“Stand and curtsy to the Marquess of Attingsborough, Lizzie,” she said.
But the child was already on her feet, her arms held out toward the door. She was small and thin and pale, with dark hair waving loose down her back to her waist. Her face was alight with joy.
“Yes, I am here,” the marquess said, and strode across the room to fold the child in his arms. She wrapped her own tightly about his neck.
“Iknewyou would come,” she cried. “Miss Edwards said you would not because it is a sunny day and you would have a thousand things more important to do than coming to see me. But she always says that, and you always come when you say you will. Papa, you smell good. Youalwayssmell good.”
“Especially for you,” he said, untwining her arms from about his neck and kissing both her hands before releasing them. “Miss Edwards, why on earth is there a fire burning?”
“I was afraid that Lizzie would catch a chill after you took her out in the garden last evening, my lord,” she said.
“And why the darkness?” he asked. “Is there not enough darkness in Lizzie’s life?”
Even as he spoke he was striding over to the windows and throwing back the curtains to flood the room with light. He opened the windows wide.
“The sun was shining directly in, my lord,” Miss Edwards said. “I wanted to protect the furniture from fading.”
He looked at Claudia as he moved back to his daughter’s side and set one arm about her shoulders.
“Lizzie,” he said, “I have brought someone to meet you. She is Miss Martin, a friend of mine. Miss Martin, may I present my daughter, Lizzie Pickford?”
There was something strange about the child’s eyes, Claudia had seen as soon as the curtains were drawn back. One was almost closed. The other was more open, though the eyelid fluttered, and the eye wandered beneath the lid.
Lizzie Pickford wasblind. And if Claudia’s guess was correct, she had been blind from birth.
“Lizzie,” Miss Edwards said, “make your curtsy to Miss Martin.”
“Thank you, Miss Edwards,” Lord Attingsborough said. “You may take a break. You will not be needed for the next hour or so.”
“Lizzie Pickford,” Claudia said, walking closer to the child, taking her hot, thin little hand in her own and squeezing it before letting it go, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Miss Martin?” the girl said, turning her face to her father.
“I had the pleasure of visiting her last week when I was away from you for a while,” he said, “and then of escorting her to London. She has a school in Bath. Would you like to offer Miss Martin a seat and me too since we are visiting you? My legs are aching from all the standing.”
The girl chuckled, a light, childish sound.
“Oh,sillyPapa,” she said. “You did not walk here. You rode. In your curricle—there was more than one horse. I heard them. I told Miss Edwards that you had come, but she said she had heard nothing and that I must not get my hopes up and become feverish. You arenottired of standing. Or Miss Martin either. But I am pleased you have come, and I hope you will stay forever and ever until bedtime. Miss Martin, will you please sit? Papa, will you? I will sit beside you.”
She seated herself very close to him on a sofa while Claudia sat as far from the dying fire as she was able. The child took his hand in hers and laced their fingers. She rubbed her cheek against his sleeve, just below his shoulder.
He smiled down at her with such tenderness that Claudia was ashamed of what she had thought of him on the way here. He very obviouslydidknow a great deal about love.
“Miss Martin’s school is just for girls,” he told his daughter. “It is a delightful place. They learn lots of things, like history and mathematics and French. There is a music room full of instruments, and the girls have individual instruction. They sing and have choirs. They knit.”
And not a single one of them, Claudia thought, had ever been blind. She remembered his asking if she had ever thought of taking in girls with handicaps. However did one teach a blind child?
“When I heard the violin that one time with you, Papa,” the child said, “Mother said there must never be one in this house as the sound of it would give her the headache. And when I sing the songs Mrs. Smart taught me, Miss Edwards says I giveherthe headache.”
“I think,” he said, “Miss Edwards is beginning to givemethe migraines, Lizzie.”
She laughed with glee.
“Shall I send her to work for someone else?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Oh, yes, if you please, Papa. Willyoucome to live with me instead this time?”
His eyes met Claudia’s, and they looked suddenly bleak.
