Love Is Blind

  "I am sorry; I have obviously been too long out of society. I should never have--"

  "Oh, bother." Clarissa waved his apology away and sank back in her seat with a dejected sigh. " Tis all right. I do know what people are saying. They seem to think that I am deaf as well as clumsy, for they do not worry about saying things in front of me--or at least behind their fans--loudly enough for me to hear." Making a face, she mimicked, " 'Oh look, there she is, poor thing--Clumsy Clarissa.' "

  "I am sorry," her companion said quietly.

  Clarissa waved his words away again, only this time noting the way he dodged as if to avoid a blow to die head. Frowning, she clasped her hands and settled them in her lap, repeating, "There is no need to apologize. At least you said it to my face."

  'Yes, well..." The man seemed to relax in his seat now that her hands weren't waving wildly. "Actually, it was more a question. I was wondering if you truly are?"

  Clarissa smiled wryly. "Ah, well, I am not quite as blind as a bat. I can see with spectacles. But my stepmother has taken them away." She threw a dry smile in the general direction of his blurry shape and then

  shrugged. "Lydia seems to think that I will have more luck setting a fire in some suitable man's heart without them. The only thing as yet that I have set fire to is Lord Prudhomme's wig."

  "Excuse me?" the stranger asked with amazement. "Prudhomme 's wig? "

  "Hmm." Clarissa leaned back in her chair and actually managed to chuckle at die memory. "Yes. Though if you ask me, 'twas not wholly my fault. The man knew that I could not see without my spectacles. Why the deuce he asked me to move the candle closer is beyond me." Clarissa paused to squint in her companion's general direction. "He is bald as a cue ball without his wig, is he not?"

  She thought the man nodded, though it was hard to say. He was emitting small choked sounds it took her a moment to identify. He was fighting desperately not to laugh!

  "Go ahead," Clarissa said with a small smile. "Laugh. I did. Though not right away."

  The man relaxed somewhat. She could actually feel the muscles in the arm and leg pressed against her own expanding. But he only expelled a small chuckle.

  Clarissa squinted again, trying to bring his face into focus. She wanted very much to see his face. She liked the sound of his laugh, and his voice when he spoke was husky yet soft. It was really quite . . . attractive, she decided. And while Clarissa should have moved over rather than allow the intimacy of his hip rubbing against hers with every move, she quite liked that too; so she pretended not to notice.

  "How did Lord Prudhomme take this little accident?"

  Clarissa gave up trying to see his face and smiled good-naturedly. "Not at all well. He thought it was my

  fault. He called me quite a few nasty names. I think he would have hit me, too, but the servants wrestled him from the house," she admitted with a small frown. Sighing, she added, "Of course, my stepmother-- Lydia--lectured me ad nauseam afterward about everything I must and must not do from now on."

  "Such as?"

  "Pretty much everything is off-limits," Clarissa said cheerfully. "Let's see, no eating in public, no drinking in public ... In fact, I am not to touch anything in public: candles, flower vases, anything. I am not even supposed to walk without someone to guide me."

  "But did she say no dancing?"

  "No. Not as such. But then, she did not have to." Clarissa's smile faded. She hesitated and then tried to explain. "Everything is a blur, you see; so when I whirl about, all I see are streaks of color and light flashing around. I lose my balance and..." She paused and shrugged, but felt a blush creeping over her face as she remembered the last brave soul who had asked her to dance. Clarissa had ended up tripping him, and they had both ended up on die floor. Very embarrassing.

  "Just keep your eyes shut."

  "What?" Clarissa glanced blankly at the dark blur beside her.

  "Keep your eyes closed, and you will not lose your balance," the man suggested, and she saw his hand move closer to her. He was offering it so that she would rise.

  Clarissa opened her mouth to refuse, then paused as his hand suddenly enclosed hers, sending a shock of sensation racing up her arm. It was such an odd feeling--excitement, wild excitement--coursing across her flesh.

