Page 44 of A Winter’s Romance

Have you never heard, my good Ladies! of the Redemption of Time?

—Edward Young, The centaur not fabulous (1755)

M r. Thornton kept his word. When the Trentons and Hallets were admitted, two mothers and a bevy of assorted daughters, he was all courtesy. “You must pardon me not rising to make my bow,” he told them. “Though I improve hourly, the surgeon Mr. Ponsonby says it is all due to my docility as a patient, sitting here day after day.”

This drew titters from the younger girls, as if he had said something witty, and Eliza saw them whisper to each other.

“We rejoice to hear of your recovery,” intoned Mrs. Hallet, running an appraising eye up and down him which, to do her credit, she would have done even if he could see her. She turned this acuteness on Eliza next. “Lady Arden tells me what a help you have been, Miss Blinker, and I do admire what you have done with your dress. You had that one the last time you came, I believe, but you have trimmed it new. Well. This adventure will give you something to tell those pupils at your school, will it not? How long before you return to Winchester?”

“I will take the late coach on Epiphany Day.”

“What a shame,” tutted Lady Trenton, “for then you will miss our supper and ball.”

Eliza murmured something regretful, though she did not mourn missing what would have been an evening of watching the younger ladies dance while she wore another old dress to stand up once with Sir Miles and once with Mr. Marvin.

One of the bolder girls accosted Mr. Thornton. “Too bad as well that you will not be able to dance, sir. We have heard you make a graceful partner.”

He bowed his head. “My loss as well, Miss Trenton.”

“I am Miss Hallet who addresses you.”

“I beg your pardon. You see how little use I would be in a ballroom, deaf, blind and lame as I am.”

“Oh, Mr. Thornton,” cried another, “allow me to say how much I pity your blindness and pray it will not be forever.”

“Thank you.” But Eliza saw his jaw harden.

“ Will the loss be forever, Lady Arden?” asked Lady Trenton, turning to her. “What does Ponsonby say?”

Seeing Lady Arden’s eyes widen and Mr. Thornton’s mouth twist in a way which boded ill for Lady Trenton, Eliza intervened. “Mr. Thornton may joke about being deaf, Lady Trenton, but I assure you he can hear and answer such questions himself.”

Lady Trenton frowned awfully at this perceived impertinence, but Eliza was rewarded with him visibly unclenching and drawing a slow breath. “Indeed I can repeat what Ponsonby says, Lady Trenton, but we will only know in another week or ten days whether my sight has suffered irreparable damage or not.”

The sympathetic miss wailed. “How dreadful! Never to dance or ride or drive again! Never to do all the things dashing young men love to do.”

Eliza feared this would provoke him anew, but he had got hold of himself now and merely smiled. “I am not so young as I once was. And perhaps, if I am fortunate enough to find a permanent attendant with the patience and skills of Miss Blinker here, I might one day be trusted to be led about on a pony or broken-down nag.”

Uncertain chuckles met this, but it was Eliza’s genuine giggle that drew his attention. “Unless you are weary of teaching school, Miss Blinker,” he added. “In which case I would simply hire you .”

Before she could reply, Mrs. Hallett struck over her. “Lady Arden, I am glad Mr. Thornton’s care has not prevented you and Sir Miles from participating in the festivities of the season.”

A discussion of the engagements which had passed and those still to come followed, which was sustained until the guests rose to depart. Thornton said then everything courteous as they took their leave, but Eliza could hear a hint of impatience. Perhaps facing so many at once after his isolation had exhausted him.

“Miss Blinker? Lady Arden? Are you still here?”

They were not, but they returned shortly. “I think that went very well,” the baronet’s wife was saying, “and if you are willing, Mr. Thornton, I need not put off the supper I planned to host. Sir Miles is glad of an excuse to dispense with such things, but I tell him we must return everyone’s hospitality—”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “Do what you please, Lady Arden. But can you send at once for Mr. Ponsonby? ”

Eliza drew a sharp breath. “Is something the matter?”

“Only that I am tired of waiting. He must take a look at my eyes and tell me what he can.”

She could not blame him. The suspense must be unendurable and the pity and concern of others maddening. But would not removing his bandages too soon jeopardize his healing?

Pressing her lips together, she held her peace. He knew all these things already.

“We will send a note,” she said.

“And one more thing, while we wait for Ponsonby,” he rejoined. “If he can be found, I would speak with Sir Miles.”

Lady Arden and Eliza had taken their seats in the dining room and begun on their soup when the baronet entered.

“We had given you up, my dear,” cried Lady Arden.

Sir Miles snapped out his napkin and waved Hoskins over with the soup tureen. “Thornton called me when I came in. Said something I never dreamed of, but there it is.”

“There what is?” she pressed. “Something good or something bad? He wants Ponsonby to inspect his eyes early, I fear.”

