Love is Blind (closed for Gr8chtr)

[slut_in_white]

Alice Cornell was beautiful. Dark of hair and fair of skin, she was slight and petite, and elfin creature who smiled easily and spoke in a musical voice. But she couldn't know how lovely she was, because she, herself, was blind. It was difficult to tell - there was only a slight cloudiness to her eyes indicating any problems, and her irises were already such a bright, shining shade of grey that the lightness of the clouding was difficult to see, at first.

Her peers spoke of her in whispers, for she was rarely allowed out to socialize. Her father, Lord Harvey Cornell, doted on her and was immensely protective of her. He knew what they said. How they spoke of her in cruel whispers about how she must be disfigured, because the callow and catty among them couldn't imagine a girl with such a disability might be pretty or intelligent or otherwise a normal young woman of impeccable manners and breeding. He wanted to show them that she was not, but neither could his heart allow him to subject her to their cruelties. What if she tripped? What if, in bringing her somewhere unfamiliar, he caused her some embarrassment? Surely there would be those with truly noble hearts who would understand. Who would recognize that such things were not reflective of her as a woman, but rather of the cruelty of fate. But, there would surely also be those who would take any opportunity to whisper nasty things about her. Lord Cornell was a gruff and stoic man, but his daughter was his one true weakness, especially now after his wife's death. He could not bear the thought of exposing her to that.

And yet, he knew he would not survive forever. In the shadows, there were wolves, waiting until his dear Alice was left alone to fend for herself. Someone needed to protect her, but he did not trust the men he worked with, or their sons. Each of them bore some mark that made them unworthy of his daughter in his eyes. He suspected that would be true of every man in the kingdom. He knew he would need to find someone for her. Someone who would care for her once he was gone. A husband.

But how? How does one find a husband for a young woman who has such a reputation for disfigurement? How could he show others how wrong they were? How could he draw the attention of the young man who would become her husband, in time?

And that was how he came to hire the services of a painter from the Royal Academy. One of the best in England, he was told. Hired and directed to come to the Cornell country manor one fine June morning with no information beyond the fact that he had been hired to paint. He was to know nothing of his subject until he arrived. Until after Lord Cornell could see to it that it was an upstanding young man, suited for his daughter's company, even for so short a while.

 

[Gr8chtr]

Henry Appleton walked briskly down the narrow, cobble-stoned road wearing a broad grin and a jaunty stride that only successful, young men possess. He was handsome, solid financially - thanks to a modest family fortune - and a talented painter whose talents were being noticed widely. Indeed, his rapidly growing reputation had, just two months ago, led to his induction into the Royal Academy, the youngest inductee into that prestigious body in several decades.

Not surprisingly, Henry also possessed two other qualities: an arrogance that matched his remarkable accomplishments, and the ability to seemingly have any young woman of his choosing for a lover within days, or often even within hours, of first meeting her.

Ordinarily in his strides through the countryside Henry's mind was filled with lustful thoughts of women that he would like to bed, images of which often subtly appeared in his paintings. Today, though, he was thinking only of jumping his career to several notches higher. He had been summoned by Lord Harvey Cornell, with the promise of a commission. Lord Cornell was the wealthiest man for many miles around, and, more importantly, was one of the most generous patrons of painters in the whole country. Though he had never been to the Cornell country manor, Henry had heard stories of the numerous commissioned paintings that filled both the manor and the pocketbooks of many artists, young and old. Next to getting a commission from the king himself, a commission for Lord Cornell was as good as it gets.

A bit of mystery added to Henry's excitement. Typically, patrons told painters what they wanted prior to inviting them to their homes, or at least hinted at the likely request. Lord Cornell had done nothing of the sort. Instead, he had sent his manservant directly to Henry to deliver a sealed, written note requesting - or was it commanding - Henry's presence at a particular date and time in June, and indicating that a commission offer was to be expected. There was no hint of what that offer would be.

Henry turned over the possibilities in his mind, and came up with only one - a portrait of the Lord himself. That would be a plum prize indeed. Everyone in the community knew that Lady Cornell had died several years ago, leaving Lord Cornell with but one child, a young adult daughter, blind from birth, who rarely left the manor house, and almost never left the manor grounds. Henry had never seen her, but he had heard the rumors that she was a disfigured, mentally deficient woman who was more like an animal than a young, noble woman. Surely, no caring father would want to immortalize such a figure.