  "I do not...." she began faintly with bewilderment, pausing when his hand lifted her chin and the man bent to stare into her eyes. Close enough to kiss, she thought vaguely. Good God, Clarissa realized, close enough to see! For one brief second she stared into the most beautiful set of clear brown eyes she'd ever seen; then he pulled back slightly, out of focus.

  "Trust me." It was not so much a request as an order. But Clarissa remembered those eyes, so dark, so kind--and she nodded. Then he was tugging her out of her seat, directing her through the crowd of dancers to the middle of the floor.

  "Now. .." His voice was calm and soothing as he turned her to face him. "Close your eyes," he instructed, lifting her free hand to his shoulder. "Relax."

  His voice was almost hypnotic, Clarissa thought vaguely.

  "Follow me. I will not allow you to stumble."

  Despite having just met him, Clarissa believed him. He would not let her fall as he led her through die dance. And with her eyes closed, she had only her ears and his touch to guide her.

  The music was loud and strong, drowning out all conversation. Her companion's touch directed her; a squeeze of the hand, an urgent pressure at her waist. And the only other sensation was the air rushing past as he whirled her around and around, without once tripping or stumbling. For die first time in weeks-- since her very arrival in London, in fact--Clarissa didn't feel like a clumsy oaf. It was divine.

  When the dance ended, he gave her hand a squeeze and then drew it through his arm to promenade her through the room.

  "You dance divinely, my lady," he said quietly near

  her ear, gently leading her with his arm and pressure on her hand past die gay colors of the other dancers. Clarissa flushed and smiled a bit proudly, then sighed and shook her head.

  "No, my lord," she said demurely. 'You give me too much credit. I fear you are the one who dances divinely. I know it is not I, for I have been able to do nothing but stumble and fall when dancing with others."

  "Then the fault lies with those others. You are as light and graceful as a feather on die dance floor with me."

  Clarissa considered briefly; then, with a sense of justice, nodded her head. "I believe you may be right, my lord. After all, if it were me alone, even your obvious skill could not have made it so easy. Perhaps my previous partners were a bit nervous and awkward."

  "How refreshing."

  She could hear the smile in his voice, and so Clarissa raised her eyebrows in question. "My lord?"

  "Your honesty. I am pleased by your lack of false modesty. It is something that never really bothered me before, yet now seems as fake and unpleasant as the airs everyone puts on when in the city. I find your honesty most refreshing."

  Clarissa felt herself blush, and then the first strains of a new song hummed through the air. Her companion paused and turned her into his arms once more.

  "Close your eyes," he instructed, and began to move them around the room once more.

  Clarissa closed her eyes and relaxed into his arms. She suspected the two of them shouldn't really be dancing this close, but she feared that if she insisted they reduce the closeness, she might return to the clumsy stumbling she'd suffered before. Besides, she

  quite liked being in tins man's embrace. Between that and her closed eyes, she felt coddled and safe.

  "Why do you not disobey this stepmother of yours?"

  Clarissa blinked her eyes open, tried in vain to see the face dancing before her and then gave up, closing her eyes again. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, why do you not simply wear your spectacles anyway?"

  "Oh, I tried that the first day I was in London," Clarissa admitted with irritation. "I came downstairs dressed for Lord Findlay's ball wearing the
m. Lydia was livid. She snatched them off my face and broke them right in front of my eyes. Almost close enough that I could see what she was doing!"

  "She broke them?" He was obviously shocked by the lengths to which her stepmother would go.

  Clarissa gave a solemn nod. "Lydia does not care to be disobeyed."

  "But if she broke them, how do you see to get around at home?" he asked with dismay.

  "I do not." Clarissa grimaced and then admitted with some vexation, "I have to be led around by servants. It is quite tedious."

  "I imagine it would be," he murmured.

  "Hmm." She briefly reflected upon the humiliation of it all, and then said, "But the worst of it is that I cannot do anything without my spectacles. I cannot embroider, or arrange flowers ... or anything. And it is impossible to read. Even if I move the book right up to my eyes, I cannot read long before the strain makes my head ache. "Tis quite boring. I have nothing to do but sit about, twiddling my thumbs."

