Marjorie Farrel by Miss Ware's Refusal

here for my own self-interest. I need an income, and am here to exchange my reading for it.”
    Francis visibly relaxed. “I am sorry, Miss Ware. It must sound rather presumptuous of me to question your motives. But I do not wish any setbacks from what I sense as the first progress in weeks.”
    “Mr. Bolton, your devotion is so obvious there is nothing to forgive. Now, what can you tell me about him, and this position, that will help me obtain it?”
    Francis sank gratefully into a chair and leaned forward toward Judith. “You understand that the duke’s face, his eyes, have not been injured?”
    “Yes, Robin told me he looks the same as ever, aside from a scar from the initial blow.”
    “I think he finally is convinced of his blindness,” Francis said. “But on some level, he still cannot accept what this means to him. So there are some days when he is himself: warm, cheerful, and sure that with time his life will return to normal. These days, however, are fewer and fewer, as the weeks go by and nothing changes. More of the time, he is withdrawn, rather bitter, and obviously despondent. He allows himself to be dressed. He breakfasts. I might read him the latest news, and then he shuts himself into the library for hours. He admits no one.”
    “What does he do in there?”
    “I don’t know. Brood. I suspect that a certain amount of rest and quiet has been good for him. He was still suffering from headaches when we arrived in London. But the fact he will still not go out or admit any of his friends worries me. His close friends, like Major Stanley, are faithful. But acquaintances tend to drop off after a while, and invitations decline. His estates are my responsibility, and the more he relies upon me, the harder it will be for him to resume control. And his place in politics? Well, the government has always managed to carry on without the contributions of honorable, intelligent, committed members.” Francis smiled. “This desire for a reader is the first sign he has given of any interest in returning to life, and I don’t want his first step back jeopardized.”
    “Mr. Bolton, as you can see, I am no feather-witted, spoiled young beauty, and I am not likely to be scared away by the duke’s moodiness. Nor am I given to doing things I do not intend to finish. I met the duke briefly a few years ago and remember his sympathy at a difficult turn in my life. I value that memory, and now I have a chance to do something useful for him.” She stood up and looked down at Francis. “I assure you, although your acquaintance has been longer and more intimate, I share your concern and do not take this position lightly.”
    Francis found himself looking up into serious hazel eyes that held determination and purpose. He blushed for his near rudeness, but as he started to slammer an apology, Judith waved her hand.
    “No, no, don’t apologize. I can only admire your devotion. If I have acquitted myself honorably, should we not go in to his grace? Will I need to give a reference? The Thorntons would be happy to vouch for me.”
    “I think he will leave that in my hands, if he approves of you. As he has left everything, these past months.” This last was said almost as an aside, and Judith looked at him more closely.
    “Why, you must be exhausted, Mr. Bolton. You have obviously had to assume all responsibilities for the duke. And, I suspect, with little thanks from him at this time,” she said shrewdly.
    Francis started to protest, but seeing her genuine concern, he admitted that he was close to the breaking point himself, as much from his worry about the duke as from the extra work.
    “Well, then, you now have some help,” Judith said, extending her hand.
    Francis took it gratefully and held it for a moment before letting it go and resuming his own air of competence again. “Let me bring you in to the duke, Miss Ware.”
    As she followed Francis down the hall, however, Judith wondered how on earth could she have