Ah...a portrait of the Lord himself. Life was good; Henry was on top and climbing higher

 

[slut_in_white]

"My dear?" Lord Cornell appeared in his daughter's doorway, knocking softly against the open door, being very careful not to move it from its current position. Everything must be left in its place to ensure that she not encounter an object unexpected.

Alice herself was seated in a window-seat across the room, a book, thick with braille, open in her lap. Her face was turned out towards the grounds below as her dainty fingers glided slowly over the words on the page. It appeared that she was gazing out the window, but instead, she was simply enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.

That same face turned, lighting with a small but genuine smile. "Hello, father." Her dark head dipped, sending a few curls tumbling forward over her shoulder and into her face. She carefully tucked them back behind one small ear, her head cocked slightly to one side in an affectionate sign of listening all her own.

Lord Cornell crossed the room and came down to his knees before his daughter, taking her hands in his while he spoke. "My dear, I have hired an painter to come to the estate."

Alice's smile widened. "Ah! Is it time already for another portrait of you, father?" Her father had a portrait done of himself every five years, for posterity. She could have sworn the last was much more recent than five years ago, but perhaps time was simply flying more than usual. She always loved it when the artists arrived and began their work. She liked the smell of the paint - most people would not recognize it, but each pigment lent each color the slightest change in scent.

"No, dearheart. This will be a portrait of you."

"Of me?" Alice repeated, sounding uncertain. "Why?"

"Because you are beautiful and deserve to have that beauty immortalized," Lord Cornell answered indulgently, giving her hands a squeeze. "And... and because I should like to use it to begin a search for a potential husband for you."

Alice paused, uncertain. A husband? She knew it was what every woman should want, but... what sort of man would want a broken wife? "I... see."

"Do not fret, my dear. I will ensure that any man who comes to meet you is worthy of you. I simply worry for what will happen to you when I am gone."

"Oh father..." Alice slipped out of the seat onto the floor next to him and threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. She feared the future, as well. What would happen if a suitable man could not be found?

 

[Gr8chtr]

Henry was on familiar ground as he turned off of the road and onto the long driveway that led to the Cornell manor. An artist friend of his lived just a couple of miles down the road; Henry had passed by often. As he approached the manor more closely, though, he noticed something that he had never noticed before. High above the main floor was a window, open slightly, presumably for ventilation. Sitting on the window seat with her back to the window was a well-dressed young woman. Though Henry was not in a position to see much of her, she looked as though she might be quite attractive. Who might this be? A niece of the Lord's perhaps, or maybe the daughter of a visiting friend. Who knew? Something to keep on the lookout for, though. Good to remember.

Henry's idle speculation about the woman in the window faded rapidly as a servant opened the door to the manor's Great Hall to reveal Lord Cornell, himself, standing there, awaiting the arrival of the young artist. He quickly crossed the hall, shook the younger man's hand, and escorted him into the library, where yet another servant appeared to take orders for drinks.

Most people imagine that portrait artists arrive at their destination easel in hand, ready to paint their subject. Perhaps some third-rate artists do such. Artists at Henry's level, however, do just the opposite. They spend hours, often over several days, simply observing their subject, deciding where and how to paint them that illumines the artist's view of the person. Henry was doing that now, even as the two men were waiting for their drinks to be served. He was beginning to imagine how he might paint the Lord. Indeed, Henry thought, the library might provide an excellent background for the portrait.

Nearly a half hour passed with the men engaging in polite conversation about the townspeople, the weather, the Queen, and so on. Oddly, Lord Cornell was not raising the subject of the commission. Henry's patience was waning, he couldn't wait any longer. Taking a slow, deep breath so as to hide his nervousness, Henry took a sip of his drink and pounced, "So, Lord Cornell, what background would you most like for your painting? Here, in the library? Or, perhaps in the Great Hall? Or maybe out somewhere on your lovely grounds?

 

[slut_in_white]

Lord Cornell was very much accustomed to engaging in polite small talk, as much as he disliked it. It was simply expected, and so, as the young painter joined him in his study, they engaged in an appropriate amount of conversation while sipping on fine scotch served by one of the maids.