“Eliza will answer your question soon enough.” He raised a brow at their guest. “Eliza, if you would put off your own meal for a minute, Thornton will take his now.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” protested his lady. “Eliza is not his servant, and she is eating. If he cannot wait, Shillbeer and Mrs. Simmons may do it.”

“Mr. Thornton did reprove me for not serving his breakfast,” answered Eliza, laying down her napkin, “and those two will have to serve his supper when we are out, so I had better go.”

“Let her go, Mary,” said Sir Miles, and, surprised by his insistence, Lady Arden reluctantly yielded.

Eliza had no intention of indulging Mr. Thornton’s high-handedness, however, and she would tell him as much. Clearly he was the sort who, if you gave him an inch, would take an ell. Finding Kirby on a stool in the kitchen, she beckoned to her to take up the tray, and the two of them repaired to the drawing room.

“It’s Miss Blinker and Kirby,” she announced, to forestall his inevitable question.

“No sign of Ponsonby yet?”

“Not yet. Mr. Thornton, while I appreciate the frustration of your condition, I must nevertheless say that we cannot continue in this fashion, with you issuing peremptory orders.”

“No, we can’t. That’s true enough. Where are you? Come nearer.”

“This is exactly what I mean,” she replied, even as she complied. “Did you want the sandwich first or the soup?”

“Neither. There are moments in a man’s life which require dignity, and I’ll be confounded if I say what I have to say with soup splattered all over me. Kirby? Are you there? Go away.”

“Kirby, wait,” Eliza commanded, though the maid had not stirred a step. “Mr. Thornton, I insist she remain. Lady Arden would like the proprieties observed. And I must also request that you make a greater effort to consider the feelings of others. You still retain shreds of courtesy when you exert yourself, and you must piece these together now as best you can because I will not be spoken to like a lackey.”

“You won’t, you say?” He sounded delighted with her sternness. “Shall I serve you , then? ”

“What?”

“Softly…” he murmured under his breath. And then, more clearly, “Very well, let Kirby stay. I have plumbed the depths of self-abasement since my injuries—what is one more mortification?”

“Sir, Kirby has been here throughout,” she pointed out, “so her presence should prove no more mortifying than mine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Come, come, Miss Blinker. You say you intend on returning to Winchester on Epiphany Day?”

“I do.”

“And if I am not yet well enough to escape my personal dungeon of Ardenmere, you would leave me to shift as best I can?”

“I am certain Lady Arden and Sir Miles will ensure your comfort, and Mr. Ponsonby’s chosen nurse would likely be available by that time.”

“Are you paid well at this seminary of yours, Miss Blinker?” came his next unexpected question. “You are comfortable? You have all that you wish?”

Her puzzlement deepened. “I don’t know if any person alive could say he has everything he wishes. It is not in human nature. But I would say I am treated well at Mrs. Turcotte’s. I have food, clothing, and shelter. I have companionship. These are personal questions, Mr. Thornton, and again you prove I have been too indulgent of you.”

“What if I asked you to leave this Mrs. Turcotte’s? To exchange the care and companionship of dozens of girls for the care and companionship of one man—one admittedly difficult, demanding man?”

Eliza stared. “Are you asking me to be your nurse? I—er—thank you but refuse, Mr. Thornton. You will not require nursing much longer, even if your sight takes some time to be restored, and you would do far better to hire another manservant to replace the perfidious Kettle.”

Beside her, Kirby was industriously removing the peel from an apple in a spiraling, continuous strip. For a moment Thornton cocked his head, listening hard, and then his hand flashed out to seize the maid’s substantial one. She hiccuped in surprise, the knife clattering to the dish, and the next instant he had carried her hand to his lips. “My dearest Eliza, I am asking you to be my wife!”

With a shriek that drowned Eliza’s gasp, Kirby wrenched her hand away, fleeing to hide behind her, despite being six inches taller and the same amount wider.

“Do be serious, Mr. Thornton,” scolded Eliza, putting a bracing arm about the shocked servant.

“I have never been more so.”

Only see the mischief the man could create! It was one thing to tend his medical needs and quite another to be made the source of his amusement.

Releasing Kirby with a pat, Eliza frowned at their patient. “The soup is growing cold.”

“And I will do it justice when you have given me an answer,” he replied. “Miss Blinker, will you be my wife?”

“But—surely you jest! Or you are out of your senses. It is a good thing Mr. Ponsonby is coming.”

“What could be more sensible? Listen to me, Eliza. I know I’m no catch—blind, infirm, spotty of reputation—and that you’ve seen me at my worst in the last fortnight, but I promise you I’m not usually so cross as circumstances have made me. I have money and a house in town—”

She was shaking her head throughout this incredible speech. This preposterous speech. Could he possibly, possibly be in earnest? She thought of the giggling Trenton and Hallett daughters. Thornton might be blind, infirm, and disreputable, but clearly his charm still held, even when he could not bring his sherry-colored eyes to bear.

