AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They were still walking, and there, just ahead of her, Fanny could discern the shape of a door, the faintest line of light bleeding through from the hallway. She nearly dove forward to grasp the handle, desperate to escape the darkness. She paused, confused. “What brought you to this room then?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “No reason,” he said in a soft voice.
Fanny gripped the door handle and turned it. Dim light from the hall tinted the room as she opened the door. She sighed with relief. Her eyes followed the new light to Mr. Wellington’s face. Her heart twinged with grief in that moment, knowing that despite the illumination all around them, Percy was still surrounded by darkness. How horrible it must be. She watched his face, noting the blanket of sadness that seemed to permanently cloak his features.
And her heart ached all over again. Fanny was determined, in that moment, to do something good. If light from the sun and color from her favorite dresses and the flowers outside could not bring him joy, then she would. She would be his light. She didn’t know how, but if it were possible, she would find a way.
“There must be a reason you came up here,” Fanny said, still watching his face.
His open expression lasted a brief moment longer before a scowl returned to his brow. “None that I would tell you.”
Fanny almost gasped in outrage, but she noticed a little smile, just a quick lift of his lips, that paused her. What a confusing man he was. Was he teasing her now?
“I believe I can find my way from here,” Mr. Wellington said. Then he pulled his arm away from her hand and stepped forward, moving toward the staircase. His hand slid along the wall, his footfalls echoing loudly in the vast hallway.
Fanny was silent, watching his back as he walked. A new determination bloomed within her, seeing that ever-present slump of his shoulders. There had to be a way past it. Would it be possible for her to make him happy? Why had he gone to that room in the first place? What had he enjoyed before he lost his sight? Fanny’s heart pounded with excitement. His gruff exterior would be breached. She would make him laugh. She would make him happy, for both their sakes. Fanny clasped her hands together in front of her and couldn’t help but smile. She had a purpose now. She could forget her loneliness and her scars. She could forget her own burdens and work to lighten his.
Her smile fell when she looked down at her hands. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she recalled how she had admitted to perspiring on Mr. Wellington’s sleeve. Fanny found herself hoping he hadn’t been disgusted. For a strange reason, she wanted him to like her. She wanted him to miss her when she was away. She bit her lip, shaking her head. These were ridiculous thoughts. But as she turned and walked down the staircase, she allowed herself to think of her husband one more time. And another, and another.
CHAPTER7
The man who invented the cravat should be condemned. Percy tugged once again on the growing knot at his neck, grumbling with frustration. He smoothed his hand over it, feeling the imperfections. In the past, he had watched his valet do it through the mirror many times, and he had even attempted it himself a few times himself. But Percy hadn’t tied one on himself for months. Without sight it was particularly difficult. What compelled him to now try to look presentable was something of a mystery to him.
After their encounter in that dark room a fortnight before, Fanny had visited him often, talking his ear off half the time. She laughed quite a lot, and he was uncertain why. He planned to venture to the library as soon as he finished tying that difficult cravat. He hoped he hadn’t missed her morning visit, for it had given him something to look forward to. When she was away, he often heard voices outside his library window, recognizing the sound of Fanny’s laughter and the cajoling tone of his blasted groundskeeper.
Percy pulled on his waistcoat in a jerky movement. Why had he permitted that groundskeeper to stay? Of course, his land might have overgrown with plants and his house would become unsightly, but why would Percy care how it looked? He had never given much heed to the opinions of others. Now he was calling his reasoning to question again.
Fanny would like a nice house to live in. She loved to explore the grounds and the gardens. He kept the groundskeeper so she would have the flowers and neat grass she loved.
He stopped himself, shaking his head to clear it.No, he kept it neat so Fanny would have a distraction—so she wouldn’t bother him so often. Yes, that was it.
But that Mr. Gregory was another problem altogether. If that man attempted to steal Fanny from Percy, then so help him…
Percy drew a tense breath and fastened the last button of his waistcoat. A soft knock on the door made him jump.
“Percy?” It was Fanny’s voice. His heart plummeted rather hard at the sound. What was the matter with him?
“Yes?”
“May I come in?” Her voice was shy but also cheerful. She had never come to his room before. He furrowed his brow as he tried to puzzle out the reason she could be here. He almost forgot to answer.
“You may.” He forced the words past his throat.
The door creaked open and he heard the rustling of skirts. He felt a shift in the air as it fell to silence. Then without warning, she burst into suppressed giggles.
He frowned. “What is it?” He thought of his cravat, monstrously tied at his throat. He felt heat rise to his cheeks.
Fanny’s skirts brushed the floor in a ripple as she walked toward him. The faint smell of lilacs drifted up to his nose. “Are you attempting to create a new trend in male fashion? I must admit, the idea is rather entertaining.”
“Then we will pretend that is what I was doing.” Percy could hardly concentrate with Fanny standing so close.
She laughed again, then grew quiet. “Hmm. Even so, this will not do.”
She seemed to come even closer before he felt her hands tugging at the neck cloth, gentle and reserved. “Do you mind? My father once taught me to tie his cravat when I was a young girl. He insisted I learn so that on days his hands were tired from writing, I could do it for him.” She gave a soft laugh at the memory, but her voice was tight with longing, something broken hiding in her words. “His valet was a grumpy man. Much like you,” she teased.
“I don’t try to be.” Percy felt the cravat slip away from his neck, then wrap again around it.
“Well, perhaps you might trynotto be,” Fanny said. “Smile. Life is an obligatory gift. We may not always like it, but we must make do with what we are given.” Her voice was resolute, as if this idea had been engraved in her soul.
