“Mama, Papa,” Diana said once she’d finished greeting her parents. “You recall my husband’s sister, Louise?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Winterly said. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“And this is Mr. Berkly, the former Viscount Seabrook.”
“You’re Hedgewick’s son.” Mr. Winterly said.
Standing immediately next to Mr. Berkly, Louise could feel him tense in response to the comment.
“I am,” he said with unapologetic firmness.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Winterly said. He instructed his servants to unload the carriage and help divest his guests of their outerwear, then said, “Come. Let’s adjourn to the parlor.”
Unfamiliar with the Winterly home layout, and with only her blurry vision to guide her, Louise hesitated.
“Allow me to escort you,” Mr. Berkly whispered.
She gave a swift nod and immediately felt his hand on her arm, the warmth of it both a comfort and reassurance and...something far more visceral she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“Straight ahead,” Mr. Berkly said, “now slightly left. Am I walking too fast?”
“Not at all,” Louise managed while trying to come to grips with the odd effect his proximity had on her.
In Mr. Fairbanks’ presence she’d always felt flushed and short of breath, reduced to a timid imbecile who scarcely knew what to say. By contrast, she felt completely at ease with Mr. Berkly, yet her pulse quickened when he drew near and her skin heated each time he touched her. With him, however, she never worried she’d say the wrong thing. Which was slightly confusing since she’d no idea what it meant.
“We’re entering the parlor now,” Mr. Berkly said, that soothing voice of his wrapping around Louise like a cozy blanket.
She tightened her hold on his arm and drew a bit closer to him as he led her forward. Large areas of extra bright whiteness suggested the room faced south and that sunlight spilled through the windows.
“Here, my lady.” Mr. Berkly drew Louise to a halt. “Turn just a little. That’s it. There’s a comfortable armchair directly behind you.”
“And where will you be?” she asked, wary of losing his guidance.
“Two feet away, to your left.”
Louise expelled a breath she’d not even known she’d been holding. “Very well.”
He slid his hand down the length of her arm and held her hand as if preparing to kiss her knuckles. Instead, he whispered for her to lower herself to her seat, his continued touch giving support. To any observer it would appear he was merely being gallant rather than helping an invalid find the right spot.
Louise’s heart warmed with appreciation. Mr. Berkly, it seemed, was proving to be a model of consideration.
“Tell us,” Mr. Winterly said as soon as Louise was seated. His voice came from her right, so she turned her head in that direction. “What brings you to our corner of England at such short notice?”
“I must apologize for showing up unannounced like this,” Louise said. Now that she was here she felt even worse about disrupting the Winterlys’ lives than she had when Diana and Albert had talked her into it.
“I’m certain you wouldn’t have done so without good reason,” Mrs. Winterly said. “In fact, while you’re all more than welcome, your coming here without warning like this concerns me since Diana usually lets us know if we’re to expect her.”
“I couldn’t this time,” Diana said. She gave her parents the broad strokes, explaining Louise’s problem, her father’s intention to have her eyes couched, and Mr. Berkly’s alternate solution provided he had the peace and quiet required to perform the surgery.
“My grandmother had her eyes fixed in such a way,” Mr. Winterly said once Diana had finished and tea had been served.
Mr. Berkly helped Louise cradle the fine bone china between her hands, whispering, “Your cup is half full.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and took a sip.
“Which one?” Diana asked. “Theresa?”
“No. She never cared for the idea of anyone bringing sharp instruments near her eyes,” Mr. Winterly said. “It was Portia, my father’s mother, who had it done. Papa travelled to France with her in 1793. I remember the year well because they left shortly after her sixtieth birthday.”
