Miss Ware's Refusal by Marjorie Farrell

Author:Marjorie Farrell [Farrell, Marjorie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1990-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

When Judith arrived the next morning, she was shown into the library to wait for the duke.

“His grace has been a little later rising than usual, miss. He will be right with you.”

“Thank you, Cranston.” Judith was a bit concerned, since Simon was always there to greet her. She hoped he was not suffering from the return of his headaches. A few moments later, she heard his step and looked up from the Gazette and almost laughed aloud. She had seen her brother after nights of celebration, and she recognized the walking-on-eggs step and pale face of a hangover.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Miss Ware. I had rather a late night and am not at all used to it. My celebrating seems also to have brought on a headache,” Simon said ruefully. “I am afraid we will have to turn to poetry or something light. I am in no condition to think about or debate politics.”

“Would you rather I left and came back tomorrow?”

“No, no. Why don’t you find something familiar, so I don’t have to concentrate. I assure you, Miss Ware, my suffering is all the more intense because it is unfamiliar. I do not often drink too much.”

“You do not have to explain yourself, your grace,” Judith replied. “I am happy to know that you are going out and that it was an enjoyable evening.”

“Enjoyable? Yes, but exhausting also. But the first time is the hardest.”

Judith pulled out a much-thumbed volume. “What do you think of Shakespeare’s sonnets, your grace?”

“Ah, yes. I know some of them almost by heart. I would enjoy that. But not every one of them.”

“I will read my favorites, and if I skip over any of yours, please stop me.”

“Agreed.”

Judith scanned the pages quickly. She had always found some of the sonnets tedious, particularly those imploring the poet’s young friend to beget an heir. She began to read selectively, and was soon lost in that familiar state where the poet’s self and her self seemed to merge. His words were the very words she would have spoken, his feeling of unworthiness and diffidence hers. It did not matter that she was a woman and the poet a man. He seemed to speak with her voice. She forgot to whom she was reading, and read as though addressing her lover.

“ ‘Who is it that says most? which can say more/Than this rich praise, that you alone are you.'"

Simon could hear the feeling in Judith’s voice as she read. He had little doubt that she was speaking for herself. He was surprised to find himself disturbed and annoyed by that fact. He realized he had never really thought about what her life was outside this room: where she lived, with whom she discussed ideas, with whom she laughed, and whom she might love and be loved by. He had so enjoyed their company, and only thought of her as his reader, that he had not seen her as separate at all. The truth was, as she had pointed out, that in this room they shared something special.

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