“Fine, thank you,” she replied, the brightness slipping, replaced by a tremor.
He noted that she did not return the question. Her fear of the answer must be nearly as great as his own, at being faced with the very real prospect of having a blind husband to look after. He would release her from their betrothal if it came to that, but she did not yet know it.
Caine identified the sound of the medical bag being opened.
“Could we get on with it?” he asked, impatience winning out. He wanted this over with, whatever the outcome.
“Certainly, my boy,” the doctor answered, his tone entirely too sympathetic and tinged with worry. “Let’s turn you away from the lamps to the soft light from the window.”
Caine moved as directed and heard the others in the room, Trent, Aunt Hadley and Belinda, shifting positions, as well.
“Belinda, you must stand just there so that you will be the very first thing he sees!” his aunt said.
Belinda muttered her thanks as the doctor slid a scissor blade beneath the bandage at Caine’s right temple and began to cut. He carefully peeled the cloth away and dabbed something wet over both eyelids, soaking them thoroughly. “There,” he said finally. “Now open your eyes slowly.”
Caine concentrated as he did so and sensed the doctor move to one side and expose him to the window.
He blinked, saw blessed light … and heard the screams.
Chapter One
London
Cavanaugh House
August 25, 1815
“Spot the homeliest of the lot, Trent, and speak to her sponsor on my behalf.” Caine Morleigh smiled at his friend as he handed his cane and top hat to the attendant. “She should look utterly frightful, perhaps be a bit dull of wit and wanting in every respect, or she won’t do.”
Trent sighed, rolling his eyes as he tugged at his gloves. “You don’t have to do this. You’re making far too much of that girl’s reaction.” He scoffed. “Porridge for brains, that one.”
“That’s as may be, but I have a more significant reason for this than the way I look.” The receiving line had dispersed, and apparently they weren’t to be announced, since they had come so late. He led the way, following the music down the wide corridor. He glanced inside a smaller room, which had been set up for card playing and refreshments, then turned and entered the ballroom.
He kept his voice low as he leaned sideways to continue his conversation with Trent. “I need someone who will require little attention, a woman satisfied to simply change her marital status and then leave me alone. I shall have more than enough to do as it is.”
Trent huffed. “A woman who needs little attention? Is there such a creature? In my experience—”
“I know all about your experience. Now, stop blathering on and help me look.”
The gathering at Lord Cavanaugh’s was far from a crush, since it was past the regular London season and many had retired to the country. Decorations had been held to a minimum and this appeared to be a rather modest affair. Still the columned entry, the great expanse of highly polished floor and elegantly curved staircase needed little embellishment to shout wealth.
The musicians sounded rather good, though they were few in number compared to events he had attended in years past. He watched the dancers move through their measured steps without much gaity or conversation.
“Not much of a rout, is it,” Trent commented with a sigh of resignation. “I’ve seen more excitement at funerals.”
“Suits my need perfectly,” Caine responded. Most of the single women present would be the leftovers and their sponsors, hoping for a late-made match. Perhaps with a bit of luck, he could make one of the hopefuls content, if not happy.
Trent snorted. “Damned harebrained idea. You’re obsessed with controlling every aspect of your life. Always have been. And it’s not possible, y’know.”
“I can but try.”
“You’re treating this like a military campaign, and you know how I hate taking orders!”
“Think of the compensation. You may go for the best-looking one for yourself. It’s a small thing I’m asking of you,” Caine said, applying his most reasonable tone. “Asking, not ordering. And as a friend, Trent.”
“Fine! It’s your own throat you’re cutting. Your uncle was wrong when he put the condition on you to marry. I wouldn’t do it if I were you. You’ll have his title no matter what you do or don’t.”
Caine shrugged. “Yes, but it’s the fortune that will go to Cousin Neville, plus the estates, since none is entailed. Think of all the people now employed by the earl who would suffer if Neville lost everything over a stupid game of cards or on a damned horse race. He could, and probably would, piss away everything the family has worked for these last two centuries.”
“You don’t know that he will. You haven’t seen him since you were children.”
“Oh, I’ve heard enough of his maddening exploits from my uncle. Knowing such things, I cannot imagine why he would even consider leaving anything to Neville, but Hadley seems amused by it all and oddly unconcerned. Therefore, I must prevent it however I can. So I will marry, as he stipulates. I don’t have any strong objections. He is my uncle, after all, and I do care about his feelings. I should settle his mind before he gives up the ghost.”
“But why must you have a woman who’s desperate to marry?” Trent clicked his tongue, exasperated. “Not every female in London runs screaming from the room when she sees you.”
“One certainly did.”
“Well, only that one, and as I’ve said before, she’s not all there.” He tapped his temple with two fingers and shook his head. “Silly witch.”
“Well, she’s not here, either, which is why I came.” Caine heaved out a breath of frustration and began strolling the perimeter of the room, Trent at his side.
“Watch how each miss gives me a look of repulsion as we pass, terrified I will take an interest.” He shook his head. “Times such as this, blindness would be a blessing.”
“Well, I’m damned glad you’re not blind and you ought to be, too! Perhaps their regard is merely a reaction to your grim expression. Try smiling now and again. They could do far worse than you, and you know it. So you have a few scars. A wife would get used to that after the first shock of seeing them.”
“I hope you’re right.” Caine stopped beside a towering plant and picked absently at one of the leaves. “But I think it best to choose a woman not prone to play the social butterfly. The most beautiful exist for it. I despise these sorts of occasions and would like to be done with them.”
He hadn’t used to hate social events, not when he’d been a young lieutenant, flirting, dancing, assessing the newest crop of preening lovelies, giving Trent solid competition. That’s how he had found a little beauty of excellent birth, whom he had thought would be the perfect mate for a rising army officer. A young fool’s mistake, that. Now he knew better.
He had been only third in line for the earldom then, with a military career underway. However, with the deaths of his father and a brother during the years Caine had served in the army, he was now set to inherit from the eldest of that generation, his uncle. He had not been born to the title, nor had he been trained for it. The responsibilities were enormous, greater than he had ever imagined. There was so much to learn. So much to sort out.
The old earl, who admittedly