Page 22 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Stonehaven was about to remark that he could jolly well drop out again before biting his tongue.

He was turning into someone he didn’t recognise, the grumpy old curmudgeon everyone avoided because there was no value in doing otherwise.

He did not wish for people to avoid him.

They would, he knew. One of the reasons he so feared returning to his old life was that he did not wish to discover how few of his acquaintances would keep up their friendship with him.

Deformity or disability were embarrassing to other people, especially those among the ton who prized perfection above all else.

“Well, that’s—jolly decent of you,” he allowed, guilty now for his belligerence when the man had been nothing but kind and patience. He really must try to rein in his temper. It was not the world’s fault he was blind, only one man had the blame in that.

“Not at all. I was interested in seeing how you were doing. You’re looking well.

It’s good to see you downstairs. Too many people believe such injuries are the end of their lives, but it is amazing what the human body, and spirit, can achieve when the patient is of a mind to let nothing stop them. You strike me as such a man.”

“Hmm.” Stonehaven said nothing, wondering if Honeywell had paid him to say such things or if they genuinely thought along similar lines. “You’ve seen such injuries before then?”

“Yes. When I worked in London. An explosion left several workmen in a similar state, and it was remarkable to me to see how different temperaments affected the patient’s ability to heal and what they could achieve.”

“What could they achieve?” Stonehaven asked, curious.

“One became a foreman in the factory where he was injured,” Dr Arkhurst replied with obvious admiration.

“Despite his blindness, he was perfectly capable of overseeing the textiles they made. People often remark that other senses become far keener in the absence of sight, though I admit I have never subscribed to the notion. Either way, this man could feel the slightest distortion in the fabric produced that he might very well never have noticed with his eyes.”

“Well, never having aspired to being a foreman, I must respectfully decline,” Stonehaven remarked dryly, though in truth he was heartened to hear such a story, even if it seemed not to relate to his own life.

Dr Arkhurst laughed. “Well, I cannot blame you for that. I am pleased to see you in good spirits, however.”

“Why don’t you believe my other senses will heighten?” Stonehaven demanded. “Are you determined to deny me even that silver lining?”

“Good heavens, no,” the doctor replied, sounding aghast. “Forgive me, I expressed myself badly. No, that’s not what I meant. Look, imagine a fellow has five fabulous horses. If they are all equally matched, he would use them all equal amounts, yes?”

“I suppose so?”

“Well, what if three of the horses were fabulous, and the other two broken down old nags? Well, then he’d spend more time riding the three good ones.

It’s only that we give the other senses more of our attention, so it seems as if they improve, when really it’s only our focus that has changed. If you follow me?”

Stonehaven nodded, amused by the analogy. “So, my eyes are broken down nags, are they?”

The doctor laughed, and Stonehaven heard him get to his feet.

“If you are determined to find an insult in my words…. Send for me if anything changes, or if you need someone to talk to. I am no Lord Beaumarsh, but I am thought to be a good listener and a tolerable judge of human nature, though nothing to match your host.”

“Who is?” Stonehaven asked with a wry smile and thanked the doctor for his kindness in thinking of him.

The moment he had gone, however, his thoughts returned to Sally, and he lifted his fingers to his mouth, trying to recapture the soft touch of her lips against his.

Oh my, oh my, oh my.

Bea’s thoughts spun in a panicked circle as she hurried away from Lord Stonehaven, circling all the way around the back garden and going into the house through the front door.

Thanks heavens she had heard Polly sending the doctor out to the terrace or disaster would have struck.

Still in such a fluster, Bea got halfway up the stairs, intending to go back to her room, when she changed her mind and went instead to the piano.

As she placed her hands on the keys, she realised they were shaking and sucked in a breath.

What in heaven's name had she been thinking?

Not only had she once again broken her own promise about pretending to be Sally, she had compounded it by kissing Lord Stonehaven— and she’d nearly been caught doing it!

“You have lost your mind, my girl,” she told herself fretfully, and yet despite the wickedness of what she had done—and surely it had been wicked to deceive a blind man into believing you were a serving girl when you were nothing of the sort—she did not regret it.

