are quite a wit when you are not so disobliging and rude.”
He began to object, then to his own astonishment, joined her in laughter. “I confess that I am perhaps more disobliging than I am witty.”
“You have been sorely tried, sir. I know my father’s spirits were low when he was first afflicted.”
“He seems to be a most agreeable gentleman now.”
“He has learned to accept what he can do without longing for what is lost,” she said softly.
“How does one do that?”
“Must not we all do so?” she asked. “Life is not so profligate with its favors as to grant us all that we wish.”
“I thought it had, until I was blinded. I had everything a man could hope for. I was born to a position of rank. I had the affection of my fellow officers and the regard of a general, Lord Wellington, whom I esteem highly. I had a substantive income and a house renowned for its history; I was not a rake at odds with convention nor on the outskirts of Society. Had I bothered to consider the matter, I would have thought myself quite fortunate,” he said.
“Sir,” she said, her voice warm, “you still have all those things. You are the Duke; Laverly Hall is a beautiful residence. Your reputation for valor is known throughout England, your wealth has not diminished, you are accounted a Corinthian for your fashion and your whip and your pursuits. Much of those qualities are yet yours to claim.”
“A fine image I’d make in a bout at Jackson’s,” he said sardonically.
“Can you live without boxing?”
“Yes, of course, if I can have other pursuits,” he said.
“Is not Will Pargetter to teach you to ride again?”
“How do you know that?”
She laughed. “The village is small; tongues are busy.”
“Do the villagers not think it comical that the Duke of Laverly is a poor figure, blind as a post and helpless as a newborn babe?”
“They think it gratifying that the Duke’s son is now back in his home, and the Hall occupied again. They regarded your father and mother with great esteem and they wish to bestow that esteem upon you, if you will allow it.”
Bella Dart was a demanding tutor but by the time she departed after lunch, where she had taught him how to carve a joint of meat with skill, Laverly felt as if he were, if not precisely restored, at least not helpless. He could walk through two of the downstairs rooms without stumbling. He knew how to listen for the sounds of motion that he could not see; she had taken him outside and instructed him to tell her what he heard. He heard the sounds of the Griffin boys removing the dead branches that had been left on the ground. In spring, she told him, he would be able to discern the sounds of the birds and their individual songs. “My father will be able to school you; he knows more about birds than anyone, and he is up before sunrise, waiting for them to begin to sing.”
“I don’t fancy that I’ll be eager to rise so early to hear them,” he warned her. “I am a lie-abed, given the option.”
“Gentlemen have that option,” she said.
“Except for me. I am bidden to rise at the crack of dawn with you around.”
She laughed. “Dawn is much earlier than when you were obliged to rise. I must return home. We are preparing the chapel for Advent and I am embroidering the altar cloths. And you will be riding by Christmas. Will Pargetter has learned of a mare that is for sale, he tells me; one that is well-mannered and suitable.”
“A lady’s palfrey,” he said disdainfully.
“You must start somewhere,” she reminded him.
A week later, he received an invitation to a dance at Leedings, the estate of Sir Godfrey Birch, a local squire. It was not a London event but the Birches were wellborn and well-connected thanks to Lady Eleanor’s kin. Bess had handed him the invitation but could not read it to him. He gave it to Bella the next day.
“I shall decline,” he said.
“You shall not! It is a dance and you shall dance,” she said firmly.
“I cannot dance.”
“You can dance. You know the steps,” she challenged.
“Are you mad? How shall I dance when I cannot see?”
“You shall dance, my lord. You shall forget what you cannot see and you shall consider what your limbs can do, and you shall dance,” Bella repeated stubbornly.
Dennison was both dubious and afraid. He had been nimble and a sought-after partner before blindness. But under Bella’s guidance, he recalled the steps of the dances. Bella herself was a graceful dancer, easy to lead. As they moved, he attended to the sound of her skirts as she performed the steps, he paid heed to her stillness when the dance ended, and he was mindful of the wafting of the scent of lavender as it drifted past his nostrils. Her hands were smooth and strong
, her gait lively. When the dancing ended, he was sorry that she was no longer in his arms.
“Harold tells me that you are accounted pleasing to look at,” he said when she was preparing to leave, having declared the dancing lesson a success.