Perhaps the conversation went on a touch longer than either participant might have liked. Indeed, it seemed as much, because the young Master Appleton broached the subject of the portrait before Lord Cornell himself did. Truth be told, the Lord himself would have brought it up long ago and ended the dreary aimlessness of small talk, but for one important matter - he was waiting for Alice.

The maid who had served their drinks was under instructions to fetch her immediately upon delivering their beverages. Lord Cornell had expected it to take less time, yes, but he also recognized that it occasionally took Alice longer than most to move through the manor. Particularly if she was up one or more flights of stairs.

Lord Cornell fixed the young man with a serious gaze, only darkened slightly with steel at his assumption - he disliked that the assumption had been made, even as he recognized that it was a fair assumption that he himself had done nothing to dispel. "I believe that may be a question better posed to your subject."

Before he could continue, his attention was drawn by the faintest sound of wood creaking in the hall outside the door.

Alice's footsteps were always measured - always the same distance apart, so that she might be better able to count steps for distance. However, in the front hall, as it was one of the few places where she might be seen by guests, she double-checked the distance she traveled across the hall using the creaking of the large wooden beams that made up the floor. Most did not creak. It was only the 3rd, 7th, 10th, 14th and 19th beams that made a sound, and each was different. She used them to ensure she knew precisely where she was in the room.

The maid who was sent to fetch her - a middle-aged woman who had been with the family since before Alice was born - knew that Alice took great pride in her ability to move about the manor and grounds mostly unaided, so she stood behind Alice, at her shoulder, ready to guide her if she required it, but otherwise avoiding touching the young lady.

A pale hand pushed the half-closed door of the study open, until she felt it come to rest against the wall behind it. "You call for me, father?"

Six more steps into the room put her almost directly next to the chair in which she knew her father would have sat the guest. She turned to him with a smile and offered a small, graceful curtsy. "Welcome to Cornell manor, sir."

It would have been impossible to see the clouding of her eyes from the window. Indeed, even here, in this close proximity, it takes a more than a passing glance to recognize that she is not simply a woman of strikingly bright, silvery eyes. Her irises are a rich, dark grey, but there is a clouding over them that lightens the iris and pupil both, and makes the blindness evident.

And yet? There is no further disfigurement. Indeed, she is quite beautiful - perhaps rather fragile in appearance, with fine features and a petite build that's reminiscent of the fragility of a bird, but for many men that would simply add to her appeal. It would seem the rumors of her appearance were very much mistaken.

The only disconcerting strangeness of the exchange might have come of the fact that her gaze seemed to stare off into space past Henry's shoulder, as she was unable to look him in the eye - understandably, of course. Aware of this, however, Alice lowered her gaze almost immediately, her head tilting down slightly. It had the effect of making her look shy and demure, her eyes hidden almost entirely beneath thick, dark lashes.

"Alice, I would like you to meet Master Henry Appleton, the painter who is here to paint your portrait." Lord Cornell spoke seriously, almost gravely. Any who did not know him as well as Alice would think him extremely stoic for it - but Alice herself knew that this was a tone he used when attempting to hide a pleasure he felt inappropriate. And truth be told, he could not have been more pleased with the grace and ability his daughter had shown. Her actions were precisely those of a well-heeled noblewoman, and he took a certain pleasure in witnessing her personally disprove the rumors Henry had almost certainly heard. "Master Appleton, may I present my daughter, Lady Alice Cornell."

Alice offered Henry another small smile and nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Master Appleton."

 

[Gr8chtr]

You call for me, father?

Whatever he may have been in his more bawdy moments or when out at drinking at a pub with other young men, Henry had mastered the art of social grace, to be used when the occasion demanded. He could not have otherwise established himself as a master painter at his young age had he not been able to do so. This ability, so carefully groomed, now failed him. Henry's mouth, literally, fell open as it became apparent not only that he was to paint Lord Cornell's daughter, but that far from being the disfigured invalid depicted by village rumor, Alice was both beautiful and possessed of the grace expected of the nobility.

