Page 29 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
“Ah, my dear Adrian,” she said. “Perhaps, in your guilt, lies the answer you seek to this turbulence you feel.”
Confusion knitted Adrian's brow as he regarded his aunt, searching for understanding within her words.
“What do you mean, Aunt Marjorie?” he asked. “How can my guilt be the answer? I feel as though I failed her. If that is the answer, then I can never live with myself.”
His aunt leaned forward, her voice carrying a note of sincerity.
“Because if you care for Annabelle as deeply as your guilt suggests, perhaps it is time to consider a more permanent solution,” she said, her voice taking on the same cryptic tone it had when she suggested marriage to him before Henry came to dinner. This time, however, the idea struck him with a mix of surprise and possibility, as if a hidden door had suddenly been unlocked before him.
“But, Aunt Marjorie,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is it not too soon? Would she even entertain the thought?” He paused, the most obvious thought in his mind spilling forth like a ruptured fountain. “Would she ever wish to marry a man in my… condition?”
Marjorie's smile was evident as it radiated toward him.
“Love often finds its way into hearts unexpectedly, Adrian,” she said. “And sometimes, when faced with adversity, it is the very thing that can heal the deepest wounds. If you truly care for Annabelle, my boy, consider this: a marriage built on love and understanding can bring solace to both of your hearts.”
Adrian sat in stunned silence, his mind whirling with newfound possibilities. Could marrying Miss Ludlow be the path to mending their fractured connection, to protect her from further harm? The thought both excited and frightened him, for he knew that such a decision held immense consequences.
Wishing he could see his aunt's knowing eyes, Adrian's determination flickered to life. If marrying her was a way to shield her from pain and build a future together, he would give it earnest consideration. The guilt that had weighed upon him began to transform into a flicker of hope, a glimmer of possibility that warmed his troubled heart.
With gratitude in his voice, Adrian replied.
“Thank you, Aunt Marjorie,” he said. “Your words have given me much to ponder. I shall carefully consider the path before me, for Annabelle's sake and my own.”
Aunt Marjorie nodded, her expression filled with pride and affection.
“Listen to your heart, darling,” she said. “May it guide you towards the happiness you both deserve.”
Their conversation lingered in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea. Adrian knew that a decision of such magnitude required careful thought, but the seed of possibility had been planted. As he finished his breakfast, his thoughts began to shift, imagining a future where he and Miss Ludlow stood united, their love an unbreakable bond. Was it possible? He did not know. But he couldn’t afford not to entertain it. Especially if he wanted to help Miss Ludlow.
Her words, like a lingering melody, echoed in Adrian's mind long after the breakfast had concluded. A marriage of convenience—a notion both tempting and terrifying. The mere thought of binding his life to Annabelle's stirred a tumultuous sea of emotions within him. Could she ever see him, a man with partial blindness, as a suitable partner?
Doubts and insecurities gnawed at Adrian's resolve, casting shadows upon the flickering flame of hope. The image of Annabelle's radiant smile danced before him, juxtaposed with the reality of his own limitations. Would she truly consider him as a husband, or was he merely indulging in a flight of fancy, allowing his longing to cloud his judgment?
Shaking his head to dispel the swirling doubts, Adrian determinedly rose from his seat, leaving the comforting confines of his aunt's home. The fresh air beckoned him, and he yearned for the solace of Thornwood's meadows, where his thoughts could wander freely.
Patches, ever the faithful companion, bounded ahead, his tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. Adrian followed, his footsteps a resolute echo against the path's cobblestones. The meadow, usually a bastion of tranquility, held a certain allure today—a balm for his conflicted heart.
Yet, as Adrian stepped into the familiar serenity of the meadow, a subtle shift in the atmosphere disrupted the usual calm. A faint sound of pitiful sobbing reached his ears, carried by the wind like a melancholic lullaby. His heart clenched, and he quickened his pace, desperate to uncover the source of such sorrow.
With each step, the cries grew louder, piercing through the silence of the meadow. Adrian's pulse quickened, his concern mounting as he followed the sound. Patches, sensing his master's distress, trotted beside him, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and empathy.
The meadow's verdant expanse unfolded before them, its beauty marred by the presence of sorrow. And there, nestled beneath the sheltering embrace of an ancient oak, sat a figure—a woman, her shoulders shaking with each tearful gasp. Even with his lame vision and the angle at which the woman sat, he recognized immediately who it was.
Adrian's heart went out to her, compassion welling within him. He approached cautiously, careful not to startle Miss Ludlow. Her sobs tore at his soul, and he couldn’t find words. His own eyes stung with tears, catching him quite off guard. He wouldn’t have expected to be so affected by her sadness. But as the pain of her distress seeped into his mind, his heart ached in a way it hadn’t in as long as he could remember.
He sensed it when she lifted her head and looked toward him. She tried to stifle her sobs, but her sniffles belied her ability to cease her tears. He stood staring at her for a long moment, and he tried to think of something to say. How should he handle the situation before him? Should he ask her what was troubling her, or should he leave her in peace?
Chapter Fourteen
In the comforting solitude of the meadow, Annabelle sought solace from the overwhelming weight of Oswald's intentions. Hidden away from prying eyes, she allowed her tears to flow freely, her heart burdened by the heavy realization that her fate may lie in the hands of a man she hardly knew.
As she sat on a moss-covered rock, her shoulders shook with silent sobs. The meadow, usually a place of tranquility, mirrored the turbulence within her soul. The gentle rustling of leaves and the soft whisper of the wind seemed to echo her melancholy.
Lost in her sorrow, Annabelle barely noticed the approach of Patches until his joyful barks pierced through the veil of her reverie. Startled, she looked up to see her loyal dog bounding towards her, tail wagging with unrestrained delight. Patches, with his unruly fur and bright, attentive eyes, seemed unaffected by the world's troubles.
“Oh, Patches,” she murmured, her voice laced with both gratitude and sadness. “You're the only one who truly understands me, aren't you?” She extended her hand, allowing him to nuzzle against her palm, finding comfort in his warm presence.
But even as she said the words, she didn’t think that was true. Patches’ master, the Duke, seemed to understand her very well. And there was never an interaction with him that left her with anything other than pleasant thoughts and wonderful memories. She knew she would have to return the books soon, as it was clear that she wouldn’t have time to read them. And since Oswald planned to marry her off to Lord Spencer, she would likely never get to see the duke again.
