“There is to be no wedding. Your husband should have received the documents formally dissolving our betrothal. Good day to you. Logan will show you out.” Theodore swiveled his chair away from them.
Beatrice crossed the room so she might open the door for him as he exited.
“Now, see here.” Aunt Margaret rose from the sofa, claws out like a lioness ready to pounce. “We know of no such letter and have come all this way atyourinvitation.”
Theodore paused his progress and faced them once more. “That invitation was for the beginning of the summer. It was refuted when your daughter eloped with another man.”
“Oh posh.” Aunt Margaret waved her hand again. “There was no elopement. Violet is here now, is she not?”
“Where has she been for the past month and a half? What of the letter breaking our engagement? If I recall correctly, she had no use for a ‘blind cripple.’”
Violet winced.
“What letter are you speaking of?” Aunt Margaret demanded. “Didyouactually read it? Or did you just take the word of that deceiver? The murderess,” she added in a harsh whisper.
No.Beatrice pressed a hand to her mouth to hold in her cry of dismay. Her aunt was going to take it all away, these lovely weeks of summer when she and the earl had healed together. “Violet, for once in your life speak the truth,” Beatrice implored.
“I have been—making my way back to you”—Violet glanced to her mother for approval—“after being tricked by my cousin into getting off the train.”
HAVE I DONE the right thing?Tormented by his every decision the past week, Theodore gripped the back of his wheelchair and took another unsteady step. How marvelous that he was well enough to be pacing his room. How agitating that he felt like pacing in the first place. But the past week—with three Worthington women in residence at Broughleigh—would have tried anyone’s patience.
Awkwardly, he turned his chair and started in the opposite direction. Today, in a few short hours, God willing, he would start to have some true answers. It had been all he could do not to take the bandages from his eyes early, to extract from his desk the letter Beatrice had read to him seven weeks ago—the letter her aunt and cousin insisted did not exist. He’d made sure the drawer with his papers had remained locked, and he had kept the key on his person at all times. Thetruth was soon to come out. His patience would be rewarded—or his heart would be broken once more.
He had allowed Violet and her mother to stay, worried that if he sent them packing, Beatrice would be persuaded to leave, too, in order to protect her reputation. Before he had gone inside to meet with their unexpected and unwelcome guests, she had all but begged him to treat her horribly in their presence. She was to act as a true servant, spoken to as such, and generally disregarded except when he was making a request of her. All in the name of protecting her from her aunt.
He’d hated every minute of the charade. He hated the way she was treated by her own relatives, particularly Violet, who ought to have regarded Beatrice as a dear friend or sister. Neither had he enjoyed the time he’d spent in Violet’s company the past week. She now walked with him each day, but where he and Beatrice had soon felt comfortable around each other and enjoyed easy conversations, he and Violet found little to say. True, he was no longer the man who had swept her into his arms and across the terrace. But she was changed, too—and not for the better, as petulant as a child much of the time.
Theodore had retreated to taking meals alone in his room, using his blindness as an excuse. Meanwhile, his staff—including Beatrice—had been overworked meeting the many demands of his guests. Out of kindness to both Cook and Beatrice, he had sent her to work in the kitchen, where at least she might be spared from her aunt’s and cousin’s continuous barbs. It had meant he’d been devoid of her company as well, and he missed her keenly. His previous melancholy had returned, his days darker than ever, in spite of his fiancée’s arrival.
At precisely one o’clock, Dr. Hulke arrived, having traveled from the Royal Ophthalmic Hospital in Moorfields. Theodore sat in his chair as the first layer of bandages were removed.
“We’ll check your right eye first and see if this recovery inthe Highlands that you insisted upon has done what we hoped it would,” Dr. Hulke said cheerfully.
He had wanted Theodore to stay near the hospital, but as there was little to be done but wait and allow his eyes to rest, Theodore had seen no need to remain in England, not when a summer away promised more leisure.
“Well?” Dr. Hulke asked.
“I’m ready. Take the last layer off,” Theodore said.
Absolute silence met his request. Then—
“It is off.” The doctor’s voice was somber.
Theodore reached up and touched the skin just below his eye. He forced his eye open and used his fingers to hold it there, but nothing changed. The dark persisted.
“I am sorry,” Dr. Hulke said. “We always knew there was a chance this would occur.”
Theodore nodded and swallowed the anger and overwhelming sorrow rising in his throat.
“I’m so sorry, darling. But it will be all right. I’ll be your eyes for you.”
It was all Theodore could do not to fling Violet’s arm from his shoulders. “Not now,” he ground out. Why were any of them here? Why had he thought allowing them to witness thisgloriousmoment a good idea? “Get out,” he said. “Everyone but the doctor.”
Several sets of footsteps retreated, followed by the door closing.
“Iamsorry, Theodore,” Dr. Hulke reiterated.
Theodore nodded. “I know.” He reached up to remove the bandages from his left eye himself. When the last was gone he waited before opening his eye, wondering why he was even bothering at all if his world was to remain forever dark.