Embarrassed by his loss of composure, it seemed to Henry that he had been slack-jawed for several minutes, though, in fact, it was only a few seconds. He recovered enough to stand as Alice approached him, but then Henry was stymied. Should he offer Alice his hand gently, as a gentleman was required to do? Was this appropriate for someone who could not see where his hand was? Was there a way to guide her hand to his, and if so, did this constitute a courtesy or an unwelcome advance? In Henry's world there were no rules of etiquette to cover this situation. More than he knew at the moment, Henry's world was about to change.

The best that Henry could do was to remain standing until Alice sat down. This he did, and, finally, found enough voice to utter a formal reply, "The pleasure is mine, Lady Cornell, I am sure." Henry decided, while still standing, to return to the business at hand. "Lady Cornell, I was just discussing with your father where the portrait might best be situated in terms of background. As you may have heard as you entered, Lord Cornell suggested that I should ask that question of you. So, I do so now. Have you given this matter any thought?"

Moving the conversation back to the area where he felt assured caused Henry to relax a little and regain some of his lost composure. Awaiting Alice's reply and with some of his embarrassment reduced allowed Henry to take in the woman before him, as he might have any other woman that he was to paint. To both his surprise and delight, he found himself focusing on Alice's extraordinary beauty. She appeared fragile, yes, but Henry was always attracted to such women, both as subjects to be painted and women to be bedded; rubenesque women were not Henry's type.

Henry snapped out of his thoughts so quickly that he feared that he had actually snapped his head back. What was he thinking? Was there a level in Dante's inferno for a man who had lascivious thoughts about a blind woman?

 

[slut_in_white]

Alice stood, her head tilted very slightly in just such a manner that her ash-coloured curls parted over one dainty ear, listening politely to Henry's questions. She waited only a beat after he'd finished, simply to make sure he was, indeed, finished, then took two more carefully counted steps to bring herself next to a third chair, situated just to the left of her father.

Her hand swept carefully forward until her fingers met the rich plush of the arm, and she turned easily and sat, perched on the edge of the seat.

She decided in that moment that she liked Henry's voice. It was deep, rich and somehow dark, but also politely restrained, groomed and graceful. She could imagine a voice like that singing, and beautifully. A smile touched her lips, something all her own, in the moment before she dipped her head forward into that position of demure politeness, to ensure that company would not have to suffer the awkwardness of looking into her strange eyes.

"I understand both your and my father's desire to include me in this process, but perhaps I am not precisely the most ideally situated person to ask." A flash of amusement passed across those delicate features and she took a moment to contain a giggle. She knew better than to think it was a joke to be shared. Others often felt uncomfortable with her disability. She, however, recognized it as a simple fact of her life. It would do no one any benefit for her to pretend it did not exist. And she felt that, while it was not something most would be inclined to laugh about, her own ability to find amusement in her circumstance might perhaps lend others confidence in dealing with her. For it was more difficult to fear offending her by referencing her blindness if she herself were capable of finding moments of amusement in it.

"I can, however, speak on what locations I might find most pleasant, as I understand portraiture shall mean a significant amount of time spent in the same place. I would prefer somewhere where I may be seated, or able to reach something firm. I can occasionally come to feel slightly lost if I spend too much time without a point of reference for my location. I very much enjoy the feeling of the sun, so perhaps outdoors, or near a large window?" She smiled again, this with a touch of melancholy. "I have heard the gardens are quite breathtaking in their beauty. In the spring, the smell of the flowers is quite enchanting."

 

[Gr8chtr]

Henry found himself moved by Alice's reply that was, at once, both an expression of preference and a subtle acknowledgement of the realities of her situation. He also was drawn to her inclination toward sitting for her portrait in the gardens. Henry, himself, was fond of working in an outdoor setting, and the gardens, which were, indeed, breathtakingly beautiful, would set of Lady Cornell's portrait very nicely.

"I think, Lady Cornell," said Henry, "that you may have a greater sense of what makes a good setting for a portrait than you credit for yourself. However, I must explain how I work with anyone whose portrait I am painting. I need to observe my subject and get to know him, his interests, his desires, and something of his inner life. For I do not merely paint a likeness of the person; the camera can do that, although only in shades of black and white. I attempt to capture both the physical likeness of the person and a portrayal of his essence."