He sensed her pause as she put on her gloves. “And you are accounted handsome to behold,” she replied. “Good day to you.”
He was cross at supper that night, although it was no fault of Bess, who had prepared a meal with her mother’s skill. He went to bed early, irritated and disinclined to sleep. The house, although inhabited only by himself and the two Griffins who were servants, was in repose but its lord was not. The dance was in two days, and he had a fashionable outfit to wear. He would make, he supposed, a passable figure among the company of people of local society. It was time to seek a wife, he recognized. When the spring came, it would be time to go to London for the Season when the true matchmaking got underway. Laverly smiled, recalling Bella’s comment that, come spring, he could begin to listen for the sounds of the birds as he learned to distinguish their songs. Imagine, a gentleman up at dawn to attend to the tunes of birds. It was laughable.
Martin had progressed admirably, but Harold lingered on the day of the dance to ensure that Laverly was properly outfitted. Will Pargetter proudly took the reins for the carriage that Laverly had purchased along with the chestnuts that he had bought with Will’s assistance. He felt a moment’s doubt when Will opened the carriage door, but there was a footman ready to lead him into the assembly. Gauging his steps, Laverly found that he was able to ascend the stairs on his own, and if his pace was more measured than a young gentleman’s was wont to be, he at least had the satisfaction of standing on his own when his arrival was announced.
“Laverly, you look well! I’d no idea you’ve flourished,” Sir Godfrey greeted him. “To tell the truth, I didn’t know if you were accepting invitations, but Eleanor insisted. She says it’s time for you to consider leaving your bachelorhood behind you. Have a caution, I warn you; the ladies are ready to pounce upon you. My advice is to seek the punch bowl at every opportunity.”
Laverly laughed. “I’m looking forward to dancing,” he said.
“Dancing? Well that’s splendid,” Sir Godfrey said uncertainly. “I’d no idea.”
Lady Pennington, who was perched by the punchbowl, told him that her daughter Lavinia was most eager to hear about Waterloo. Lady Mechling was of the opinion that he should regale them with stories about Lord Wellington, who regarded Dennison so highly. Lord Bentley whispered to him that there was a game in the parlor; not high stakes, but a respite from the swarm of young ladies seeking to be the next Duchess. They were as astounded as Sir Godfrey had been when he told them that he had come anticipating the dances.
He had no dearth of partners. When he led Lady Eleanor out for the second dance, he sensed the gaze of the assembly upon him. Lady Eleanor was an excellent dancer and a woman of intuition who knew how to make her partner appear even more adept than he might by nature be. Perceiving his success, he found that he was as sought after as a belle.
“Can’t even get near you,” complained Bentley. “There’s no competing with a hero of Waterloo. I thought to take a few guineas from you tonight, but the damned damsels will not free you from their snares.”
He did not dance every dance, but when he was not dancing, he was the center of conversation. He told a few amusing stories about Lord Wellington and some light tales of life in camp, sparing them the truth about the battle and the injury that had taken his sight. He could not play cards, but there were other games, although he discovered that gambling had lost its allure. Perhaps it was because he could not see, but he wondered if the true reason was because he had found a game of chance with much higher stakes.
He spent the night in a wave of perfumed ladies, in a room where the odors of a splendid supper and a potent punch dominated the space. He was aware of the music as he had never been before, and he would not have minded sitting to listen. But he danced, and conversed, and bantered, performing all the deeds of a gentleman. He could not understand why, as he rode home, he felt that the evening, which had clearly exceeded his hopes in reclaiming his place in society, should have felt so empty and devoid of substance.
Martin helped him to undress because Martin was his valet. Dennison realized that he was quite capable of doing the task on his own. But gentlemen did not undress themselves and Martin knew his role. Laverly stayed up for a time, considering what he would tell Bella, and how pleased she would be with his achievement. Even the demanding Miss Dart, he felt, would account it a feat to have gotten through an evening with the gentry without embarrassing himself.
The next morning, Bella listened closely to his rendition of the previous night’s success. “I danced a multitude of dances,” he said, “and didn’t tread on anyone’s toes.”