Could not regret it. For how else would she ever have known that his mouth was so very soft, that a kiss, insubstantial as it had been, could taste so terribly sweet?

The sweetness of it lingered inside her, filling her heart with a delicate ache for something she knew was not hers, would never be hers, and yet she longed for it.

If only he had liked her for herself, if only he’d been able to see past the facade that so many men tripped over.

But he had made his mind up about who she was and what she was like upon first meeting him, and she felt unequal to the task of changing his opinion.

Yet when she was Sally, it seemed so easy to speak to him, to tease and flirt with him in a way she would never dream of doing as Miss Beatrice Honeywell.

She drew in another breath, trying to ease the erratic dance of her heart, and cursed as she heard the door knocker sound again. Knowing Polly would be run off her feet as it was laundry day, Bea called down that she would get it and went to the door.

Her day hardly improved to discover Mrs Adamson on the doorstep, looking stunning in a pale green walking dress of fine French cambric with a white satin spencer, trimmed with green ribbon.

Her hat, a white satin affair with delicate lace trimmings and three white ostrich feathers, filled Bea with envy.

This elegant ensemble was embellished with a blush-coloured parasol, green kid boots, and limerick gloves.

Despite such provocation she greeted the lady warmly. “How lovely to see you, Mrs Adamson. Do come in. Shall I ring for tea?”

“Oh.” Mrs Adamson looked a little sheepish. “Please call me Anne, Mrs Adamson is such a mouthful, and—well, it’s not that I do not wish to take tea with you, only—”

“You’ve come to visit with Lord Stonehaven,” Bea finished for her, feeling the smile on her face become rigid.

Of course she had. Jealousy rose inside her, making her throat tight, but she took a breath, pushing the feeling away.

If she truly cared for Stonehaven, his happiness was all that should matter to her.

It was a hard truth to swallow, but she nodded and gestured for Anne to follow her.

“This way, then. Lord Stonehaven is sitting on the terrace.”

Bea led Anne out to the back of the house and then wondered what to do. She did not dare speak to Stonehaven and tell him Anne was here for a visit, for what if he heard her voice and recognised it as Sally’s?

“I’ll let you surprise him,” she said instead. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have tea sent up for you.”

She left before Anne could protest or agree and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen.

Stonehaven’s mood darkened the longer he sat alone.

He must leave this house, and soon. For reasons he did not understand, he felt a connection, a pull towards Sally like nothing he had known before.

They had spoken so little, and yet his mind seemed to latch onto her like a drowning man clinging to a tree branch.

It seemed too rare and lovely, and he didn’t understand it, wondering if his affinity for her was only because of his situation.

He reminded himself that she might be bracket-faced and, in his previous life, he might never have given her a second look.

His heart refused to accept this as a reasonable argument.

Stonehaven had heard of love at first sight and never credited it, but then he thought about Beaumarsh.

His friend, the most cynical peacock that ever lived, had been transformed into a man who greeted most every day with joy and optimism because Clementine Honeywell had fallen in love with him.

Could that not be true for Stonehaven too?

Yet, it was cruel to Sally and to himself to pretend there was a future for them when it could only ever be a brief affair that would dishonour them both.

Anger, an emotion that he could claim with such ease these days, raged in his soul, in his heart at the unfairness of his life.

What had he done to deserve such punishment?

Was it not enough that he had lost his sight, and now must be plagued by feelings for a girl he could never call his own?

His bloody father had been a tyrant who cared naught for the lives of others, certainly not for those he considered beneath his notice, yet he had lived to be two and seventy despite indulging in a life of sin.

That devil had only lost his life because he was idiot enough to ride an overly excitable and green gelding after downing enough brandy to fell an elephant.

Why had he not been punished for his greed and cruelty?

Why had Stonehaven, who had taken pains to ensure all his relations, no matter how distant, were cared for, that his tenants lived decent lives, who did what he could to leave the world a better place than he had found it, why had he been so afflicted?