Marjorie Farrel by Miss Ware's Refusal Page A

sounded so confident that this was the right thing to do? So lost in her own nervousness was she that she sensed, rather than saw, him stop in front of the large, paneled library door. She stood behind him, cold and trembling. He knocked and then opened the door, motioning her to step inside.
    The room itself was smaller than many libraries that she had seen, but that only added to its charm. It was clearly a room that had been much used. Books lined the walls, of course, but they also sat in small piles on the floor, and on the large oak desk in the corner. One bookcase to the left of the fireplace held folios and older volumes. These were the only shelves that looked neat. The rest in the room held books like a cornucopia, all the rich “fruit” spilling out, ready to be tasted. Clearly the duke was a great reader. Or had been, Judith corrected herself with a pang of sadness.
    There was a red Turkey carpet on the floor, and the mahogany furniture seemed to reflect this red in its luster. A large leather sofa was placed in front of the fireplace, and in the corner of the sofa, seemingly gazing at the fire, sat the duke. He turned toward Francis as he heard them approach, looking not quite at him, but a little beyond.
    “Your grace, I have interviewed someone I found very satisfactory for the position of reader. I told you she would be here this morning. May I introduce her to you?”
    “And I asked you to advertise for a gentleman, not a lady, Francis,” the duke said, quietly enough, but with a slight undertone of sarcasm. “Whatever made you consider her?”
    “She was recommended by Whithedd, your grace, who knows of her brother. She has had some experience as a reader already, having been a governess in a family where there was a blind aunt.”
    “I hope I am not to be compared with a helpless woman whose preference was likely for gothic novels.”
    “Not at all, your grace,” Francis said patiently. “But I did think it important you have a lively and experienced reader.”
    Judith was happy to see that Francis was not intimidated by Simon’s rudeness. He approached the duke respectfully, but not fearfully. She had instinctively determined that taking his sightlessness as a given, and not something to be remarked upon sympathetically, was the best way to approach the duke. She was, however, becoming a little impatient at being talked about as though she were not there, although perhaps the duke was not truly aware of her presence?
    “I was also considering,” Francis continued, “this young woman’s need. She is a young gentlewoman living with her brother, and she wishes to supplement their small income. If you give her the post, she will be able to obtain a measure of independence.”
    The duke seemed to listen with a different quality of attention to Francis’ last remarks. For weeks he had been concerned only with his own immediate needs, and this reminder that others were also dependent stirred his dormant but innate generosity.
    “Very well,” Simon said, his voice less harsh, “I will meet her.”
    Francis beckoned Judith closer. She approached Simon and stood in front of him. It was her first sight of him in three years. As he turned toward her, she took a quick breath as his gray eyes looked straight at her as if they could see. She was sure he would extend his hand, laugh, and say, “It is Barbara’s Judith, is it not? What is this masquerade about?” A scar running down his temple was the only reminder he could not see.
    “Miss Ware, your grace.”
    Startled by Francis’ voice, Judith gave a small gasp.
    “I hope, Miss Ware, my face is not as intimidating as all that?”
    “It is not your face which startled me, your grace. Indeed ...”
    “Yes? Indeed what?”
    “The scar is hardly noticeable. It is just that I was convinced you could see me.”
    “I assure you, Miss Ware, I am truly blind, albeit temporarily, as my secretary may have explained to you. I find that one’s other