Page 12 of ?n Arranged Betrothal with a Blind Duke
Lost in their pleasant conversation and the soft radiance from the smile he could hear in her voice, Adrian couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Patches, with his uninhibited affections, had been right about Miss Ludlow all along.
There was another moment of silence, this one much less awkward than the previous ones. Miss Ludlow was the one to break it, though he could still hear her continued scratching on his beloved dog.
“It was such a beautiful afternoon today,” she said. “And it is turning into a lovely evening.”
With an audible gasp, Miss Ludlow stopped speaking. Adrian didn’t need to ask what had startled her. He gave her a warm, hearty chuckle and shook his head.
“Please, there is no need for that,” he said. “My vision affords me the slightest bits of sight. I can see pieces of colour on pretty days. And even though it’s not quite the same as having my full sight, the smells and sounds tell me just how wonderful a day it is. And you are correct. It has been a fantastic day.”
Miss Ludlow let out a sigh which Adrian could tell was relief.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I just do not wish to offend you.”
Adrian gave her a small bow, his heart skipping again. Her words were genuine. She wasn’t dancing around his disability because it made her uncomfortable. She was dancing around it because she thought it made him uncomfortable.
To prove to her, and perhaps, to himself, that that was not the case, he gave her another small smile, gesturing out over the meadow that conjoined their properties.
“I've always been enamored with Thornwood,” he began, his gaze drifting over the young woman’s face to rest on the distant, emerald expanse behind her. “Its sprawling landscapes have been a constant companion throughout my life. There's a spot, near the lake,” he continued, his voice holding a tender note, “I used to escape to it for hours with a good book.”
His words were soft and laced with nostalgia, painting vivid imagery of rolling green pastures, towering oaks, and the tranquil lake that mirrored the cerulean sky. His heart clenched with the poignant recollections. Days when life was simpler, less entangled in the responsibilities that he had grown to shoulder. Each word he uttered seemed to transport him back to that serene spot, the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze, the subtle ripple of water as ducks paddled idly by.
As he talked, he expected the young lady to become bored or uncomfortable. But to his surprise, Miss Ludlow seemed captivated by his reminiscences. He couldn’t see her face beyond the vaguest outline of its shape. But he sensed that she never took her eyes off him. It was the first time that anyone apart from Henry and his aunt had looked directly at him for more than a single moment since his accident. And strangely, he didn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, he almost felt at home.
When he finally finished speaking, the young woman’s voice was soft, but filled with delight and excitement.
“I, too, share an ardour for books, Your Grace,” she confessed. “The worlds they harbor, the emotions they stir within one's soul, there's an indescribable magic about them.”
He was taken aback by her confession. Could it be that the cultured Miss Ludlow was an ardent bibliophile as he was? His heart fluttered with a newfound sense of camaraderie.
“Is that so?” he asked, struggling to contain a rush of excitement. “Who are your favourite authors?”
Miss Ludlow softly clapped her hands together, and he could feel her brilliant smile.
“I adore Mary Shelley,” she said. “And I also enjoy the works of Jane Austen.”
Adrian’s mouth fell open. He, too, liked those authors. Jane Austen’s books were a guilty pleasure of his, atypical of men in the ton. He respected her talent, and her ability to capture the accuracy of the time flawlessly.
“As do I,” he said, amazed. “I am also a big fan of Bronte and Shakespeare.”
Miss Ludlow gasped again, this time with sharp delight.
“I do, as well,” she said. “I also love reading authors I’ve never heard of before. There are so many underrated authors out there who deserve much more acclaim than they currently receive.”
Adrian nodded.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said.
The sun was slowly setting, bathing the vast expanse of Thornwood in a vague ethereal glow. Yet, all Adrian could focus on was the woman in front of him, the woman who shared his deep-seated passion for literature, who valued the same landscapes that he held dear. In this moment, under the dwindling light of day, he felt a connection with Miss Ludlow that was as beautiful and complex as one of the classics they both cherished.
An unexpected connection tethered him to Miss Annabelle Ludlow, as if an invisible thread had woven itself between their hearts. It was a realization that dawned on him gently, and yet held the force of a revelation.
He found himself enraptured in a world of two - two beings, two souls, from vastly different walks of life, but bound together by a shared affinity for literature and the captivating allure of Thornwood. This was an intersection he hadn't anticipated, a crossing of paths that revealed to him the intertwining of their worlds in ways he had never imagined.
As the sun began its descent, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the verdant meadow, a profound sense of contentment settled within him. It was time to part ways, he knew, though a part of him longed to stay, to continue to explore the depth of their shared interests.
“I must thank you, Miss Ludlow,” he began, his voice echoing sincerity. He bowed in respect, his gaze unwavering. “Our conversation today has been quite enlightening.”
The young woman was quiet for a moment. Adrian wished he could see her face. He pretended that he could see her facial expression. But the more he heard her voice, the more convinced he was that she was beautiful. When she spoke, he could hear her smile.
