Page 29 of Unending Joy
Patience regarded Joy with a measure of sympathy. “We shall attend every gathering by your side. Whenever you are introduced or greet some formidable dowager, we shall be there to steer the conversation and nudge you if you stray from the path of sweet composure.”
Joy gave a snort, laced with exasperation. Sweet composure, indeed. “You speak as though I am a wayward child. But truly, if I stand there nodding and uttering polite words, will that not seem most unnatural?”
Joy studied her sisters, feeling resigned. They meant well, of course, and she was keen to restore peace to the Whitford name, but she wondered if it was really worth all the fuss. “Very well,” she relented, “but promise me that if we do all this—attend every tea and soiree—only to find the situation hopeless, we might withdraw to the country.”
Faith and Hope exchanged another of their knowing smiles. “We promise,” Hope said, and Faith nodded in concurrence. Joysuspected it was but an easy vow to soothe her, though perhaps that would suffice to steady her nerves.
“We already have a list,” Hope said briskly. “Lady Bellingham’s tea on Tuesday, the Rutherford at-home on Wednesday, Lady Minerva’s soiree on Thursday, and the Tarlton garden party next Saturday. Each one has its own measure of importance. You must attend all with a composed countenance and unaffected demeanour.”
Joy listened to this parade of engagements with mounting trepidation. “This is impossible!”
Faith waved her protest aside. “All you need to do is smile, curtsy prettily, and exchange a few gracious remarks. Meanwhile, we must do something about your madcap dancing.”
Joy murmured an apology, feeling heat climb her cheeks at the remembrance of how badly she had danced. It had not always been so, but she was reluctant to confess about her sight. Yet if not now, then when? Recalling Freddy’s response encouraged her. She cleared her throat. “There is something else I must confess,” she said. “Part of the trouble is that since my accident, my eyes fail me at times, particularly when I exert myself. The world can become hazy, faces and details slip away. I think—I fear—I need spectacles.”
Her sisters’ surprise was immediate. Faith looked most taken aback. “Spectacles? You never mentioned such difficulties before.”
“I thought it would pass,” Joy answered, twisting her fingers together. “At times, in bright daylight, I see tolerably well. Then at assemblies, beneath candlelight, everything becomes a blur. I tried harder, hoping to hide it, but that only led to more blunders. I did not realize how badly I might misjudge distances until…” She paused, remembering how she had trod on Lady Abernathy’s gown in mid-dance.
Hope’s expression was filled with compassion. “Poor dear Joy, you must remedy this at once. There is no shame in spectacles if your vision requires them.”
Faith, on the other hand, wore a thoughtful frown. “Of course, if you need them, you must have them. Without clear sight, you risk further mishaps.”
Patience, firmly practical, agreed. “It will be far worse for gossip if you continue stumbling around the dance floor. If spectacles will steady your steps, you should have them. We can engage a dancing master for private instruction so that you can grow accustomed to wearing them, if necessary.”
Joy felt a surge of mingled relief and dismay. She had always dreaded appearing in such unfashionable contraptions, fearing that thetonwould find more fodder for mockery of her. But the thought of further humiliations at dances was worse still. “You do not think it will cause more talk?”
“Mayhap, if it makes you appear more studious, it will soften the hoydenish image.” Hope was ever optimistic.
Joy did not mention that the doctor had said her sight might fail further. This was enough for now. For Joy and her sisters.
Patience sat back, still cradling her purring kitten. “No one will expect you to transform entirely, Joy. They simply need to see that you can present yourself in a more measured manner. Especially since we fear your last scrape left the impression that you delight in making a spectacle of yourself. Let them see your warmth, not your recklessness.”
Their conversation might have continued indefinitely, but it was at that moment that their butler entered. Hartley bore a look of studied neutrality. “Miss Joy,” he said, “there is a delivery for you?—”
Before another word could pass his lips, two footmen entered. carrying a most enormous bouquet. The arrangement nearly eclipsed the silver vase beneath it, a riot of colour—roses,lilies, violets—so lush and fragrant that the kittens paused in their play to inspect the intrusion.
The footmen placed the vase on the table and withdrew, leaving Hartley to present Joy with a small folded note.
A hush descended upon the sisters, as though the universe itself paused to witness this unfolding. Joy opened the note, her pulse quickening with curiosity.
Miss Whitford,
You are a breath of fresh air! The most capital time I have had in years!
—St. John
The boldness of the script struck her first, followed by the vivid memory of that gentleman’s rakish grin. Her sisters pressed close to catch sight of the note as well, gasping at his boldness.
“She will never reform if he encourages her so,” Faith muttered.
“He takes no accountability, I see.” Hope frowned.
“Perhaps he desires a hoyden for a wife,” Patience said hopefully.
Joy glanced at the vivid bouquet, inhaling the sweet perfume of the roses, lilies, and violets. The sense of possibility stirred her heart. Perhaps it was not so dreadful: the notion that she might salvage her reputation, learn to manage her unwieldy vision, and receive the occasional flattering gesture from a gentleman.
She brushed her fingers over the note once more. Then she tucked the missive away safely, away from curious eyes.
