“Zounds, but itdoesmatter.” His frown had returned, and his heavy brows almost met over the bridge of his nose. “The careless shrug does you no credit. Appearances do matter, especially in one who is the daughter of an earl and one who is to be a baroness and wife of the head of a family. I have younger sisters, who will look to you as a model of appearance and behavior. I do not believe your deafness can be used as an excuse for such shocking impropriety.”
Emily frowned in incomprehension. Why was he angry? She looked into his eyes and raised her chin. She did not often feel anger, but she felt it now in response to his. Though she realized that her appearancewasimproper and that after five days it must be a shock to him to see her thus on the sixth. He was speaking hastily, before he had given himself time to digest what he had seen and to react more rationally.
She watched him draw a deep breath and watched his frown lessen in ferocity. Perhaps he had realized his mistake. Perhaps he would apologize for his hasty and hurtful words, beg her pardon. Perhaps he would smile at her and she at him. Perhaps they would even laugh together. And perhaps she would run back to the house ahead of him and change into more acceptable clothes, and there would be an end to this unfortunate encounter.
But his eyes had moved beyond her shoulder and focused on her painting. Her first instinct was to move across in front of it, to block it from his view. But she did not do so. It struck her suddenly that through her painting she could communicate with him for the first time beyond smiles and nods. She could show him something of her inner self. She felt terribly afraid and almost breathless in anticipation. She moved to one side and watched his face.
His brows snapped together again. He gazed at her painting rather as he might at a poisonous snake. He turned to her after he had gazed long and hard.
“Youdid this?” he asked.
She nodded. Why was he angry?
“But whatisit?” His polished manners seemed to have deserted him yet again.
It was not obvious, then? Her painting was no substitute for words? She lifted her arms and indicated the trees around them. Then she raised her arms to the sky, stretching her fingers tautly upward, and closed her eyes. Then she looked at him again.
“I see no trees or sky in the painting,” he said. “Did his grace not hire a drawing master or a governess capable of teaching watercolors when you were in the schoolroom, Lady Emily?”
She nodded.
“My sisters have had the good fortune to enjoy the services of a very superior governess,” he said. “They all paint charmingly. I have paintings of theirs hanging in my study and my bedchamber. They have been taught to create gentle beauty out of the world around them.” She watched him intently. It seemed important to see every word he spoke.
Godhad created gentle beauty. And ferocious beauty too. She had no interest in slavishly copying what had already been done. But perhaps to people who could hear—and talk—it was not so important to be able to speak through a painting. She wondered if he would understand even if she could explain to him. She had the rather alarming notion that he might not. The burden of understanding was always on her.Shewas the odd one, the one who lacked speech and wits. Or so it seemed sometimes. But she was being unfair to Luke and Anna and a few other people.
“This,” he said, indicating her painting and turning his face to it, “is the ravings of a madwoman.”
She was not sure if he had meant her to see his lips. But she had. She had been watching intently, and her eyes widened in shock and hurt and anger.
“I beg your pardon,” he said too late, looking again at her. “’Tis not entirely your fault, perhaps. I am beginning to understand that his grace might have been too lenient with you, Lady Emily, because of your affliction.”
She thought of Luke leaning over her desk as she learned to read, firm and implacable despite her frequent tears and occasional tantrums, telling her that the effort might well kill him and shatter his marriage but that shewouldread and write and that theywouldpersevere for one more hour before stopping for tea. And yet never for one moment—she had never quite known how he did it—had she doubted that he loved her dearly. If she had, she would probably never have learned.
“’Tis understandable,” Lord Powell said, his eyes softening somewhat. “He must pity your affliction. My mother will help you when we are married.”
But she had been too deeply shocked, too deeply hurt to be soothed by his apology or his assurances, though she saw his lips offer both. And now indignation had been added to everything else. Hismotherwould help her to learn what was what? As if she were a gauche and ignorant, somewhat spoiled child. Or a half-wit perhaps.
She turned sharply away from him even though she realized that he was speaking again, and darted along the riverbank and up the rocks that took her almost to the top of the falls. She stood on the top one, looking out across the fast-flowing water that rushed and bubbled downward over the steep, rocky slope to the level below. She deliberately did not turn her head, though she knew that he was still there. She wanted him to go away.
Fortunately he did not try to come after her.
Luke would have understood her explanation about her painting, she thought. He might not have approved of it, and he might well still have made his remark about witches, but he would have understood. And if he had not, he would merely have shrugged and suggested that perhaps it was time for breakfast. He would not have raved. More important, he would not have condescended. Luke treated her as if she were a real person.
And Ashley. Ashley had asked her to dance even though he knew very well she could not hear music. But she did not want to think about Ashley. Not now.
Lord Powell, she could see though she did not turn her head, had moved from in front of her easel and had gone to stand at the foot of the rock pile. She willed him not to come up. She needed to recover from her hurt before she could smile at him again. He needed to see her again as she had been for the past five days before he said more. They both needed time.
Go away,she told him silently, without looking at him.Please go away.
And finally he went. She had the feeling that he had said something first, but she had no curiosity to know what.
It was very clear to her, even clearer than it had been before, that her life would change completely on her marriage. Even if the wedding was not to take place immediately, even if there was still time here alone with Luke and Anna and the children before it, she must accept the fact that life was to change, she told herself. She must prepare for it. There must be no scenes like this after her marriage. None.
She had not really expected that the changes would have to be so very sweeping. Much would have to go. This freedom, this communion with the natural world around her. Her solitary wanderings. Her painting. Everything that she had held most dear all her life. Everything that had given her life meaning and texture. It was what was called growing up, she supposed. And it was probably about time. Anna lived very well within the bounds of convention and propriety. So did Agnes and Charlotte and Doris. So did every other woman of her acquaintance. It could be done. Itwouldbe done, even if she did have a handicap that made her situation not quite comparable to theirs.
Butshouldit be done? she wondered. Must she sacrifice herself in order to conform, in order to achieve the respectability and relative independence of marriage? Was it in the nature of womanhood that one had to amputate oneself for the sake of a man? She rather thought it must be.
Emily clenched her hands at her sides, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the morning sun. Yes, she would change from this moment on. Everything from the past would be gone, and she would accept the challenge of the future. She would fit in. She would be normal. She would learn to smile and nod and endlessly read lips.
