Page 12 of Truly, Madly, Daring

There was a tense, unhappy silence.

“They did,” she said, and he heard the anxiety in her voice. “But only after my uncle chased them all the way to Scotland. By the time he got there he realised he had been wrong to refuse the match and so they returned home and were married at Beverwyck with his blessing, but they were standing at the altar at Gretna Green when he caught up with them. They did the entire journey in a curricle.”

“Good God. A curricle?” Rex exclaimed, uncertain whether to be delighted or daunted by this information. Her parents were clearly not to be underestimated.

“My lord, I would have your promise that you will never tell another soul about that. I ought never to have mentioned it. I can’t understand why I did, only….”

“Only?” he pressed, curious when she did not finish the sentence.

“You’re far too easy to confide in,” she grumbled. It did not sound like a compliment, but Rex took it as one, anyway. He grinned.

“I will take it to my grave, pet. Though I am intrigued to discover eloping is a family tradition. No wonder the Knight clan is considered so interesting. Your sister did it in rather spectacular fashion, after all, marrying the so handsome Comte de Villen.”

“I shan’t discuss it,” she said, sounding prim and indignant. He imagined her lips pursed to match and a confusing rush of affection and desire stole over him, so fierce it took him quite by surprise.

“Very well. Then you can tell me again how you think me as handsome as the comte instead.”

She made a sound of outrage and Rex preened, delighted to have ruffled her.

“I said no such thing! If I remember correctly, I said you were a conceited coxcomb,” she returned, though he could hear her smiling, feel the warmth of her amusement as though he stood bathed in sunlight. He realised in that moment how badly he wanted to stay there, in the light of her approval.

He shook his head, attempting to look grave. “Oh, no. I can’t allow that. I distinctly remember reminiscing about how I’d once been a handsome fellow, beloved by all, before I fell from such heady heights, and you said… you said… ‘I promise you, nothing has changed.’”

Rex grinned, waiting for her tart reply, wanting to indulge himself in more of her amusement and laughter, but the sensation faded. He frowned, wondering what he’d said wrong.

“You didn’t fall, Wrexham,” she said gently. “At least, not in the way you mean. Though, it was an accident, wasn’t it, that lost you your sight?”

Rex stiffened, torn between anger at what sounded like pity and the desire to crawl into her lap and allow her to soothe all his hurt feelings and wounded pride.

“My lord?”

She sounded hesitant now, anxious, and he couldn’t have that, so he put his indignation aside for once, reigning in the desire to lash out at anyone who dared pity him.

“It was a fall that started it,” he admitted. “Some idiot fired a gun too close to me and spooked my horse. He was young and rather green and took fright. I was unseated and fell badly, hitting my head. Knocked me out cold. When I awoke, my head was exploding, my vision blurry. I just assumed it would get better, that I’d had the stuffing knocked out of me and it would take my brain a day or two to recover.”

“But it didn’t?”

Rex shook his head, unwilling to remember those days. He pushed the memories aside and shrugged. “No. Gradually the headache faded but my sight worsened, disappearing gradually until… well….” He shrugged, all on edge now, his pride bristling, nerves exposed, knowing he could not bear to hear the usual platitudes from her and hold his tongue.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” she said, and he heard the sincerity in her voice, but no mawkish sentiment, no pity. “It must have been horrid, and disorientating, and… well, frankly, I cannot begin to imagine. How you have managed, and in the face of such adversity as your family is bringing you, well, it is remarkable, Wrexham. You are remarkable. A conceited coxcomb but, all the same, a remarkable one.”

And there was the sun again, breaking out from behind the clouds as he recognised a fond note behind her teasing.

Rex exhaled, completely wrong-footed, surprised, and confused and… hopeful, for the first time since he’d gone blind.

Chapter 4

Dearest Fred,

How can such a clever fellow as you be such a big lummox?

Of course I love you too.

You daft ha’porth.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Agatha de Montluc (adopted daughter of Louis César and Evie de Montluc, Comte and Comtesse de Villen) to The Right Hon’ble Frederick Adolphus, (second youngest son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin)

15th of February 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.