Miss George's Second Chance by Heather Boyd Read Free Book Online Page B

She should be happy but the idea gave her little peace tonight. Not when her own future seemed so bleak.
    “I spent the last months sharing the London townhouse with them,” he advised. “Quite unsettling the way they carry on still. It’s good to be home again and unpacked.”
    She frowned. Abigail had mentioned none of that in her weekly letters. In fact, now she thought over her correspondence, Abigail had barely mentioned Peter at all. “You’re not going to live in London or at your estate?”
    “That’s right,” he grumbled. “Why does everyone seem surprised I prefer Brighton to London or Hereford?”
    “Well, you are a landowner now, or so I recall you telling me you would be.” As her eyesight had failed, Imogen was left to her memories and imagination more and more for a source of entertainment. Picturing Peter, a man who never cared for muddy boots, striding through cultivated fields had proved an amusing remedy when her spirits were low.
    Another deep sigh and his boots scraped on the steps. “Your brother didn’t tell you I’d come home today, did he?”
    “No.” She wrinkled her nose. It itched. Now that Peter was sitting at close range, the scent of lilac was growing annoying. “He didn’t tell me anything at all tonight. I did think him quieter than usual.”
    “Humph,” he grumbled. “I sold the property. Took one look at it and ran back to London. It sold for a tidy sum.”
    What had he been thinking? He had a position, an estate that would have proven an asset to his family’s future. Maybe he sold it to appease his wife. Did he love her so much that he acted irrationally? The idea unsettled her more than it should but she pushed her concerns for his home life aside. “So you have fewer responsibilities.”
    He bumped against her legs briefly. “I’m sure you would have realized long before I did I’m definitely not suited to land management. The dashed property was so far away from the ocean I couldn’t possibly stand to be there above a few days. Even London is too far away from the sea. I leased the townhouse to Hawke and my sister and was very happy to leave all that nonsense behind.”
    Despite her concerns about the choices he’d made, she smiled at the image he’d just painted. She’d honestly thought Peter would have preferred London. The capital was always busy. He could have spent many a night gambling away his fortune in one hell or another. With luck, his wife loved him enough to prevent him indulging in excess in that vice. The right woman should make him happy. But Imogen did wish she sprinkled less perfume near Peter. Her eyes watered and she dabbed at them. “What will you do with your time now?”
    Peter sniffed and then fabric rustled, a heavy thump sounded some distance away and the scent of lilac vanished. “Hmm, would you believe I returned to berate my favorite author for her tardiness in producing a new book?”
    Imogen gulped and closed her eyes. Had Peter not been told she’d lost her sight? She had hoped Abigail or Hawke would have mentioned it in passing and spared her the difficulty should they ever meet again. “There’s no hope I can write anymore.”
    He smothered her hand with his and squeezed. “I am so sorry about your sight, Imogen. I had no idea until today. What do the doctors say can be done?”
    She laughed bitterly as she soaked up the brief comfort he offered. His touch was quite unexpected but exactly what she needed tonight. She’d been feeling sorrier for herself than usual. Leaving Brighton and her brother, while the right thing to do, would break her heart. “Quite a lot, but mostly the same suggestions. Rest and pray. I don’t think it’s working.”
    “Imogen,” he began, his thumb stroking her palm. “There’s a question I must have answered. When did you suspect your eyesight was failing? Before or after?”
    Imogen struggled to focus on his words because what he was doing to her hand stirred delicious sensations