“May I introduce Her Grace, the Duchess of Exeter,” Edric was saying.
Keaton forced his mind back to the present and away from the mysterious male voice calling out for Joe.Joseph?Jones?Who was the man, and who was he calling out to?
“Your Grace,” a female voice greeted him.
Keaton turned his head in the direction of the voice, gauged its proximity, and anticipated the outstretched hand. He took it smoothly, guessing its location correctly. Bowed, then kissed it.
“Your Grace, thank you for the invitation this evening,” Keaton began smoothly.
“You are most welcome. May I call you Keaton? As we are of equal rank?”
“You may,” Keaton replied, not inquiring as to her name.
“And you may call me Margaret, if you are so inclined,” the Duchess of Exeter said.
Keaton inclined his head gravely.
“I must say, it is remarkable how well you hide it, if you don't mind my saying so,” the Duchess remarked.
“Hide what?” Keaton asked, already weary of the same old conversation.
“Why, your affliction of course!”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I had quite forgotten,” Keaton said archly, making a show of flapping about his cane, narrowly missing a passing waiter.
Edric cleared his throat suddenly as he made to smother the cane.
“That is to say, my nephew has worked hard to compensate. His hearing and sense of touch in particular are preternaturally sensitive since the accident.”
“Accident? What was the accident? And how could it have such a catastrophic effect?” the Duchess gasped a touch too theatrically.
Keaton knew enough about the workings of the ton to know that this conversation, between two high-ranking nobles, would not be taking place in a vacuum. There would be a constellation of lesser-ranking gentry orbiting them. Some would openly listen. Others pretend not to. Few would actively ignore a conversation between Westvale and Exeter. In addition, he could feel the changes in air currents that spoke of people standing still about them, heard the conversations reduce in volume, the better to eavesdrop.
“I have no memory of it. I woke one day to find myself blind. My uncle, Lord Swinthorpe here, quite possibly knows more about the circumstances than I. It was he who found me after all.”
He spoke loudly for the benefit of all who might be listening. A wave of murmurs radiated out from him like ripples from a stone dropped into a pond.
“A carriage accident,” Edric said, “resulting in a heavy blow to the head.”
“And that is precisely what you told me,” Keaton finished with a smile.
“Is there no hope for the restoration of your sight?” the Duchess asked with sickening sympathy.
“None, and I do not wish for it,” Keaton said abruptly. “Now, I would ask your availability for a dance, Your Grace, but I am unable to for obvious reasons.” He smirked, knowing his jest would cause some awkward embarrassment among his audience.
“I quite understand… Keaton,” the Duchess said faintly.
“I doubt that you do, Your Grace,” he replied icily.
He turned away, allowing Edric to guide him further into the Assembly Rooms.
“That was... almost uncouth,” Edric whispered, too low for any but Keaton to hear.
“I tire of explaining myself and being pitied,” Keaton replied.
“That is all too obvious, my boy. But think of your father and your legacy. That is the sacred vow I made to him. That I would ensure his son thought of Westvale and its future, first and foremost.”
Keaton suppressed a grimace, not knowing who might be looking directly at him to see the expression.
