For a Year She Read Aloud to a Blind Stranger in the Park — He Was the Duke Who'd Refused Her
Chapter 3
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"Agreed," said Verity."You will not ask my name. I should prefer not to give you mine.""Then we agree.""Hale," he said. "It is as good as any.""Mr. Hale, then. And you are the reader.""A reader has no name," said Verity."A reader has a voice," said Mr. Hale. "That will do.""My terms," said Verity. "I choose the books. You tell me when I am dull. You tell me when I am wrong.""I am never wrong.""Then you will have nothing to say."Something happened to his mouth that was not a smile, but lived next door to one."And you will not pity me," he said."I have not the least intention," said Verity. "You are the second rudest man I have met this year.""I have competition?""Considerable.""Hobday," said Mr. Hale without turning his head. "The reader will want a blanket tomorrow."The servant looked as though he had swallowed a button. "Sir," he said, in the voice of a man lodging a formal protest.Hobday was 60, bandy and brown as a saddle, in a coat older than his master's majority. He had buried one employer and been handed another. He disapproved of everything and had done so with perfect loyalty for 19 years.It was the first honest bargain Verity had made since October. Neither of them had pretended to like the other. She found that she was very nearly cheerful.Three days later, he told her she had read the second chapter too fast. She had.By April, the blanket had a twin. By May, there was a flask of hot tea that nobody mentioned. When she sneezed, a folded handkerchief appeared at her elbow in Hobday's fist. On wet mornings, Mr. Hale sent the dog to walk her to the gate, and on dry ones he pretended not to.She read him Tom Jones in March and Evelina in April. In May, out of pure spite, she read him a volume of sermons. He bore 40 minutes on the virtue of thrift. Then he laughed. It cracked out of him like something dropped. Rooks flew up from the elms.Hobday stared at the back of his master's head. "First time since Michaelmas," he told the deerhound and no one else.The deerhound, whose name was Bishop, had leaned on her skirts every morning since March. Mr. Hale said it was a failing in the dog. Verity did not move her skirts.At home, she kept her aunt's accounts at the kitchen table. They were shorter than her aunt's opinions, and a good deal less generous."You are cheerful," said Aunt Octavia one evening in April."I am not.""You are doing sums with a pencil behind your ear and humming.""It is a very difficult column.""Hm," said Aunt Octavia. She said no more, but she began to leave the good candles out.Lady Danforth's morning smelled of hothouse roses, hot chocolate, and other people's misfortunes. Verity went because Aunt Octavia said a woman who hid had been priced correctly.Eleven ladies sat in a half circle. Every one of them had read the letter by the second post. Lady Danforth held the pot and the floor.