I am re-issuing 'None so Blind' under a different cover and I fondly believe sans typos.
For those who do not recall it here is the blurb and first chapter:
Lovely
but blind Penelope Eltringham’s surprise meeting with the shocking Lord
Shawthorpe leads to a misunderstanding that angers both of them. Despite this poor beginning, Penelope finds
herself inexplicably drawn to him.
Under the aegis of her grandmother, heiress Penelope finds her blindness no
drawback during her season in London, thanks in great part to the help of the
dashing, if maybe dangerous, Lord Shawthorpe. Guy, Lord Shawthorpe, must
overcome Penelope’s grandmother’s suspicions of his intentions if he hopes to
win the hand of the girl who has so surprisingly captivated his heart and also foil the sordid plans of his
unpleasant cousin, who
also finds Penelope irresistible
free for 5 days as kindle starting tomorrow. Paperback is still being sorted out
Chapter
1
Guy pulled up his curricle, and
with a sharp order to his groom to take the equipage on up to the house climbed
down on a whim to se recae the east woodland in spring. It had been a long time
since he had been in England
and his nose had caught the hint of the scent of bluebells.
It was time to try to calm
himself; there had to be something good about his homecoming; and if all there
was to ease the many aches in his heart was bluebells, then bluebells would
have to do. There was something about
spring in England,
its promise of long summer days that were a reminder of lost youth, of carefree
days uncomplicated by the vicissitudes of love and lust. Women!
Guy snorted. They always
complicated matters. From that mad, reckless, foolish business of his overly
romantic youth that had led to his father telling him that it would be prudent
to leave the country, through the rapacious desires of the women he had
supported since, to his mother’s last spiteful action. Guy ground his
teeth. His father’s factor, Hampton, had
given him the last letter the previous Baron had written, expressing a desire
to see his son before he died; the Baroness had prevented it from being sent
and had written to her own son that his father had died without forgiving him.
It was ironic that her own
death came so quickly on the heels of that of her husband, thrown from her
carriage on her way home from the funeral when a wheel caught in a rut in the
driveway. At such a slow speed it was a
freak accident that she had broken her neck; but perhaps it was justice.
Alethea, Lady Shawthorpe, was
to Guy’s best recollection a shallow woman, more interested in society than
anything else. She had never taken much trouble with her only son, save to
complain in his hearing how his birth had cost her the best of her figure. It has been the contrast to his own mother
that had led Guy to dangle after Lucy Beesley.
What a young fool he had been!
Sometimes, Guy reflected, he
did not seem to have learned much sense as he got older. His last mistress had been so demanding he
had parted company with something akin to a vow never to have anything to do
with women ever again; he had only managed to get her to leave him alone by
telling her how much she reminded him of lap dogs that insisted on servicing the
legs of those unfortunate enough to attract their attention. He had added that though this might be the
first time she’d been plainly called a bitch it was unlikely to be the
last. She had proceeded to have a noisy
temper tantrum at that point. These
women were all alike – all self-seeking, ready to use any and all means to get
their own way.
He surveyed the vista of the
park before entering the cool wood. Hampton had warned him
that the land was in bad heart since his father’s illness, and it was quite
visible, though the wood itself looked to be well cared for, the coppicing up
to date on the birch trees at the edge.
It was not neglect of his bailiff’s duties that made the place look in
bad heart, but a lack of money spent on it.
And such of his tenants’ cottages as he had seen so far looked
tumbledown and in need of repair. Or
rebuilding.
Guy had not done badly for
himself abroad; he was no fool, and modest investments re-invested had put him
in the way to buy a part share in a ship carrying muslins from India. He was no Nabob, but there was enough
available to supplement such of the estate’s incomes as had been squandered by
his father, which state of affairs had only been discovered when Hampton had
been able to execute the directions sent to him by the late Baron after the
Baroness had died. Guy sighed. He would forget all his troubled thoughts for
half an hour walking in solitude in the wood, drinking in the scent of spring.
The birdsong in the branches
was sweeter music than opera performances. Or, reflected Guy, perhaps it was
because it was accompanied by green, growing scents and the perfume of flowers
not the heady cloying perfume of his latest inamorata that mingled unpleasantly
with the joint odours of cosmetic creams on her face and on those on the stage,
and the mass of unwashed bodies in the auditorium.
The soft, moist scents of the
woodlands were indeed balm to the spirit, and the bluebells as blue as he
remembered, a veritable lake between the slender creamy boles of the birch
trees and heavy, rough grey-brown of the oaks in the mixed woodland.
There was however an alien note
in this paradise; and Guy bit off an exclamation of anger at the sight of
a young woman sat upon a log apparently
lost in the contemplation of the liquid
song of some bird, invisible above in the canopy. It was intolerable! At least, he reflected, trying to retain his
temper, she enhanced the scene with her beauty, and one might appreciate that
in the abstract even having foresworn women.
Her eyes gazed upwards and were, so far as he could tell, as blue as the squills themselves, and her hair was so pale a gold as to be
little darker than the birch bark. She
ignored him totally, which irritated him; and had she not plainly been a lady
of some quality, as the fine muslin of her gown and the rich blue kerseymere of
her spencer told him, he might have considered letting her know all about his
presence with a kiss just to teach her a lesson for trespassing and for
spoiling his whole mood.
