Page 177 of The Sisters of Sea View
He winced at her sharp tone. “I heard,” he replied, then added, “I find we often worry too much about how people see us. When the truth is, everyone else is more worried about how we view them. They might look, even stare, for a moment, but then their focus returns to themselves and their own problems.”
Miss Reed studied him in dawning realization. “Are you...? You are blind.”
“Yes, I lost my sight some time ago.” He picked up his glasses. “These were pinching me, but I can put them back on. I did not intend to fool anyone into thinking I was anything other than I am. Yet here, in these high-backed chairs, facing the fire, I thought it would be all right. No one is looking. No one cares if I remove my glasses, or you, your veil. They are just glad for a warm room, good food, and good company.”
Miss Reed glanced surreptitiously around the back of her chair. People did not glance her way. They were all too busy chatting with whomever sat beside them, or enjoying a plate of food.
“Yes, please, Mr. Hornbeam. A cup of tea sounds just the thing. Can you manage it?”
“Easily. I know this house almost as well as my own.”
He rose and walked toward the dining room. Miss Reed watched him go, then slowly pushed back the veil from her face—her scarred and lined face.
She lifted a biscuit from the plate, and as she did, her eyes filled. The sheen of tears gave her face a luster, a brilliancy, that made her almost beautiful.
Mr. Hornbeam returned. Georgiana accompanied him, holding a second cup. He handed the one he carried to Miss Reed. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.”
He settled himself once again in the chair, and Georgiana handed him the second cup. “Thank you, my dear.”
They each sipped from their tea.
He said, “You had so many admirers in those days. I was not terribly surprised you did not consider me.”
“That was a long time ago. I have no admirers now, I assure you.”
“And whose fault is that?”
She gaped. “How dare you? My life was ruined through no fault of my own.”
“Of course the disease was not your fault,” Mr. Hornbeam said more softly. “But we choose how we respond to life’s misfortunes.”
“Easy to say now that you can’t see me. But you were not blind then, Simon Hornbeam, and would have no doubt joined the other fellows in commiserating with mypoorbetrothed.”
“Not I. I cut that man’s acquaintance when he cut yours.”
She reared her head back. “You imply you would have stayed with me, out of gentlemanly honor. Do you think I wanted someone to marry me out of duty? Charity? So, what? He could be admired for his long-suffering forbearance?”
After a moment he said evenly, “Bitterness is never attractive, Miss Reed. Even to a blind man.”
She sucked in a shocked breath. Sarah felt almost sorry for her and regretted eavesdropping.
He gentled his voice. “It is futile to focus on the past, my friend.”
“We are not friends.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Although we could be.”
The door knocker sounded again, and Sarah rose to answer it. She was stunned to see upon their threshold the Reverend Edmund Butcher and his wife.
Excitement and trepidation filled her. “Come in, come in. I hope your home was not damaged by the flood?”
“No, no. We, um, learned a few of the poor-house residents were brought here and came to make sure they are all right.”
“Yes. Mrs. Denby, Miss Reed, and Mr. Banks are here, and perfectly well. Please, do join us. We have plenty of food, and you are very welcome.”
Viola came over to greet them, and together she and Sarah took the couple’s damp outer garments and led them into the drawing room, and soon both were comfortably seated with plates of food and warm drinks.