“But—but—” she floundered. She would give anything to take him at his word. She could admit that now. Not for the money or the house in town but because, no matter his mood, she loved his company, and the thought of parting from him wrenched her.

Did Mr. Thornton even know who he was asking, though? He had never seen her—knew only what he had been told of her, and still he made this offer.

Her throat tightened.

This offer to a penniless woman of uncertain age, uncertain looks, old dresses, and large build .

“But—you don’t know me,” she said at last.

“I know you are kind, calm, capable, compassionate. I know I like to listen to you as much as I like to talk to you. I strongly suspect I would like to kiss you.”

Her hands flew to her burning cheeks. “But what of my age and—and size” (with an apologetic glance at Kirby) “and lack of family or fortune?”

“Does this mean you accept, Eliza, if I can only persuade you of my sincerity?”

“No! That is—I—I don’t know.”

“Won’t you sit beside me, at least?”

“I had better not. ”

He gave a gusty sigh. “Let us begin at the end, then. I know you have no family, which is why I asked for and received Sir Miles’ blessing. Fortune is nothing—let mine suffice. So much for those two objections. Now, as to your vaunted age, exactly how old are you, my love? Tell the truth.”

She licked her lips. “Two and thirty.”

That made him chuckle. “I knew the lady protested too much. Well, you were right to warn me, for I am a mere one and thirty until Epiphany Day. And as for your size, or indeed, your appearance taken altogether—I almost thank providence for my blindness. It left me no choice but to fall in love with your charming voice. Your comfortable companionship. Your pluck. And now, whatever you look like, I’m sure I will find it everything I desire.”

“Oh,” she said, tears welling. She pinched herself. “But…don’t you still want to know what I look like?”

“Very much, if only to picture you in my mind’s eye. What color is your hair?”

“Brown.”

“What shade of brown?”

“Chestnut.”

He smiled. “My favorite. And your eyes?”

“Hazel.”

“It will do for now,” he sighed again, “since I doubt you will let me run my hands over your person. So tell me, dearest Eliza, will you be mine? Shall I, despite all that has befallen me, count my fall a fortunate one?”

She still had no answer, but reprieve came in the form of the drawing room doors opening to admit Hoskins and Mr. Ponsonby.

Though Thornton grumbled at the interruption, he recovered soon enough, remembering why he had summoned the doctor in the first place.

“Good afternoon, Thornton,” Ponsonby said, with a nod at Eliza. He took a second glance at her when he saw her flushed face. “Are you feeling unwell, Miss Blinker?”

“There’s nothing the matter with her,” struck in Thornton impatiently. “Look here, Ponsonby, you’ve got to remove these bandages and examine my eyes. Just let me open them a minute and know the worst.”

A lengthy debate followed, with the doctor reasoning and objecting and Mr. Thornton maintaining his ground. When it became obvious the latter would prevail, Ponsonby called for a basin of warm water.

“Please, miss,” Kirby whispered, when she returned with it, “if I might wait in the passage until he is covered again…?”

In the dimness Eliza could only guess at her greenness, but she nodded as Mr. Ponsonby said, “Miss Blinker, if you could bring the light nearer.”

Eliza took it up, her pulse beginning to fly until she thought she would have to join Kirby in the passage. But no, this was not the sort of fear assuaged by waiting out of sight. Even wanting to take Mr. Thornton’s hand for the dread moment was impossible, for it would not be the hand he expected!

When the medical man had his warm water, fresh bandages, ointments, eye patches, and sufficient light at the ready, he began to unwind the old strips, talking more to himself than the others. “Swelling gone, cut on the eyelid healed…eyes appear the same size and degree of protrusion from the socket. No visible discoloration.” Carefully he cleaned the eyelids and corners. Then: “Al l right, Thornton, I want you to open your eyes a crack. Just a crack. Good. No exudation. Do you see anything? Any light?”

“Light in the left eye.” Thornton’s voice cracked with relief as he spoke, and Eliza pressed her lips together to stifle her exclamation.

The doctor had him shut each eye alternately, but light penetrated only the left. “Very well. Now I will have you open your eyes as far as is comfortable so that I may examine them. Look straight ahead without moving them, and if at any point you experience discomfort, close them immediately.”

All three held their breath as Thornton obeyed. “There is some light in the right eye!” he declared. “Hazy, but perceptible.”

“Mm. It’s clouded, but that may continue to heal. The left is clear. Slowly now, try looking around.”

At once Thornton’s gaze rose to Eliza holding the candlestick.

He drew a sharp breath. “Where has Miss Blinker gone?”

