“I do have flaws, you know.”
“Really?” She grinned in response to his deadpan gaze. “I’m sure I’ll survive them all as long as you can accommodate mine.”
His lips twitched with amusement. “I believe I’ll be able to manage.”
“Good.” She nudged him slightly, which prompted him to laugh.
“Do you suppose you might like to visit my room for a bit before you start packing? “ Marcus asked once they’d secured three tickets for that afternoon and were headed back toward the inn.
“Why, Mr. Berkly,” Louise said, deliberately infusing her voice with a touch of mischief. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe or definitely?”
He dropped a kiss to her cheek as they reached the inn and murmured, “Most definitely.”
Heat washed through her like liquid fire. Her cheeks warmed as she stepped through the front door and headed toward the stairs, intensely aware of Marcus who followed directly behind her. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and held on as they climbed.
When they reached the landing, Marcus led her past the door leading into her room and toward one at the end of the hallway. He retrieved the key, unlocked it, and pushed it open so she could enter. A soft click sounded, and then she was back in his arms, precisely where she needed to be and with every assurance that they would be happy together from this day onward.
18
London, eight months later.
Crouched on the floor of the schoolroom she’d borrowed from the Duchess of Coventry, Louise helped her youngest student, four-year-old Amy Bradshaw, identify various objects by touch.
“What does that feel like?” Louise asked the girl.
“A comb,” the girl responded.
“Well done.” Louise took the comb and set it aside. “How about this?”
“Spoon.”
Congratulating Amy, Louise selected a key while the five older children in the room proceeded with their lesson in night reading. She knew from personal experience how much patience it required and was constantly impressed by the fortitude of her pupils who carried on against adversity. A couple of them were even learning to play the pianoforte. Lady Coventry taught them twice a week and when they had a free moment, they’d practice memorizing the keys.
Louise herself had only learned how to play after having her eyes couched for the first time and receiving a pair of spectacles. The fact that two girls who had no hope of seeing at all were trying to master the instrument served as a poignant reminder that a person’s capabilities were hindered only by a lack of belief in ability.
Meanwhile, the three boys participating in Louise’s class were being taught how to whittle by Marcus and were each in the process of making small owls during his lessons with them. While Louise had been skeptical and nervous about the idea of handing out sharp tools to children who could not see and had insisted they acquire the parents’ approval first, Marcus had claimed that although they might be blind, the boys still needed a chance to be boys. As it turned out, the activity seemed to instill in them a sense of optimism and confidence Louise had failed to provide on her own.
“How’s my favorite group of students doing?” Marcus asked from the doorway.
Louise looked up and smiled, her heart overflowing with joy and love at the sight of her husband. As if they were one single being, the children turned toward him and spoke in chorus. “Good afternoon, Mr. Berkly.”
Marcus grinned. “Good afternoon.”
“Here,” Louise told Amy as she handed her one of the easier riddle boxes she used to challenge and divert the children with on occasion. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Rising, she smoothed her skirts and went to greet Marcus properly - with a kiss that resulted in giggles. She smiled against her husband’s mouth while reminding herself that her students had excellent hearing. “You’re earlier than usual.”
“I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. You know I’m always happy to see you. I only hope there’s nothing wrong.”
“Not at all.” He pulled a couple of letters from inside his jacket pocket. “I just couldn’t wait to show you this.”
Curious, Louise took the letter he handed to her, unfolded the crisp white paper and read. She sucked in a breath when she noted the seal, then another when she’d read the missive in its entirety. “A knighthood?”
“Apparently Redding and a few others sent a letter to the king while we were away in Berlin, informing him of my dedication to the advancement of ophthalmology. This is to be my reward.”
