Into the Light
Inverness, Scotland, June 1857
THE TRAIN SLOWED as it approached the station, the wheels grinding against the steel rails as the whistle signaled its arrival.
“Inverness! End o’ the line.” The conductor’s heavy brogue carried along the narrow corridor as he strode the length of the car.
Beatrice Worthington’s hand squeezed around the letter that had been frozen tight in her grasp since Edinburgh when she had learned of her cousin’s latest mischief.How am I ever to explain?
A belch of steam accompanied the final lurch as the train ground to a stop. If only she might remain in this uncomfortable seat indefinitely. She’d gladly stay just as she was, unmoving, for the entire return journey, as penance for having allowed this to happen. Facing her aunt and uncle would be difficult, but at least she could predict their reactions. She knew what consequences she could expect there—her aunt’s screeching and the subsequent burden of additional backbreaking chores that would follow as soon as her uncle was out of town again. Her uncle’s look of disappointment would be hardest to bear. He might not blame Beatrice, but shehadlet him down, had failed at the task assigned to her.
But she could not face her aunt and uncle until she hadfacedhim—Theodore Hughes, Earl of Langston, recovering war hero and her cousin’s fiancé. Or he had been, at least. Before Violet had eloped with another man.
Beatrice swallowed hard, pushing back both panic and tears. All around her people were standing, claiming their belongings, chatting happily about having reached their destination. She ought to feel happy as well, to be free of these close quarters and the people packed so tightly together. The views of the countryside were lovely for almost the entirety of their journey. But the last day especially had been stunning—shimmering lakes, meadows of flowers, hills, and crags, and towering trees. She had hoped to escape into that scenery once she and Violet were settled at the earl’s residence. Long walks in the garden at home were her solace, and though she’d been loath to come on this trip, she could not deny the allure of summer in Scotland’s Highlands, with idle hours to walk about as she pleased, free from her aunt’s tyranny, and the constant reminder that she was a burden to everyone. She ought to have known such a vision was too good to be true. Now she faced walking back to England if the earl did not take pity on her.
And why should he?She was to have escorted his fiancée to him, safe and sound.Instead, I have lost her.Beatrice felt lost as well. She soon would be if he turned her out once she had explained Violet’s absence. With no return ticket nor money to purchase one—Violet had seen to that, no doubt as a safeguard against Beatrice coming after her—she had no means to return to England. No means for anything at all.
THEODORE WHEELED HIS chair toward the window, tipping his face toward the light he could feel coming through the panes, though he could not see it. Not yet. That day would come. Doctor Hulke had all but promised him. His eyes would behealed. His legs, too, though at present neither showed much improvement.I am not working hard enough.
Not for the first time he wondered if he ought to have insisted upon waiting to reunite with his betrothed, instead of allowing her to come to Broughleigh to spend the summer with him—chaperoned, of course. Her mother had insisted that Violet was shy and needed the time to become reacquainted with him. He did not recall her being shy at all, but perhaps their brief interaction a few years prior had not impressed upon her mind as greatly as it had his—or perhaps it had and she was simply eager to be with him again.
He had been smitten with her those few days they’d spent together at the Milfords’ summer soiree nearly three years past. Before the end of the week, he had both requested that she write to him while he was away and had asked her father’s permission to marry her upon his return from Crimea. With both parents and the lady amiable to the idea, he had gone away content that he had a future to look forward to after he had done his duty to the queen and country.Who knew that it would all end up such a bloody mess?
Theodore’s fists clenched at his sides, and his head fell forward as he fought off the demons of his past. The quiet room suddenly burst with gunfire. Explosions rocked his chair. Men screamed and then went silent in death. The twin smells of gunpowder and blood tinged the air. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth; he’d bitten his tongue. He cursed and gulped in a lungful of air.Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.He brought a trembling hand to his chest. He was still alive.
Blood from the cut on his tongue dribbled out the side of his mouth. He wiped at it with his sleeve, then realized how that would look to Violet when she arrived.
Violet.He pictured her face in memory, focusing on it with all his might. She was his lifeline. The reason he was still here.
Her letters had been sparse, but Theodore blamed that on the war. Undoubtedly, many she’d sent had been lost. Those he had received were kind and filled with the wonder and beauty of England’s changing seasons—poetic almost in their descriptions of autumn leaves, winter’s snowfall, and springtime blooms. Though not the declarations of love and devotion he had hoped for, the letters had nevertheless warmed his heart and helped him feel closer to home. Her tender caring seeped through the ink as she promised to pray for his safety and wished him a speedy return.
And now, at last, they were to be reacquainted in preparation for their marriage. He wanted her to feel comfortable.More than comfortable.But how would she feel getting to know a blind cripple?At the Milfords’ they had danced the nights away. Now he could do little more than stand long enough to get himself into and out of bed each day. And though he hoped neither blindness nor lameness plagued him by the time their September wedding arrived, both still did on this first day of June. His body was healing, and there wasn’t much he could do to speed that process.
His head bent toward his legs as he momentarily forgot that he could not see them. He’d told Ian to leave off the blanket this morning. Trousers would do fine to hide the scars, and Theodore didn’t need to appear any more invalid than he presently was. He was not some decrepit man, left in his chair in the corner, huddled beneath a blanket. At thirty-two he was not yet ancient. The war had just made him feel so—in mind as much as body. His decade-younger bride was sure to notice when she saw him again.
Theodore straightened in his chair and tilted his face toward the sun. A bit of color would do him good. He would suggest to Violet that they walk in the gardens each day. With a little guidance, he could wheel himself alongside her, and thefresh Highland air would aid his healing. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen to spend his recovery here instead of in England. Despite their recent popularity with the queen and members of theton, the Highlands were still far removed from the usual requirements of life in London or even at his estate in Derbyshire. He was not ready to face those again, to return to life as he had known it before the war. It had changed him, and he was not certain how to go back to the man he had been—or if he ever could.
But would Miss Worthington—young, vivacious Violet—be able to love him as he was now? Even if his infirmities were eventually healed, he feared this darkness of soul would continue to plague him.
The sound of carriage wheels crunching on the drive outside drew Theodore closer to the window as if he might view the scene below. He wished he could and felt deprived of that first glimpse of Violet emerging from the carriage. She had traveled far to be with him and was no doubt weary. Yet was it not a good portent that she had come so far, had wanted this time with him?
“Milord.” Logan’s voice carried across the library only a few minutes later.
Theodore swiveled from the window to face the unseen butler. “Has Miss Worthington been shown to her rooms?”
“Nae, milord.” The butler drew in a slow breath as if pained.
“Whyever not? She has arrived, hasn’t she?” Theodore wheeled himself closer to Logan’s voice.
“Aye, but—nae. Not exactly.”
Theodore held his tongue, waiting for Logan to explain. In the ensuing pause, he imagined the butler shaking his head and the grimace that lined his face whenever something did not go as planned.
“A Miss Worthingtonhasarrived, but she isnae the Miss Worthington ye expected.”
“Explain yourself,” Theodore demanded more sternly than he’d intended, silently reminding himself that the Scottish staff here at Broughleigh were not used to being ordered about or having to answer to anyone at all; he was so seldom in residence here. “Violet has not come?” He must have misunderstood. All that cannon fire hadn’t done his hearing any good either.
“She hasnae. There was some trouble on the train. Her escort will be telling ye.”
