She wanted to tell him. As they’d grown closer over the hours, she had begun to feel guilty for keeping a secret, like she’d been lying to him from the very start. Hiding her true self.
Any man who liked her, and wanted to be her friend, would still want those things after he knew the truth. Her weakness was a part of her—but not all of her. She certainly hoped it did not define who she was as a person, or make her less worthy of friendship.
Her mother, father, or Freddie had never hidden her weakness. They didn’t shy away from introducing her when they had visitors, or neighbors over for dinner. She had taken tea in the drawing room, and sat at the dinner table like any normal member of the family. They brought her to church services and village fetes. She even went to the train depot to wave Freddie off for the Front.
So, why did she feel she ought to keep her secret hidden from Captain Neill? Now that she knew him better, she did not believe he would expose her, or give her away. He might even protect her, if the men ever came for her.
Angelica took a deep breath. And then another. “Do you really want to know?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
She stood on shaking legs. It was three steps forward to the sofa. Three steps forward to the truth. Angelica counted them out in her head, if only to keep herself from hearing the revulsion in his voice when he realized her secret:
One.
Two.
Three.
She knew she stood very close to him now—she felt the heat radiating off his body, the overpowering presence of such a man in her space. After a moment, Captain Neill did gasp. Yet, he didn’t sound disgusted.
“Why, Miss Grey. You are beautiful.”
Angelica caught the note of wonderment in his voice. She thought that, perhaps, he didn’t fully understand what she had shown him. Couldn’t he see that she wasn’t all there? “I am…blind.”
“Just because you cannot see it, doesn’t mean you aren’t lovely to look at.”
She frowned. “You’re not shocked? Horrified?”
“Should I be? Is that how chaps usually react?”
“I don’t meet many men. Actually, you are the first.”
He seemed oddly pleased with that news. “Will you forgive me if I ask how old you are?”
Angelica grew annoyed. She’d kept this secret all night, guarded it like a jealous lover, and he barely gave her blindness a passing mention. “Twenty-three or twenty-four. I can’t be sure, exactly.”
“Well, why don’t you have a seat? I don’t blame you for wanting to keep a safe distance from me and my bucket, but surely, there’s no need to hide in the shadows any longer.”
She moved to find a nearby chair. She disliked the clutter that had been so en vogue when her mother had last decorated these rooms—tables with frilly runners, armchairs and footstools scattered over layers of Turkey carpets, and lamps, picture frames, and bric-a-brac everywhere one laid one’s hand. Angelica knew the layout of the room as clearly as if she could see it, yet she couldn’t help but fumble her way to a chair.
His eyes followed her across the room. He studied her movements, gauged her abilities—like everyone did the first time they met her. She felt his gaze boring into her, even as she competently settled herself into the seat. Angelica smiled, if only to break up some of the tension.
Finally, Captain Neill cleared his throat. “Have you always been blind?”
Ah. There it was. The first of many questions. Everyone always asked them. Her response was practically scripted. “I had a fever as a child. I don’t remember the worst of it, but woke up one morning completely blind. Never recovered my sight, obviously.”
“But you remember seeing?”
“I think so. It was a long time ago.”
He leaned toward her—she felt his body warm the air. “You smile and frown, and have all the visual mannerisms of a sighted person. Blind people tend to be…vacant…but your face is quite animated.”
“Then I must remember something. I did have a special governess—she was more like a handler, though. She taught me to sit still and upright, not to rock back and forth, or pick at my eyes. I’m told most blind people have difficulty with such things.”
“Your parents wanted you to behave.”
“Oh, yes. If I could behave normally, then I had a better chance at being treated normally.”
“Well, you’re very good at that. I would never have known, if you hadn’t shown your face.”
She tilted her head. “Is there something wrong with my face?”
“Not a thing. I told you, you are beautiful. But I can tell by your unfocused gaze…”
“I understand.” Angelica knew her eyes looked normal—not clouded or turned inward. But her pupils didn’t dilate, didn’t react to movement, or light. She simply stared, dead ahead, at nothing.
After a long pause, he finally asked what he’d probably wanted to know all along. “Miss Grey, why did you feel the need to hide your condition from me?”
“I’m a woman living alone. You’re a strange man who forced his way into my home.”