“Capital!” she praised. “Then my job is done. You have matriculated with honors, Lord Laverly and you are ready to go into the world. Your success will be the gossip of the week and you can count on having many invitations over Christmas.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded. They were in the library, seated in the magnificent chairs in front of the fireplace. He knew to an inch where the chairs were placed; he had, with ill-disguised pride, led Miss Dart to her seat as if she had never been in the room.
“This was our goal, was it not? To instruct you so that you could return to your position in society without your blindness restraining you. You have done so, clearly excelling. Our work is ended.”
“I don’t wish it to be ended,” he blurted out. “I’m sure there is more that I must master. You cannot, Miss Dart, be so uncharitable as to leave me to my own devices.”
He heard the shifting of the weight in the chair as she rose. “I must. Our work is done. You will entertain as a Duke through the holidays and when the Season begins, you will be in London, seeking a wife among the elegant young ladies who are eager for your hand. You will make quite a conquest, I have no doubt.”
“I do not know if that is my wish,” he said awkwardly.
“Nonsense,” she declared. “It must be. You have returned to your position as you must do.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I am as I always have been, I daughter of a schoolmaster who was once a gardener. My life and yours do not intersect.”
“What if I wish them to do so?” Dennison pressed, feeling a strange sort of panic at the prospect of Bella’s leaving his life.
“They cannot.” Her voice sounded different, the cushions of mirth that encircled her words gone. There was a very different tone as she spoke.
“Bella,“ He raised a hand to her cheek and his fingers came away wet. “Bella, are you crying?”
“I have a cold,” she replied. “I must go home and tend to it or I shall be all a-sniffle at the Advent service. Do not see me out, I know the way.”
The scent of lavender lingered after she departed.
Chapter Seven
Laverly slept poorly that night, wrestling with the significance of what he realized had come to pass. He had, entirely against his will or intention, fallen in love with Bella Dart. She had none of the guiles of the winsome daughters of society. She was not pliant and complimentary, she did not attempt to win him with the wiles of her sex. She had not attempted to win him at all. He had returned to his position in society only to discover that it was a void and as empty of vision as the eyesight which had formerly gazed upon the world of entitlement, wealth and position and thought it sufficient. It had taken the loss of his sight to discover that his path was not destined to be the traveled road of a Duke’s son. It was, instead, the pathway of self-achievement and respect which arose from what he had done and not what he had been born into. He had learned his lessons from the good-hearted innkeeper’s family and from Will Pargetter’s dogged determination not to allow his infirmity to erode his worth. Most of all, it had come from Bella Dart, a woman whose admiration had to
be earned.
“Martin, will you tell Will that I need him to saddle Gwennie to the wagon. We are going for a ride,” he instructed Martin after he was shaved and dressed.
“Yes, sir,” Martin said obediently. “At what hour?”
“I shall first partake of your sister’s cooking. I find that I will need to be nourished for my endeavor.”
“Sir, is everything all right?” Martin had inherited his father’s caution and although he didn’t know what his master intended, he was aware, from his expression, that the Duke was set on an adventure of some sort.
“Quite all right, Martin.”
After another of Bess’ excellent meals, Laverly got into the wagon. Will took the reins; Gwennie was a placid horse with a good mouth and an easy manner. Laverly had ridden her around the grounds but not beyond the boundaries of the estate. He was not sure enough of the route to the Dart cottage to venture on his errand alone, but he trusted Will’s discretion.
“We are heading to Miss Dart’s cottage,” he told Will. “I have unfinished business with her. You will leave me there, and return in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Will said.
“You may visit your family during that time, or---are you courting anyone, Will?
Will confessed, bashfully, that he had begun walking out with Lizzie Cantwell, the middle daughter of the Cantwell brood.
“Excellent, I’m glad to hear it. Love is most invigorating. Do you plan to wed?”
Will said that was his wish, but it was early days yet and he hadn’t asked her father for her hand.
“Her father. Yes, of course. You must follow the rules. If you wed her, you can move into one of the bigger cottages on the estate. I hope that you will stay in my employ; you are a valued member of the staff,” Dennison said.
Wil confessed that it was his wish to do so and to continue to help Laverly build up his stables. “Word is, sir, that you’re likely to marry in the coming year yourself. They do say that you were much admired at the squire’s dance.”
