“Of course, Your Grace. May I suggest changing as soon as possible so that your clothes may be laundered before they are completely ruined?”
“There are always more clothes, man,” Keaton shrugged, striding past the anxious butler.
“We will, Rutherford. At once,” Georgia assured him quietly.
She followed Keaton up the stairs. He paused at the landing that led to the guest rooms.
“That was… unexpected,” he said.
“Yes, and entirely unplanned,” she smiled, “but not unwelcome.”
“And the champagne?”
“I believe the exertion and the sleep have purged most of it. I did not think it would overtake me quite so quickly as it did.”
“That is the nature of drink. I find it leaves me with a headache. What…?”
He stopped himself, breathing sharply through his nose as though irritated at himself.
“What?” Georgia prompted, gently touching his arm.
“I was going to ask what prompted your actions today?”
“Which actions precisely?”
“Your decision to begin drinking heavily. It hardly seems conducive to eliminating the threat of scandal.”
Georgia folded her arms, feeling the criticism as a needle.
“I do not think I was drinking heavily.”
“Heavily enough to lose your inhibitions utterly.”
His face was unreadable, and Georgia wondered if this was the drawbridge being raised against her once more.
Surely he would not open himself to such intimacy as we have shared and then shut me out all over again…
“And what wasyourexcuse?” she asked, sharply.
Keaton’s lips drew tight, and he half turned as though to resume his ascension to his own rooms. He stopped with his foot on the first riser and then stepped back.
“That is fair,” he sighed, “andIwas not. You must understand, Georgia, that a blind man is a pauper when it comes to trust. How many times have you chosen to bestow trust because of a person’s face?”
Georgia knew she should accept this overture of peace, but was still annoyed that he had retreated behind his high walls so readily.
How can he lecture me on trust when he behaves in such a way that I cannot rely on him?
“I have lived for years at Silverton, in the servant’s quarters and treated as lower even than they,” she began. “I have hardly had an idyllic time.”
“That does not answer my question,” he replied, almost talking over her, “I am trying to explain why I find it so difficult to trust, and you seek to have me pity you.”
“I do not ask for pity!” she replied hotly.
“And now you look for an argument. I did not suggest pitying you, woman. Do not be so sensitive. I merely…”
“Sensitive? You are a fine one to talk! I have never known a man so prickly. Listen to yourself, you find reason for offence in the slightest thing I say. So, I think I should just say nothing. Now I have a headache, and this quarrel is not helping.”
She spun and stormed away down the hallway, trusting that Keaton would hear her departure. She slammed the door to her suite of rooms for good measure.
