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“May I pour?” he asked.
“Of course,” she smiled, listening to the sound. “I noticed that Gregory has planted some dahlias in the far end of the garden.”
“You noticed, have you?” He sounded delighted by her comment. “I wanted to surprise you. I bade him plant them well ahead, so they could bloom this summer.”
“With a gardener like Gregory, you needn’t fear that any flowers might not bloom. He has made our garden into a true sanctuary.”
She remembered the soft fragrance of summer flowers, how it would always tickle her noise when she walked outside with Sarah. She could almost imagine their vivid colors and see them inside her mind. Although she had been blind for a long time now, her mind did not forget the sights that she and been blessed with before, and that included the colors. She remembered the yellow tint of the sun, the green hue of the summer grass, and the way it smelled when Gregory would mow it. Her world might be enshrouded in darkness, but light and colors still managed to pierce through that thick veil if she tried hard enough.
“Perhaps when the Duke of Sculthorpe and his mother come to visit tomorrow, we could set up tea in the garden,” he suggested.
She listened to her father whose words caught her off guard. “The Duke is coming for a visit?”
“Oh, haven’t I disclosed that before?” he wondered. She tried to read the nuances in his voice, but there were none. He was not endeavoring to hide this fact. He had simply forgotten. “I tend to be forgetful sometimes. I do hope that your mother will tell Sarah as well. The Duke has written with his desire to pay us a visit along with his mother.”
Bridget’s heart danced to a tune she had never heard before. In an effort to distract herself from this news, she extended her hand and reached for the teacup. Her hand hovered in the air just enough for her to realize exactly where it was because of the steam. She first cupped the top with her open palm, careful not to burn herself, then she slid her hand to the side of the teacup, looking for the handle. Once she found it, she lifted the cup and took a small sip. She was not particularly thirsty, especially now, but she needed something to occupy her mouth, so that she wouldn’t be expected to comment on this. Her father, on the other hand, waited patiently for her to put down the teacup, both of them choosing to ignore the loud clinking sound that arose from her miscalculation of the distance between the teacup and the plate underneath it.
“That must be then why Mother has taken Sarah shopping for a new dress,” she couldn’t resist commenting.
“I suppose so,” her father replied. A moment later, she heard him slurp. If his wife had been there, she would have kicked him underneath the table. The thought made her smile. “Is anything funny?” he wondered, and from the way he spoke, she could conclude he was smiling.
“I am just enjoying our time together,” she said, glad that it wasn’t a lie although that was not why she was still smiling.
She was smiling because she would see that man again. Joseph. She could not forget the gentle touch of his hand. She could not forget the color of his voice, nor the way he danced with her. But there was another thing she could not forget either, and that was the fact that he would not be coming to see her. He was coming for Sarah as it should be. She herself could never be a wife; she could never be presented as a Duchess. Yes, she still had her ears and lips and hands, but that meant little to the ton when she could not see. It was no use hoping. Hope was a luxury she could not afford. The price was too high.
“Ah, I do believe I see your mother and sister approaching,” her father announced, and immediately she heard oncoming footsteps.
She would stop thinking about Joseph eventually. Of course, she would. He was merely the first gentleman she ever danced with, and, as such, she would have fond memories of him always.
Yes, that was it. Nothing more to it. Once he started courting Sarah officially, she would realize how ridiculous it was to keep thinking of him in such a manner.
* * *
The day could not come quickly enough. Joseph had already put on his clothes and was tying his cravat when someone knocked on his door.
“Yes?” he called, and a moment later, the door opened.
His mother entered, looking like a reverie in a pale-pink cotton gown which was embroidered by dainty little roses. It made her appear at least ten years younger. Joseph could remember being just a small child of but ten years of age and thinking his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. In fact, that was what he still believed. What surprised him, shocked him, and downright angered him was the fact that his own father never seemed to think so.
“Are you ready?” she inquired with a smile as she approached him from behind, looking at them both in the mirror in front of him.
“Almost,” he confirmed turning towards her. “Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes refused to leave his. He could see pain and anguish, and it made him feel even more adamant about the decision he had made several years ago. He did not know his mother prior to her marriage to his father, but he could imagine her. A free spirit with so much love, a soul his father’s cruel manners endeavored to destroy through utter control of her actions and words, through constant criticism and absolute lack of emotion towards her. All he needed her for was to bear a son. Once her role had been fulfilled, she had been cast aside, rendered useless in his eyes. How he hated the man.
“Tell me, Joseph…” she started, and he almost knew what she was about to ask. However their conversations commenced, they always finished on the same note. “What is your opinion of Lady Sarah?”
“Lady Sarah?” he repeated, just so he could buy himself some time to come up with a decent enough response. “I haven’t really spoken to her long enough to form a lasting opinion.” That was actually true.
“Yes, I’ve noticed that you chose to dance with Lady Bridget instead.” Her voice was factual, unyielding. He could sense that she had not yet come to the point she was trying to make. “The blind one.”
“That is not all she is, Mother.”
She lifted her eyebrow at him, surprised that he would correct her in such a manner. “I did not state that it was. I merely pointed out the obvious. And I understand that you asked to dance with her out of… the goodness of your heart.”
He could tell that she meant pity, only she changed her mind regarding the choice of the word in the last minute. Nothing she had said was correct. Not a single thing. Yet he felt no need to rectify her beliefs. All he wanted to do was get in that carriage that would take him to Fernside Manor and to her.