  *

  As he gazed down on her, Adrian murmured sympathetically, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. The pout on this young woman's lips--unconscious though it was--was quite endearing. She was quite lovely, though perhaps not in the traditional way. Her lips were too big for any member of the season to think of her that way, but he himself found them quite seductive. And while her nose was just a bit too pert for today's standards, he thought it cute.

  Adrian was so preoccupied with taking in her features, he hardly noticed when the music changed, heeding it only enough to swing her into a waltz as he continued to gaze down at her face. She went on to tell him the trials and tribulations of not having her spectacles. There was quite a long list. Dressing was difficult, and she had to depend entirely on the good humor of her lady's maid. She never knew quite what her hair looked like, and there too had to depend on her maid. As Clarissa explained, she hardly seemed to hear his assurances that her hair was perfection and her gown lovely.

  No, the lady obviously wasn't seeking compliments. Blushing furiously, she waved his words away and continued to explain how she had to be led about the house by her maid, for fear of tumbling down stairs, or tripping over something she did not see. And apparently, mistaking people for one another was a problem, though she assured him she was getting quite good at recognizing voices. There was also the irritating difficulty of obliviously spilling food down her front, albeit only when she was alone, since she was not allowed to take refreshments or food in company. She had taken to wearing a bib to save her wardrobe!

  Adrian was biting his lip at the image of her in a bib,

  and it only got worse as she went on to say she'd nearly-set fire to the family town house several times while attempting to light candles. She'd tripped the butler and several of the servants numerous times, and she was positive that they all had begun to hate her. She was sure they cringed whenever she was near, and she'd heard them begin to murmur that she was a walking disaster.

  Lady Clarissa was dreadfully cheerful as she admitted all this. Adrian had great difficulty stifling his amusement as she spoke, but managed to withhold his chuckles until she sensed his polite efforts and gave him leave to laugh. The robust humor that escaped him then surprised Adrian. It had been so long since he'd even smiled that laughter was a joy to partake of, and he found his gaze softening on the woman who had brought it about. She was a wonder: adorable, lovely, and so cheerful about the disasters that followed her. Clarissa made his soul feel light and his heart ache with longing.

  'You have a nice voice, my lord. A nice laugh too," she pronounced with a smile.

  "Thank you, my lady," he replied after clearing his throat of the laughter clogging it. "It is kind of you to say so, but I show my bad manners in laughing at your misfortune. Pray, forgive me."

  "Oh, ta ra," Clarissa said lightly. "In retrospect I suppose it is all rather funny--though I doubt that Lydia would agree."

  Adrian's humor ended there, and he arched one eyebrow in displeasure, though she could not see it. "Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but your stepmother sounds to be a rather nasty old cow."

  "Oh!" Clarissa said, dismayed. "Oh, you must not say that. Ever."

  "Why not?" he asked with careless amusement. "I am not afraid of her."

  "No, but... She would be furious. And she would not like you were she to hear you say such things about her."

  "I could not care less if she likes me or not--," Adrian began, but Clarissa cut him off.

  "Oh, but you must care. If she does not like you, then she will not allow me to dance with you anymore, and . .. and ... I do quite like it," she finished with some embarrassment.

  The look of scorn on Adrian's face melted away at her confession, and his annoyance softened slightly. "Well, then, I shall have to be sure to treat her with the utmost respect." He watched her pink, embarrassed face for a moment, then added, "Because I quite like dancing with you, too."

  Clarissa turned to him and beamed brightly.

  Adrian smiled gently down at her, despite die fact that she could not see it, and then some instinct made him peer over her shoulder. He slowed their dancing somewhat as he spotted the woman who had been seated next to Clarissa when Reginald first pointed her out. It seemed her stepmother had returned from stuffing herself, and had found empty the seat where she had left her charge. She was now frowning around the room in search of her errant ward. It did not take her long to spot the chit.

  As Adrian expected, the woman looked less than pleased to see Clarissa dancing with him. In fact, she looked horrified. When she immediately began to make a beeline toward them, he pretended not to see and began to dance Clarissa in the opposite direction, leading her away from her guardian.

