She was a good-looking woman for her age despite the primness of the clothes she wore and the simple, almost severe style of her hair. She must have been very pretty as a girl. Her hair was still dark, with no discernible signs of gray, and she had a flawless complexion and fine, intelligent eyes. She also had an air of quiet dignity that she maintained despite the shock of his unexpected appearance and his sudden, abrupt question to her. Overall, she looked like a woman who had come to terms with her life and accepted it for what it was.
It was that air about her, he recalled, that had drawn his admiration last year. It had not been just her musical talent or her sensible conversation or her pleasant looks. He had told her a few moments ago that he did not know why his sudden idea of marrying and the image of her had come to him simultaneously, the one inextricably bound up with the other, neither one possible without the other. But he did know why. It was her air of serene dignity, which must not have come easily to her. There were doubtless some women who remained single purely from choice, but he did not believe Miss Debbins was of their number. Spinsterhood had been forced upon her by circumstances—he knew some of them from her sister. She had, however, made a rich and meaningful life for herself despite any disappointment she may have suffered.
Yes, he admired her.
Thank you. Yes. I will, she had said.
He got to his feet and reached out a hand for hers. She stood too, and he raised her hand to his lips. It was a soft, well-cared-for hand with long fingers and short nails. That at least he remembered accurately from last year. It was a musician’s hand. It created music that could bring him to the verge of tears.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will do my utmost to see that you never regret your decision. It is unfortunate that in almost any marriage it is the woman who must relinquish her home and friends and neighbors and all that is familiar and dear to her. Will it be very difficult for you to give up all this?”
Most people would think it an absurd question to ask when he had Penderris Hall in Cornwall to offer her and Stanbrook House in London and wealth untold and the glamorous life of a duchess, not to mention marriage itself to replace her spinsterhood. But she did not rush her answer.
“Yes, it will,” she said, her hand still in his. “I made a life for myself here nine years ago, and it has been good to me. Not many women have the privilege of knowing independence. The people here have been welcoming and amiable. When I leave, those of my pupils with the will to learn, a few of them with real talent, will be left without a teacher, at least for a while. I will regret doing that to them.”
“Vincent?” he asked her, smiling. “Does he have talent?”
After he had been blinded and had clawed his way out of the fright and anger and despair of knowing that his sight would never return, young Vincent had challenged himself in a number of ways rather than sink into the despair of living half a life. One thing he had done was learn to play not only the pianoforte but the violin and, more recently, the harp. That last he had undertaken only because one of his sisters had suggested selling the harp that was already in the house when he inherited it because “obviously” he would never have any use for it. Vincent’s fellow Survivors, who were never sentimental with one another, had teased him mercilessly about his proficiency on the violin, but he had persevered, and he was constantly improving. They did not tease him about the harp, which had caused him endless frustration and distress. Now that he was finally conquering its mysteries, however, he might expect the insults to start flying.
Again Miss Debbins did not rush into an answer, though she knew Vincent to be one of the duke’s closest friends.
“Viscount Darleigh has determination,” she said. “He works hard to be proficient and will never make an excuse of the fact that he cannot see the instrument he plays or the music he must learn by ear. He does extremely well and will get better. I am very proud of him.”
“But there is no talent there?” Poor Vince. He did indeed have the determination not to see himself as handicapped.
“Talent is rare in any field,” she said. “Real talent, I mean. But if we all avoided doing anything for which we are not exceptionally gifted, we would do almost nothing at all and would never discover what we can become. Instead we would waste much of the span of life allotted us in keeping to safe, confining activities. Lord Darleigh has a talent for perseverance, for stretching himself to the limits of his endurance despite what must be one of the most difficult of handicaps—or perhaps because of it. Not many people given his circumstances would achieve what he has. He has learned to give light to the darkness in which he must live out his life, and in so doing he has shed light upon those of us who think we can see.”
Ah, and here was something else that reminded him why he felt such admiration and liking for her—this calm and thoughtful gravity with which she spoke upon topics most people would dismiss lightly. Many people would speak condescendingly of what Vincent had achieved despite the fact that he could not see. Not her. And yet she spoke honestly too. Vincent did indeed lack outstanding musical talent, even allowing for his blindness, but it did not matter. As she had just observed, he had the talent in superabundance for pushing the boundaries of his life beyond the limit of what might be expected of him.
“I am sorry that in marrying you I will be taking you away from this life, Miss Debbins,” he said. “I hope Penderris and marriage to me will prove to be compensation enough.”