Miss George's Second Chance Page 3

  No, Peter was happier as he was living a life full of fun and adventure. Her chest tightened with sadness. At least she hoped so. One of them deserved to see the world.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sunshine and the scent of the restless sea filled Peter’s nostrils the moment he stepped from his hired carriage and looked along Cavendish Place. Despite the improvement in his situation, his fortune and title of baronet, it was good to be home again among familiar sights and sounds of Brighton.

  London for all its amusements wasn’t where his heart longed to be. He’d tried to carve a place in society and had never found contentment. The most enjoyment he’d found was discussing books with the proprietors in London’s bookshops.

  He smiled at the memory. The booksellers were astounded he was acquainted with the author K.D. Brahms. He’d dodged any questions that might accidentally reveal the author was a woman—one whom he’d almost married—and discussed the lack of the next volume. There hadn’t been a new story published in a year and he, along with everyone else in society, was keen to find out when the next could be delivered. Surely Imogen would tell him if he asked nicely. There had to be some advantage to keeping her writing life a closely guarded secret.

  He looked along the street, noticing more than one head pressing to the window glass. Friends waved and promptly disappeared again, giving Peter the hope he’d see them shortly. He wanted to see all his neighbors, too. Even the pretty, dark-haired petite one who had rejected the idea of marrying him the moment his financial future was assured. Surely there was no need for them to be strangers to each other.

  The door to his abode wrenched open and his servants, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, stood gaping at him. “Why didn’t you say you were coming, sir?” Mrs. Simpson wailed the complaint, wiping her hands on her spotless apron. “I’m not ready.”

  “Not ready to serve my favorite beef stew and dumplings with lemon pudding to sweeten my palate?” He grinned at his housekeeper. “Come now. I’m not falling for that.”

  He shook their hands, very glad to see them looking well and happy, and stepped aside as the hired carriage grooms tramped inside with his possessions. He pressed coins into the grooms’ hands. “The Rose and Crown will serve you well if you’re to stay overnight. Try to stay out of trouble. The proprietor is a good man and a friend.”

  “Thank you, sir.” They grinned and returned to the carriage, leaving Peter to his own devices. He stepped across the threshold and breathed a sigh of relief. Home. No invitations to stuffy balls, no simpering debutants to be agreeable with, and far less rules to follow. He couldn’t believe he’d stayed away so long.

  Nothing had changed in the house and that was exactly how he liked it.

  “Where the devil have you been?”

  He spun about to find Valentine Merton, grinning face and all, hovering in the open doorway. “Everywhere and nowhere. Come in. Come in and have a drink with a weary traveler.”

  “You don’t look too battered by your adventures.” Merton peered at him carefully as he stepped inside. “In fact, I wondered about your extended absence. For a while there I thought you might be too good for us now you’ve a title. Took you long enough to visit.”

  Peter narrowed his gaze. “What a ridiculous thing to suggest that I am merely visiting. I had a few matters to attend to in London and Hereford. That’s taken care of now.”

  “Good.” Merton grinned and looked around him. “It’s dinner at my house tonight and cards tomorrow evening, here in fact. Is that notice enough, Sir Peter?”

  Peter threw a mock punch at Merton and gestured toward the dining room where he usually met with his friends. “More than sufficient and actually will make my housekeeper very happy. In my eagerness to return, I neglected to forward prior warning so she could prepare dinner for this evening. Tell me, who else will be there?”

  “The usual crowd. All but Hawke and your sister, but at least he writes to say when to expect him. I think that’s your sister’s influence.”

  Peter rubbed his jaw as he inspected the rear of his property through the casement window. He smiled at how everything appeared as he’d left it a year ago. The kitchen garden was flourishing this year. “She has made an impression on him. I’ve never seen him smile so much.”

  “I noticed that, too, the last time they came down.”

  Peter spun about to face his guest. “That smile appeared at the moment they decided to marry and hasn’t faded once, no matter what happens or how busy he gets with work.”

  “Thank God for Abigail.” Merton made himself comfortable. “I really did fear Hawke’s heart was growing as cold as the money he counted.”

  “No chance of that now.” Peter reached for the brandy, poured a measure for his friend and one for himself. He’d been so wrong about Hawke and his sister. They were very much in love. “My sister would never stand for it.”

  Another knock sounded on the door, and Peter hurried into the hall again. Linus Radley stood cap in hand, a hesitant smile on his face beside Simpson. “Good afternoon, Sir Peter. Thought I should come pay my respects early before the whole town arrives.”

  “You’re late. Merton beat you to it. Come in, come in. We’re about to have a brandy.” He led Radley into the dining room and poured another drink.

  When he turned, Merton looked him over curiously. “So, do tell. I’ll be the blunt one to ask the question burning on everyone’s lips. How big is your estate?”

  Peter passed out the glasses and took a sip before answering. “I sold the country estate actually.”

  Radley’s eyes widened. “You what?”

  Peter shrugged. “Can you imagine me running around chasing cattle and geese?”

  Radley shook his head. “But you had property.”

