Page 62 of Unending Joy
He set Camilla gently atop a stone plinth, where the kitten commenced licking her paws. “Do not be insulting, Joy. It is the perfect solution for us both.”
Joy’s parasol drooped until its edge brushed grass. “Freddy, what if my sight does not return? Dr. Harvey gives no guarantee.”
“Then we shall teach Camilla to find your misplaced gloves and Lord Orville to fetch your spectacles.” He managed a crooked smile. “I will read your favourite stories to you—and argue over the endings as always. We will ride with a little more circumspection. The world need not be seen perfectly to be lived perfectly.”
Her heart gave one great thump—that was rather poetic for Freddy. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple.” He offered his arm again.
She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the steady warmth beneath superfine cloth. “We must wait before telling anyone, Freddy. Wait at least until we know how much sight can be salvaged.”
He inclined his head. “If that is your wish, I will grant it as long as I may.”
“And you must continue looking,” she added, attempting sternness. “For the sake of your mother’s expectations.”
“I have looked,” he repeated, softer now, “and found an answer.” Then, rallying, he adopted a teasing tone. “Unless you are pining for that blackguard, St. John?”
“Now who is daft?” She elbowed him lightly, then wobbled.
They reached the sundial, set in a small clearing ringed by peonies. Joy lifted her face, searching through shapes blurred beyond a few yards. “What is it you are not telling me?” she asked.
“There is news,” he said, thumb making small soothing circles on the back of her hand, “of Colonel St. John.”
Her muscles tightened, and he covered her fingers at once. “Nothing to distress you. He departs England at once, bound for duties abroad—he will not renew his addresses.”
She exhaled, relief and something like sorrow mingling. “Is he well?”
“He has obligations.” Freddy chose his words with care. “Obligations he must meet in Portugal.”
Joy let that sink in. The small part of her that had felt flattered by the Colonel’s attention, dulled.
The silence that followed was curiously gentle, as if the garden itself applauded a chapter ended. Somewhere behind the peonies a bird sang, and the scent of warm earth driftedupward. Joy drew a steadying breath, surprised that the relief outweighed the disappointment.
“We shall speak of him no more,” she said at last, shaking off the lingering ache like dew from a rose leaf. “Tell me of Heartsfield, Freddy. Your letters always mention an orchard—what grows there besides apples?”
His face lit up, and he seemed pleased to change the subject. “There are plums and cherries as well, and a stubborn stream that refuses respectable boundaries and floods the kitchen garden whenever it rains heavily.”
“I think I shall enjoy it very much.” She imagined the place: low eaves and mossy tiles, a dovecote waiting to be emptied of feathers and filled with books. A pulse of excitement fluttered, eager for new places to investigate.
They moved on, following a path that looped beneath an arch of early flowering clematis. Freddy slowed her pace when the gravel thickened, guiding her foot past a jutting stone before she could stumble. The courtesy warmed her in spite of feeling incapable.
“There is one inconvenience you have not considered,” she said, tilting her head. “You seek a wife that can ride to hounds.”
“However I may ride with you shall suffice. We will forge a path forward that will make us both happy.”
That declaration sent a pleasant thrill through her, though she answered only with a soft, “Your optimism almost convinces me.”
They circled towards a half-shaded stone bench. Joy lowered herself gratefully. Even a short circuit of the walk left her dizzy. Freddy settled beside her, remarking that the brim of her bonnet cast shadows across her face.
How easy he made it all seem, Joy reflected. Even the worry lodged in her breast softened under the humour. Still, a questionpressed itself upon her notice. “And after Kent?” she asked. “What will you do if—if I remain mostly or completely blind?”
Freddy’s gaze was steady. “I shall marry you, if you will have me.”
He forestalled interruption.
“Do not raise objections again, Joy. I have charted every possible difficulty and reached the same conclusion each time. Life with you is preferable to life without you. There is no argument strong enough to shake that.”
As she looked down her vision blurred, not from injury but from emotion. A bright spot wavered in her left eye—sunlight refracted by unshed tears. She blinked them back, unwilling to lose even that little clarity.
