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E ach 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. “You were 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.”

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 drifted upward. 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 question pressed 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.

Freddy stood and held out his hand. “Come. I have kept you out much longer than would please Dr. Harvey.”

Freddy arrived at Heartsfield Grange a few hours before the caravan of barouches and luggage carts.

He had felt like a boy waiting for a new pony.

He’d inspected every inch of the house, but would wait for Joy’s arrival to inspect the grounds together, for he knew she would enjoy it.

His mother had already sent an army of servants to prepare everything.

The grass was shorn, the house was freshly aired and polished, and smelled of beeswax and fresh pies.

He’d warned the household to remove any obvious obstacles that Joy might miss and stumble upon.

By the time the party rolled up the drive, he was fair to bursting with excitement. Who would have ever thought Freddy would be thankful at the prospect of becoming settled?

Lord and Lady Gresham arrived first, his father having left his beloved country seat to join them.

“Well, Frederick, your mother tells me you have found your match. I am quite pleased.”

“Joy does not wish to announce anything yet.” Seeing his father’s concerned face, Freddy hastened to add, “owing to her recent injury, you understand.”