  “One that didn’t suit me or my preference for life near the sea.” Peter took another drink. “I sold it for a pretty penny though thanks to Hawke’s sharp negotiations and purchased something else a little closer to home. Or rather a few little something’s.”

  When his friends appeared puzzled he clarified, enjoying the expressions of surprise on their faces. “I bought the old Trent place on the hill overlooking Brighton, not that I intend to live there, as well as another smaller property for the additional income.”

  Merton’s eyebrow rose. “So this house is what you mean by home?”

  “Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, content at last. “It’s taken me a year to straighten it all out. The estate sold to a neighbor who’d coveted the Herford property for some time. Hawke and Abigail have moved into the London townhouse. I couldn’t see the sense in leaving it empty most of the year and Abigail and that mutt of hers have taken it over completely.”

  “And you’re back now to lord your title over us all,” Merton teased.

  “Hardly. I’m home to stay so I don’t intend to put on airs and be laughed at every other moment.” Peter rubbed his hands together. “It’ll be like old times.”

  Merton and Radley exchanged a long look. “Well, that’s good to hear. Radley, we should go and let Sir Peter get settled. Dinner is at eight o’clock. Be prepared to have your ears talked off and be questioned unmercifully.”

  Peter grinned. “I look forward to it.” He couldn’t wait to hear the local news. It was amazing how much he’d missed everyone’s chatter. Discovering news third-hand, through Abigail’s letters and confidences, had not been enough.

  Peter walked his guests to the door, as he would have done before he’d gained a title, looking beyond them down the familiar street he’d spent his whole life strolling along. His gaze narrowed as Walter George, his nearest neighbor, stopped on his front steps with a distinguished looking gentleman at his side. The man was a touch taller than Walter, of similar age and carried a wrapped parcel in his hands.

  Walter paused, a frown working over his features and then touched the brim of his hat. He made no move to join them and they disappeared inside his townhouse.

  Peter glanced at Merton
and Radley. “What was that about?”

  “Perhaps it has something to do with Miss George.” Radley shook his head, lips turning into an unhappy frown. “George is determined to see this through for his sister’s sake.”

  An uneasy sensation stirred within him. “Has Miss George become engaged again?”

  “No, of course not engaged.” Merton exchanged a speaking glance with Radley. “I don’t believe he knows.”

  “Damnation.” Radley settled his hat on his head. “If you don’t mind, I think it best if I leave it to you, Merton. You know more about the matter than me. I’ll talk with you later, Sir Peter, if you’re still of a mind to come to dinner after all.”

  He strode off as Merton steered Peter into the house. All sorts of panicked thoughts filled his mind. Was she ill? Injured? Married and with child? Why did he see pity brimming in Valentine’s eyes?

  Merton shut the front door behind them, waved off his servants, and drew Peter toward the dining room again. A full glass of brandy was pressed into his hand. “Imogen is well but there has been a change in her prospects. For the worst, I’m afraid.”

  “Did she lose her fortune?” Peter looked toward the door, ready to render whatever assistance he could. He would offer to marry her in a heartbeat, to show her the same kindness she’d bestowed on him a year ago, to ensure her future comfort was always secure. He could afford to do so much for her now.

  “No. It’s far worse.” Merton raked a hand through his hair. “There’s no easy way to say it so I’ll be blunt. Imogen George is blind.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in and when they did Peter sank into a chair because his legs no longer felt strong enough.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Imogen heard the heavy tread of her brother and frowned at the noise. The downstairs clock had just chimed eight and yet he was still pacing through the house. She felt for her walking stick and got to her feet carefully. If he was going to dine at the Merton’s tonight he really should be gone already.

  Determined to remind him of his obligations, she clattered into the hall and carefully descended to the lower floor one careful step at a time. At the foot of the staircase, she paused to get her bearings. Walter was pacing his study. She moved in that direction, catching the doorframe with her free hand and addressed the room. “Are you not late for the Merton dinner?”

  “I changed my mind and offered my apologies to Merton. I’ll dine at home tonight.”

  Papers shuffled and she moved further into the room. “Why change your mind? You know I do no mind dining alone. In fact, I find it preferable.”

  “You’re not that bad anymore.”

  “Certainly not since Cook elected to serve me every meal with a consistency I can eat with a spoon.” She sighed. “Cook has a practical turn of mind that I whole heartedly approve of.”

  “Nevertheless, we’ll dine together as we should.”

  Walter’s unfailing support brought a grin to her face. “As you wish. I’ll see Mrs. Perkins and ask her to serve us now if you don’t mind. You must be hungry.”

  “Thank you,” Walter murmured.

  With the aid of her walking stick Imogen navigated her way toward the kitchen. The scent of beef stew reached her first, then the added warmth of the lit stove on a hot summer’s day. She paused at the doorway, sensible of the dangers that lurked inside a busy kitchen. Mrs. Perkins was involved in her tasks and Imogen should not proceed any further for fear of accidentally getting in her way. She’d bumped into a heated pot once, burning the edge of her hand and feared further misadventures that would cause similar or worse pain.

  “Good evening,” she said to the room as a chair scraped across the floor. “The stew smells divine and has set my stomach to rumbling. May we eat soon please? Walter is joining me rather than going out and you know how he is about late meals.”

