Page 45 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
They continued to meander through the stalls, the aroma of freshly baked goods leading them to a familiar figure. Penelope, her blonde curls caught in a sunbeam, was manning her mother's pie stand, an assortment of pies with golden crusts and tantalizing fillings lining the stand.
Her joy at seeing them was palpable.
“Annabelle, Adrian,” She greeted them warmly. “You must try Mother's blackberry pie. It's the best batch yet.”
Annabelle turned to Adrian inquisitively, who was already nodding eagerly.
“That sounds delightful,” he said. “Annabelle did say that she was looking forward to the treats here. And I could go for some pie just now, as well.”
Annabelle blushed, glancing at her betrothed. He had remembered what she said about wanting to enjoy treats. He had bought her a lovely pendant. And he looked happier than she thought she had ever seen him; so much so that she was able to forget that passersby were staring and whispering about the two of them.
Penelope served them each a slice of the warm, fragrant pie. As she handed Annabelle hers, she noticed the pendant, which was still in her hand. Annabelle explained how she got it, and Penelope gave Adrian an approving look.
“Well, here, let me help you put it on,” she said.
Adrian bowed, giving her a warm smile.
“That is very kind of you,” he said, giving Annabelle a wink. “I’m afraid my eyes aren’t quite what they used to be.”
Annabelle laughed again. She could hardly believe how comfortable Adrian was with his dull sight in public. Was it possible that she made him feel more comfortable with himself, as he did for her?
Penelope fastened the necklace on Annabelle, and they cooed over how lovely it was. Annabelle couldn’t deny that, as she stood arm in arm with a duke, the duke who would soon make her a duchess, she felt like a princess. As they chatted and enjoyed Penelope's spirited company, Henry, a jovial giant of a man with rosy cheeks and a hearty laugh, joined them. He carried with him a pitcher of lemonade, the refreshing aroma of citrus mingling with the sweet scent of pies.
“Why don't we get out of this heat and enjoy these treats under the old oak tree?” He suggested, his friendly demeanor acting like a beacon, inviting them towards the shade of the massive tree nearby.
Guided by Henry, they made their way towards the tree, its giant leaves rustling in the summer breeze. As they sat under the dappled shade, laughter filled the air, the cheerful chit-chat a pleasant accompaniment to the sweet lemonade and delectable pies. Adrian's hand found hers, a silent declaration of his love, a promise of a future together. Annabelle could not help but feel content, her heart swelling with happiness at the simple pleasures of the fair, the company, and the unspoken love that bloomed between her and Adrian.
As they sat under the old oak, the leaves providing a cool reprieve from the summer sun, the camaraderie between them was palpable.
“I propose a toast,” Henry suddenly said boisterously. “My dearest friend is betrothed to one lovely, sweet young lady. I wish to be the first to formally offer my congratulations, and to wish them a very long and happy marriage.”
Annabelle blushed, glancing at Penelope, who was nodding in agreement.
“They certainly make a lovely couple,” she said, lifting her own lemonade cup. “Congratulations to the both of you.”
The congratulations from Henry and Penelope, the tangy sweetness of the lemonade, and the presence of her beloved Adrian, Marjorie, and good-hearted Henry combined to create a bubble of contentment around Annabelle.
Each compliment, each warm wish for her and Adrian's future, made her heart flutter. She was part of a world that cared for her, people who cherished her, a man who loved her. Her heart was alight with the warmth of the love around her. She couldn't imagine a moment more perfect, fuller of happiness.
However, the moment was tainted by the appearance of Cynthia and Sophia. Annabelle spotted them from the corner of her eye. Their hushed whispers and spiteful glances in their direction felt like a splash of cold water. A cloud seemed to darken the sunlit afternoon as her contentment began to dissipate, replaced by a sinking feeling of apprehension.
She steeled herself, refusing to allow their petty malice to ruin this precious moment. She wouldn't dignify their jealousy with a response. After all, they were the ones who were not privy to the genuine happiness she was experiencing.
Redirecting her attention to the laughter and lighthearted conversation around her, Annabelle felt the comforting presence of her friends and her beloved. The sour notes from Cynthia and Sophia seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the protective bubble of warmth and affection.
She caught Adrian's hand, squeezing it gently, and he responded in kind. His smile, radiant despite his blindness, was a silent promise - they were together in this, against all the world's cynicism and cruelties. As Annabelle leaned her head against his shoulder, the joy and love she felt was not merely a fanciful dream but a reality, a reality that no one, not even Cynthia and Sophia, could shatter.
Chapter Twenty-one
The melody of laughter and lively discourse filled the golden afternoon, drifting lazily through the dappled shade under the old oak tree where Adrian reclined. Around him, his friends held court, their jests and debates as lively and colorful as the silks and satins they wore. Their merriment was a sweet symphony to the senses, yet within Adrian a serene calm prevailed.
His dimmed gaze meandered through the gathering, finally settling upon Annabelle, his betrothed. As he did his best to get the best possible look at her, her bonnet tilted to reveal her fair countenance, his heart experienced a rare serenity. In her he sensed a sparkling mischief as she engaged in a discussion with Miss Brown, their laughter floating across the manicured lawn like the notes of a sonata, the effect utterly bewitching. Adrian found his mind drifting, not for the first time, toward a peace he hadn’t dared to yearn for until now.
Adrian leaned back, the rough bark of the tree a counterpoint to his tailored waistcoat, watching the tableau before him unfold. Annabelle, his Annabelle, was in her element. It looked as though her curls delicately framed her face as she laughed, a sound so rich and unpretentious it echoed through his soul. She seemed like a living portrait, a watercolor with a life of its own.
He was aware of Henry’s story reaching a punchline, of his hearty guffaw, and of the accompanying ripples of laughter. He heard it all, yet he was not truly there. His world had shrunk to the small sphere that held Annabelle. It was a simple, yet profound contentment, and one that felt foreign after years of restlessness.
“Why, Adrian, you look rather contemplative. Is our company so dull?” Henry’s voice, jovially teasing, pierced his reverie.