  He expected the woman to stop and await her charge's safe return when he moved away, but a glance over his shoulder showed her pursuing. He frowned. It appeared the stepmother was the persistent sort. Adrian supposed he should have expected as much; she did rather resemble a bulldog, he thought uncharitably. He then glanced down at the girl in his arms.

  "Why is she so determined you should not wear your spectacles?" he asked.

  "She wishes me to make a good match. Father will be annoyed should she not manage that, you see."

  "Ah. Well... actually, no, I do not see," Adrian muttered, changing direction abruptly when he saw that they were in peril of being caught by the stepmother. He was silent for a moment as he maneuvered Clarissa about the floor in avoidance, then glanced down to comment, "Surely you would have a better chance at making a good match were you able to see."

  Clarissa gave a deep, heartfelt sigh and nodded. "I must confess, sir, that is my opinion as well.. . . However, Lydia does not see it so. She says that I look quite unattractive in my spectacles, and fears that they, on top of my 'unfortunate past,' would quite ruin any chance I have with a respectable man of means."

  "Unfortunate past?" Adrian was so startled by the comment, he came to an abrupt halt on the edge of the dance floor.

  Clarissa's eyebrows lifted slightly, and she squinted at his face. "You have not heard about the scandal?"

  Before Adrian could respond that no, he most certainly had not heard of any scandal, a rather large, dark shadow fell on them both. Glancing to the side, Adrian frowned irritably at Clarissa's tenacious stepmother, who'd come to a breathless pause beside them.

  "Clarissa!" the woman snapped, and the young woman in Adrian's arms stiffened as if under the lick of a whip's lash, then jumped back guiltily from the man holding her to whirl to face her stepmother.

  "Yes, Lydi--" But her words ended on a gasp of surprise as her arm was seized and she was dragged unceremoniously away.

  Chapter Three

  "Well, I must say you fared far better than I expected."

  Adrian tore his eyes away from the retreating backs of Lady Clarissa and her stepmother to find his cousin at his side once more.

  "Did I?" he asked.

  Reginald smiled wryly and shrugged. "It seemed to me that you did. Aft
er all, she did not stomp on your toes, send you plummeting to the floor, or burn your piffle. I would say that is a good start."

  "Hmm." Adrian grimaced. "I was instead chased about the dance floor by a rather large, aging matron who was waving her hands frantically like a mother hen flapping her wings."

  Reginald grinned at the description and nodded. 'Yes. Poor Lady Clarissa does seem destined to end each day on a rather humiliating note. She has become quite the talk of the ton."

  "It is not Clarissa who causes herself embarrassment. It is her stepmother."

  Reginald looked dubious. "I will grant you that tonight's little performance was all the stepmother's fault. After all, the girl was doing rather well in your arms. However, you can hardly blame the woman for the other fiascoes that have added to her charge's infamy."

  "Can I not?" Adrian asked, arching one eyebrow.

  "No. Why, Lady Crambray was not even present when Lady Clarissa overset her tea on my legs and burned my--"

  "But Clarissa would not have done that if she were in possession of her spectacles--which is her stepmother's fault," Adrian interrupted.

  "What?"

  "Lady Clarissa is without spectacles not because she is too vain to wear them, but because her stepmother took them away and broke them. She refuses to allow the girl to wear the bloody things."

  Reginald looked stunned by that revelation--as he should be. "Well, why the devil would the woman do that? The girl is clearly as blind as a bat without them."

  "Lady Crambray apparently feels that spectacles are something of a detriment to marrying a chit off, and that they--on top of an 'unfortunate past'--would make Clarissa unmarriageable," Adrian explained.

  "Oh ... I see." Reginald went silent and thoughtful.

  Adrian peered at him. "Do you know about this 'unfortunate past' of hers?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

  "What?" Reg glanced back at him, then sharply shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Oh, yes. Well, I have heard about it, of course. Sad, really. Not even the girl's fault. The man went to jail. Still, as I recall, it was

  quite the scandal at the time. Caused quite a foofaraw, I understand."