Page 61 of Unending Joy
Westwood’s lips thinned. “You still sought a betrothal only this morning.”
“And are now set to remove to Portugal,” Freddy scoffed.
Rotham folded his arms, granite-eyed. “Distance is precisely what you will keep. You will sail to Lisbon, and you will formalize a settlement upon Mrs. St. John, something signed before you leave, or you will never be able to show your face in England again.”
“I shall leave England at first light. I wish Miss Whitford every happiness. Pray tell her—tell her I regret?—”
Freddy’s glare stilled him. “We shall tell her whatever spares her distress.”
Stuart and Rotham oversaw St. John’s writ of promise to care for his family, then St. John bowed, turned on his heel and was gone, his boots echoing down the marble corridor.
When the door’s last echo died, Freddy’s relief mingled with anger, pity with triumph.
Westwood clapped his shoulder. “Joy shall never learn the darker details.”
Freddy nodded grimly. “Nor should Society. Let the rumours fade.”
Carew, ever pragmatic, produced a brandy. “To Joy’s speedy recovery—and to more honest suitors.”
They drank to her health, but Freddy did not mention his intentions towards Joy. Even as the spirits warmed Freddy’s throat, a new anxiety unfurled. He was now, unequivocally, free to declare himself. Would Joy accept?
CHAPTER 19
Each subsequent day brought minute progress: diminishing aches and bruises, more clarity of vision in her left eye. Dr. Harvey permitted a walk in the garden after one week—provided Joy wore a broad-brimmed straw hat and kept her gaze shaded. Freddy insisted on lending his arm, and while Lord Orville’s grey was harder to follow than Camilla and Frederica’s orange, Joy appreciated being able to watch them explore the garden. Every colour was brighter, every birdsong sweeter, as though convalescence had stripped away the commonplace veil.
The herbaceous border wafted thyme and sage, whilst lilacs drooped with their own weighty perfume. Lord Orville—now a lanky grey adolescent—sprang from behind a yew, pounced on his orange sister Camilla, and sent both of them tumbling through the foxgloves. Joy’s laugh startled a goldfinch from the wisteria.
“So,” she said, adjusting the tilt of her spectacles, “tell me when we quit Town for Kent. I have lost patience with waiting.”
Freddy guided her around a sun-warmed stone urn. “We can leave as early as tomorrow, should you feel equal to the excursion.”
“I feel equal to a dull carriage ride, certainly.” Still, a flicker of disquiet crossed her mind. Heart-stirring rides, curricle races, the thunder of hooves—would those pleasures ever be known to her again? And would Freddy still wish to share them? She pushed the thought aside. “Who forms the party?”
“Westwood and Faith, naturally; Rotham and Hope; Stuart and Patience; and Montford and Vivienne.”
“No Letty Partridge?” Joy’s tone struck a teasing chord.
“No.” Freddy stopped beside a double row of irises—deep purple against silver foliage. “Letty and her mother removed to Bath yesterday.”
Joy could not prevent a small sigh of relief. “And Miss Finch?”
“I have no notion of her doings. You are spared tittering and taffeta for a fortnight at least.” His hand tightened on her fingers. “My mother’s invitations make no mention of unattached young ladies—at least, none foisted upon me. Heartsfield Grange scarcely holds more than fifteen beds. She claims the house is ‘delightfully compact.’ The guest list is trimmed to family.”
Joy walked a few paces in silence, letting pebbles crunch underfoot. Butterflies flickered through shafts of light, landing on catmint blossoms. A small knot of dread coiled in her stomach.
“Freddy,” she began, affecting a lightness she did not feel, “you are spending every daylight minute with me. When will you search out your bride?
His voice dropped to a soft scold. “We decided at Thornhill’s ball?—”
“We decided in a fit of pique,” she interrupted. The brim cast patterns across his coat sleeve, and she traced them with her thumb and marvelled that she could see enough to do so. “Youwere irritated by Letty. You should not feel beholden to me now that matters have…altered.”
His breath left him in a huff. “Altered? If you mean your vision, that is Harvey’s battle, not mine. I dashed well do intend to keep my word.”
“Words spoken when one believed the ground level may prove burdensome once the ground tilts,” she persisted. “You do not wish to be saddled with an invalid wife, Freddy. I will persuade Westwood to leave me in peace. You may return to London and court whomever you wish.”
“Do not be foolish, Joy! Did we not decide we would rub along quite well together?” He halted so abruptly that Camilla mewled. Freddy scooped up the kitten with one arm and faced her squarely. “If I must repeat myself in Latin, I will, though I am no scholar. Vision or no vision, you are the only woman with whom I have ever wished to share hedgerow or hearth.” He broke off, colour rising under his fair skin. “I have looked my fill, as you once advised. There is no other candidate. Do you take me for the sort of fellow who jilts because of inconvenience?”
His vehemence shook her more than she allowed to show. “People have done so for less.”