There was something about her
that was hauntingly familiar. Guy could
not put his finger on it; well if she lived locally maybe she bore a familial
resemblance to one of the local squirearchy he had known in his youth. No matter! She might be as beautiful as a
picture, she was still trespassing!
A twig broke under his foot and
her face turned towards him, after a little start.
“Too caught in your reverie
waiting for your lover to notice me before?” he drawled.
She flushed.
“Excuse me, but I am but
waiting for my groom to escort me home,” she said. Her voice was educated
too. She also had an arm full of
bluebells. “The song of the dunnock is beautiful; I think it more tuneful than
the nightingale, personally.”
“What, you involve your groom
in your theft and trespass?” he said, harshly.
She frowned.
“I collect you must be the new
under-bailiff, fellow,” she said, “and obviously you have not been told by Mr
Sparrowe that I have his permission to walk at will in the woods and to gather
such flowers as I wish. Using such terms
as theft and trespass to a lady is quite the outside of enough.”
He stared. Could she dare to
pretend to take him for an under-bailiff in his tight fitting coat of
superfine, biscuit coloured inexpressibles and well polished Hessians?
“So, my bailiff has given you
permission?” he said, silkily. “In
return for what, I wonder?”
“It is because I nursed his
spaniel back to life after she was savaged by a badger,” said the girl,
simply. “your bailiff? Merciful heavens, are you then Shawthorpe returned?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he drawled.
He was much piqued that she did not immediately read his estate from his
dress. He had lived incognito at times,
but he was an Overshaw of Shawthorpe, the new Baron, and being treated as an
under bailiff piqued him more than he might have expected.
“No not really,” said the girl.
“You see, nobody could possibly expect what papa calls a very man-doxy to spend
time in the country, even if anyone knew you to be in England. He will be most disappointed, for he has expected
you have died of the wages of sin in some foreign clime, because if there was
any of the vices of the cities of the plain that you had not partaken in it
would be because you could not find anyone depraved enough to partake
of the same with you.”
He gaped, then laughed a
sardonic laugh.
“I am surprised you do not run
from so fearsome a beast,” he said.
“If, My Lord, you were
sufficiently lost to shame to…to lay rude hands on me, I doubt that running
would avail me much for you would undoubtedly catch me,” said the girl. “I must place my trust in your rearing as a
gentleman and explain that I do have a pair of scissors hung from my wrist
to cut flowers and that I would thrust into any part of any assailant that I
could reach.”
“Quite the virago,” he
said. “And who is your papa that he has
given you this impression of me?”
“He is the vicar,” said the
girl. “I am Penelope Eltringham and I do
not answer to either Penny or Nell.”
She was younger than he had
supposed; probably not quite out.
She was however still
trespassing and in the way in his woods and her father sounded as though he
damned a man unheard.
“Well Miss Eltringham, I
rescind the order of Sparrowe to give you free range of my woods. You may leave now, and pray do not return,”
he said.
“I will leave as soon as my
groom has returned from seeing the horse shod so he may see me out,” said
Penelope calmly, “I have no wish to
return.”
He frowned.
“You will leave now,” he said,
holding out an arm to assist her to rise.
She did not take it; indeed she
stared insolently and showed no signs of intent to obey. She mocked him!
He grabbed her by the upper arm
to jerk her to her feet, angry that she should disobey like that when he had
every right to throw her off his land!
She cried out in shock and went
for her scissors. He held that
wrist. Damn, she was pretty! Her lips,
parted panting in sudden shock, were a temptation.
He thrust her from him; and she stumbled,
and fell heavily.
“Get up and get out,” he said
harshly.
“You are no gentleman,” said
Penelope in scorn, “taking advantage of me like that! You will perhaps find
enough civility to pass me my stick and give me your arm to the stile at least
where I may find my way!”
Only then did Guy see the pale
stick leaning against the log.
“You – are you crippled?” he
asked in consternation.
“Crippled? No. I am blind,” said Penelope who was angry and
a little confused with her own feelings, for she had thought for a moment the
man meant to kiss her; and the scent of him had been quite pleasing enough for
her to wonder what it might have been like to have been pulled closer against
him. Lord Shawthorpe was gazing at her
in consternation, though she did not know it.
Her eyes, as blue as bluebells,
yet sightless?
“I – I beg your pardon,” said
Guy, stiffly. “I did not realise. I
thought you to impudently refuse my proffered arm which was why I seized
you. Why did you not say?”
“To be sure, My Lord, when was
there the opportunity – even if I had liked those who whine about infirmities?” said Penelope. “Being
a lady should have been enough to prevent any
insult to my person, without having to plead a disability.”
“I have apologised for failing
to understand that you were not mocking me,” he said harshly. “I am going to reach my hands to yours to
assist you to rise, and I will walk you home.”
“There is no need of that,”
said Penelope, grasping his hands and rising gracefully to her feet. “I should perhaps have realised; mama told me
you are hasty to draw conclusions and to misunderstand people, but that a
well-aimed chamberpot was enough to bring you to realisation of your misapprehensions.
She never told me if it was empty or full,” she added meditatively.
So that was why she was so
hauntingly familiar!