  “Yes, the master warned me earlier he would be at home tonight,” Mrs. Perkins said. “I’ll be along to the dining room presently.”

  Without her aid and advice during these troubling times, Imogen would have wallowed in maudlin thoughts long ago. “Thank you.”

  Imogen pushed away from the door, held her walking stick before her, ready to venture to the dining room and wait. But as she did so she heard a soft feminine sob come from the room behind her. Since the servants had ceased crying over Imogen’s blindness many months ago she frowned at the strangeness of it and turned her face toward the kitchen. “Is someone with you?”

  Mrs. Perkins rushed to her side and caught her elbow. “No, my dear. I’ve just a touch of the sniffles tonight.”

  The comforting touch of the older woman’s hand caused her to relax as she was led along the short hall. Though she would never deny her servants visitors, Imogen hated being secretly observed in her own home. Early on in her illness she had laid down the rules to Mrs. Perkins about strangers in the house. They were to be announced to her so she was not surprised by their presence. She must have imagined the sensation of another. “Make sure to take your own medicine tonight. I’d hate to have you fall ill.”

  Mrs. Perkins patted her hand. “You’re kind to worry about me. I will look after myself perfectly well. Don’t fret on my account.”

  Imogen couldn’t help but fret. There was nothing else she could do. She moved off carefully, turned into the dining room and found her usual chair then sat. Being blind made one a touch desperate about the health and wellbeing of those around her. She trusted Mrs. Perkins and Mr. Perkins too and wouldn’t like to have to train strangers to take over her duties if they should leave them.

  “What has set you in a bad mood?” Walter stalked into the room and dragged out a chair. It creaked a little as he sat and his sigh was filled with annoyance. “You’re frowning.”

  “Me? Nothing.” She smiled quickly to reassure him. Walter became annoyed when she fussed about the servant’s health and happiness. “I am hungry though so perhaps that is the reason for the frown you imagined.”

  The housekeeper’s and butler’s footsteps approached and she inhaled deeply of the scents of tonight’s meal. The butler served her, efficiently silent, and departed, which was always appreciated. It made Imogen feel less like an invalid if there were fewer about to watch her clumsy attempts to dine.

  She spread her fingers over the array of silver cutlery and chose a spoon. With her other hand, she located her bowl shaped plate. One best suited to her limited abilities to successfully load the spoon and avoid accidents.

  Walter ate in silence a few minutes and then his cutlery clattered against his plate. “Are you happy, Imogen?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Really truly happy with things as they are? You would not lie to me about this, would you?”

  “Yes, really truly happy.” Imogen set her spoon upon her plate and although she turned in her brother’s direction she found no great comfort from doing so. “What has brought on your questions, Walter? You’re not considering searching for another physician to apply his dubious healing skills upon me. I could not have been clearer this afternoon. The next man you bring to examine me will feel the crack of my walking stick against their skull.”

  “No. I see you’ve made up your mind to give up on getting better.”

  “I am doing the only thing I can. I am blind. There is no getting around that fact. I could pitch about and moan about the unfairness of my life or accept it.” Imogen stretched for him and was rewarded by his larger hand covering hers. “Or is it you who is unhappy with the prospect of my living with you for the rest of my life?”

  “Of course not,” he spluttered. “I only want what’s best for you.”

  “And I you, which is why this might be the perfect time to discuss a solution.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Hard decisions were always best handled with direct speech and no delay. “I’ve been considering my situation since I first lost my vision. I am a burden on you, Walter, and I will be a nuisance to the lady you will marry one day.
”

  “There is no one, that is to say, I have no plans to marry as yet.”

  Walter would never have time to pursue a bride if he was always looking after her. He likely didn’t even realize the full extent of the burden her lack of sight placed on him. “But at some time you will wish to have a family of your own, a lady to love and spend time with, and well, to be blunt, I doubt any woman would want to share a house with me. They would come to regard me as a burden and I do not ever wish to be that to your happiness.”

  “You’re not a burden.” He gasped. “Don’t ever think that.”

  She patted Walter’s hand and drew back. “I should like you to write to Hawke and arrange for the purchase of a small house with my fortune. Once that is settled, I will ask your help in interviewing a companion to care for me in my new abode. With your aid, and perhaps the assistance of a few discerning friends, and the Perkins’ of course, I am sure I can be perfectly content.”

  “You’re not leaving my house and my protection,” he growled out, startling her with the tone of his voice.

  Regardless of his intentions, she would have her way in the end. “That decision is not yours to make. Would you rather I walk out that door under my own steam, with no one to guide me away from trouble or catastrophe? If you help, you may be easy with the situation. Of course, you would be welcome to come for a visit at any time.”

  The chair Walter sat in gave a groan, as if he had rocked back on only two of the legs. “And have you planned where this little cottage of yours will be located?”

  “I remember Fulking being very pleasant and quiet for an invalid.”

  “No. That’s too far away.” His chair scraped and his steps were loud as he paced the room. “I won’t consider it and cease referring to yourself as an invalid. The whole notion is entirely unacceptable. You would never see your friends often enough.”