“Your Grace,” Keaton corrected, “I require escorting back to my carriage.”
The servant obliged, and Keaton felt every eye upon him as he was led out of the tea-house.
CHAPTER 10
“That… did not help,” Georgia said as she stepped back into the carriage.
“A house packed full of gossiping jackanapes would not have been my choice,” Keaton drawled.
He felt the cool air on his cheek from the open window. From the other direction came Georgia's maddening perfume. He tried to breathe the smells of London, varied and unpleasant as they were. But still she reached him.
She cannot control how her perfume is carried on the air, and yet she knows that senses other than sight are heightened for me.
“Very well then. We will sit in Westvale alone together and let the world gossip.”
Keaton thumped the roof of the carriage and barked his orders. The conveyance lurched into motion.
“No, we will not,” he amended.
“Then what would you have us do? We married at your…”
Georgia's words cut, as though sliced by a guillotine. Keaton breathed through his nose, teeth gritted, anger ruling him. He sat forward with hands over the head of his cane. From the sounds reaching him, the smells, the feel of the road, and his memory of the routes through London, he had a shrewd idea of where they were.
“You took advantage of a blind man. Let us not forget that,” he hissed.
It was harsh. He knew it. But anger was a fire within him, and the words, black smoke, billowing upward.
“I know,” Georgia said quietly, “thank you for reminding me so cruelly.”
“If you do not like cruel words, then perhaps do not create cruel situations.”
Frustration bubbled within him now. He had been uncomfortable in the zoo of the tea house, surrounded by unseen watchers. To then be told that he should relish hearing othermen achieve what he had always wanted to and could never, was more than he could stomach.
She does not understand and can never understand. No one can. Which is why I am alone. I should never have agreed to this puerile outing.
“Such as? It was a tea house. For most, it would be a pleasant diversion in a wonderfully pretty location.”
“Pretty? How, pray tell, do I know that?” he demanded.
“Because I can describe it to you.”
He scoffed. “What earthly use is that to me except to taunt me with what I can never experience firsthand?”
“Surely second-hand is better than nothing?”
“No, it is not.”
He had turned to her as they argued. Now he looked away. It was an affectation—it did not matter in which direction his head was pointing.
“You are impossible and bitter,” Georgia commented.
“Bitter? How dare you? When you have experienced my life for one day, no, for one hour, then you may decide if my outlookon life is justified! But only then. Do not judge what you cannot comprehend.”
“Then do not judge me for failing to live up to your high standards,” she retorted. “I have never known a blind person, let alone been married to one. I am trying to be patient, navigating this as best I can and learning all the time. Give me credit for that, at least.”
“I give credit for nothing. Be silent.”
Keaton seethed. He recognized a feeling of disappointment within himself. Georgia was like everyone else. She could not understand him and judged accordingly. But he acknowledged he had hoped for something different.
