Page 61 of Zenith
I nodded. “I am well, and the doctors say you will make a full recovery,” I said, attempting to be cheery for his sake. “In no time, we will be off on our grand adventure across Europe. I intend to hold you to your promise, you know.”
He snorted, his scowl deepening. “I have nothing to finance it. I shall have to break my vow, Jane.”
“Nonsense,” I declared. “You’re forgetting I’m an Eyre. I own a textile mill that supplies the finest fabrics to the Queen herself! And at least five houses, along with all the rest. Do you fancy a stay in Madeira? I hear the weather is lovely this time of year, and Google tells me it’s very tropical and secluded. It’s Portugal’s own little version of Hawaii. Mr. Briggs tells me that my uncle James lived the last of his life there and loved it dearly. I would love to share the discovery of his life with you. You can recuperate in the fresh air and sunshine. Isn’t that a fine idea?”
“You would care for a witless and broken man such as I?” was his reply.
“Of course,” I said incredulously. “You cared for a poor, plain, unwanted nobody named Jane Doe long before it was proper to do so.”
He turned to me then, revealing the extent of his injuries. The entire left side of his face was a raw and red tangle of burns, his eye completely milky—he’d likely never see out of it again. My heart twisted, knowing he was in agony, and it was only the medication the doctors had prescribed that was fending off the pain.
“Am I hideous, Jane?” he asked, a tear slipping from his eye.
I smiled, not caring in the slightest what he looked like. Raising my hand, I cupped his unblemished cheek and swept away the moisture on his skin. One brilliant stormy eye stared back at me, the other milky and sightless, and I nodded.
“Very,” I said. “You always were, you know.”
