“Well, the footman came round with the broiled cod, and I was looking at it…so that’s what I said.”
It was not really an answer. Lord Wembly wished to know why she would invent such a story. She had not told him she could not read, that she had word swimming. Now she certainly could never reveal it. He’d brought her out of doors to express his irritation, not his admiration.
“In cases such as these, I presume it is the usual…” Lord Wembly paused. “Wait. Lady Pegatha did warn me not to sound as if I were giving a lecture at the Royal Society.”
Verity swallowed. He’d told Lady Pegatha he was to give her the what-for and she’d advised him on how to do it? Is that why they’d seemed like they had a secret between them?
“I am not so skilled at finding the right words, it seems. This might do better.” Lord Wembly reached into his coat and brought out a velvet box. He opened it to reveal the most charming bracelet Verity had ever seen.
It was a superbly cut sapphire surrounded by seed pearls that went on in rows to form the band of the bracelet. He was giving her a bracelet? She was wrong, then? He might be a little scoldy over…recent events. But he also gave her a bracelet, which was practically a declaration. Or was it definitely a declaration?
He removed it from its case and made to put it round her wrist.
“Wait!” she cried. Now was the time, now she would have to tell him that she could not read. She should have told him earlier. She would have, if he’d been more clear about his intentions. She really would not have waited until this moment.
But now was the time.
The bracelet hung in Lord Wembly’s fingers. “There is something I have to say…or rather, inform you of,” Verity said. “After you have heard it, you might wish to slip that bracelet back into your coat pocket. You would have every right to do it, too. It is very grave news. Very grave, indeed.”
“Good God,” Lord Wembly whispered, “are you already married?”
“No!”
“It’s not, well, it’s not a baby?”
“Whose baby?”
“No, of course not,” Lord Wembly said. “What? What is it?”
“Well, what it is, you see, it is a condition with my eyes.”
“You’re going blind?” Lord Wembly asked. “Well that is nothing. Nothing at all.”
“No! At least, I had not considered that a possibility. It’s called word swimming. When I look at a book, the words swim on the page. You see, I cannot read because of it.”
Ugh, she’d said it. She’d never wanted to say it, but now Lord Wembly knew it.
