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?”