“You cannot see her?”

Thornton’s eyes roamed to Eliza’s left and right. “No. Call her back.”

“She is just here,” answered the doctor, laying a light hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “Beyond the candles. Can you distinguish her shape at all?”

Thornton frowned, his eyes dropping to her hand encircling the silver stick, a hand distinctly smaller than the one he had held—twice. “I do more than distinguish a shape,” he answered, “but I thought—that is, I was allowed to think—”

“You were allowed to…imagine somebody different,” she whispered.

“ You , then, are Miss Blinker?”

She nodded, swallowing. “I’m afraid so.”

“You can see her, then, with your left eye?” persisted Ponsonby. “Excellent. Excellent progress, but that is enough for the day. I am going to bandage you again, and we will see what additional rest will accomplish.”

Thornton submitted to this in silence, having much to ponder, but he thanked the doctor, adding, “Ponsonby, if you would send the maid Kirby back in as you go? And Miss Blinker, you may as well throw wide the curtains, for the doctor has me bound tightly as a drum here.”

In contrast to the previous gloom, the faint winter sunshine seemed to flood the room with welcome brightness, but Eliza was too unsettled to draw comfort from it.

“Mr. Thornton,” she began, “how very, very glad I am that you have already recovered so much of your sight.”

“Yes. I was afraid, you know.”

“I know.” She twisted her skirts in her hands. “But this means you will soon be very much yourself again, active and independent.”

“Yes.”

Hearing her draw breath to speak on, he held up a finger. “A moment, Miss Blinker. Kirby, are you here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kirby, I would like to beg your pardon for the impudence with which I have treated your hand, grasping it and kissing it and such. Disgraceful of me.”

“Yes, sir, but I daresay you thought it was Miss Blinker you were palming and paddling.”

“So I did. In any event, have I your pardon? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I wish I might have taken a gander at you as well, Kirby, but perhaps in a few more weeks. In the meantime, to continue my earlier conversation with the person I now know to be Miss Blinker…”

As Kirby withdrew some distance, Eliza hastened to say, “And I must beg your pardon, Mr. Thornton, for the deception played on you. As much as the Lady Trentons and Mrs. Halletts of the world are ready to overlook your…history, Lady Arden feared for me and wanted to…prevent me becoming an object for idle flirtation. Ridiculous, really, at my age and—and unmarriageable as I am.”

“Oh, no, I beg to differ, Miss Blinker. Lady Arden was quite wise in her precautions, if mistaken in her estimation of me.”

“In any event, it is never pleasant to feel oneself deceived, and I am sorry for the part I played in it. It goes without saying, of course, that now that you know you will recover much if not all of your sight, and now that you know of our…little ruse…you are by no means bound by the offer you made an hour ago.”

“Thank you for your understanding,” he replied, and Eliza felt her heart sink to her very toes. “But I have a confession to make as well. An hour earlier—was it so long?—when you supplied your hair and eye color, that I might picture you, an image appeared so readily to me that I wondered if it was not a form of premature infidelity. I knew—or thought I knew—you to be a woman of substantial, strong build and possibly as old as forty—I could not believe you any older, with your youthful voice and manners—but the person who leaped into my mind was a young lady I encountered the morning of my accident, outside the Crest and Comb. A very pretty, if slightly shabby, young lady with beautiful chestnut hair and clear, sweet hazel eyes—”

Eliza’s hands flew to her mouth. He had remembered her?

“—And when Ponsonby unbandaged me, and I saw you, I thought, ‘Good God, I was picturing the maid Kirby. I have fallen in love with Miss Blinker’s voice and personality, and Kirby’s person!’ Therefore, any resentment I may have harbored at being made Lady Arden’s dupe has been completely swallowed up in relief that I have not inadvertently proposed to one woman when I might actually be in love with two.”

“You—do—still want to marry me, then?” she breathed.

“More with each passing moment. Come sit beside me, and I will prove it, to the extent my blasted ribs will allow. You had better do it, Eliza, or I will summon Hoghands and Bumblelow to haul me up, that I might chase you about the room.”

She laughed at this, a tide of joy filling her to the very crown of her head. “I will not put them to the trouble,” she said. Heedless of Kirby’s witness, she skipped to drop in the chair nearest him and to take his hand between her own.

“More. More!” he ordered in his most peremptory manner, attempting to turn toward her and wincing with the movement. “Your lips, Eliza, or you will jeopardize my recovery by forcing me to do something rash.”

“Here then, Mr. Thornton,” was her blissful, lingering reply, as she pressed her lips to his. “And here. And here.”

“Better call in Lady Arden, Kirby,” he commanded some while later, when he remembered the maid’s presence at last. “And tell her, like the angels of old, you come bringing ‘glad tidings of great joy.’”