Henry forced himself to stop. He was, he realized, on the verge of giving a self-aggrandizing lecture. He paused, before continuing. "So, I suggest, Lady Cornell, that you and I repair to somewhere in your gardens where you can sit, and where you and I can have some conversation that will help me understand what I want to capture in your portrait beyond just your physical likeness."

Not wanting to seem too forward, Henry added what he thought to be a necessary amendment. "Of course, I should like it if either Lord Cornell or, perhaps, your maid were to accompany us. I would not want there to be even an appearance of impropriety. I take care when painting portraits of women to make sure that nothing about the process appears untoward."

In truth, Henry's statement was not quite accurate. It was true that he frequently took great pains to appear proper with regard to his subjects, but this was mostly true only when he did not feel any attraction toward the woman he was painting or when he thought that he was likely to get in trouble for any impropriety. He often flirted, sometimes heavily, with his female subjects, married or not, if they appeared to be open to such flirtations. And, on more than one occasion, the enigmatic smile on the subject's portrait reflected memories of times when Henry's paintbrush had been put aside in favor of other intimate connections.

 

[slut_in_white]

Alice was taken aback by Henry's sudden suggestion that they be joined by a maid or some other escort during their discussion in the gardens. Not because she found the suggestion too forward, but simply because she was entirely unaccustomed to anyone thinking of her in that way.

She was aware, naturally, that young, unmarried people were joined by an escort of some sort while they would otherwise be alone together. It was a long-standing tradition of propriety, particularly among the upper class. However, the suggestion that one would be necessary carried with it the implication that a man might desire to do something improper with her, were they alone. Not, of course, that she assumed Henry intended such a thing - he seemed a gentleman in every way. It was simply that even just suggesting an escort meant he felt any man might find Alice desirable enough to attempt to "forget" that an escort might be proper, in order to steal away a private moment with her.

Alice was not accustomed to being desired. She was not even accustomed to the suggestion that anyone might find her such. It wasn't a compliment, nor was it intended to be, she knew, and yet she found herself blushing as if she had just been complimented nonetheless.

Lord Cornell, meanwhile, barely even registered that the request might have been an unusual one. It was such a common concept among the rest of the aristocracy, after all. "Indeed. Mrs Barvell will accompany you."

Mrs Barvell was the kindly middle-aged maid who had escorted Alice to the library in the first place, and she had remained quiet and at the ready near the door, in case the young lady had required any further assistance. "Yes, my lord." She took a step forward, then, and dipped a quick and well-practiced curtsy in Henry's direction. "If you would follow me, please."

Alice, meanwhile stood slowly and waited until she heard Henry's footsteps towards the door before she moved - it was easier, that way, to avoid walking into him. It was a rare issue, since she could most often avoid the sound of footsteps, breathing, or the rustle of cloth, but it was sometimes difficult to do both that and remain perfectly aware of all other inanimate objects in a room - particularly a crowded room like this.

Mrs Barvell awaited Alice in the hall, alongside their guest, and as soon as she reached the front hall, Alice turned immediately towards the front door, still open to allow the fresh summer breeze to move through the manor. She could smell the sun-baked earth of the garden and the greenery of the forest and lawn. It drew her to the doorway with a faint smile on her face. With a hand resting gently against the doorframe, she turned her face up to the warmth of the sun. The simple pleasure of it was evident in her expression.

"Master Appleton?" Her bell-like voice broke the silence, suddenly, and she half-turned back to where she'd last heard the sound of movement. "Might I request your guidance across the lawn?" A pale hand lifted, very slightly, to allow him to guide her hand to the crook of his arm, should he agree. In front of the house lay a wide expanse of perfectly manicured grass, followed by a low stone wall which marked the end of the lawn and the beginning of the rich garden, with a hedge maze as its centerpiece. Normally, Alice would follow the edge of the house out to the path which ran from the stables to the edge of the garden, because it was difficult to maintain a sense of place and direction in the large open space of the grass. Today, however, she had a guest.

 

[Gr8chtr]

When Lord Cornell indicated that Mrs. Barvell would accompany Alice and him while they sat in the garden, Henry knew that he had done the correct thing and, therefore, probably made a positive impression on his patron. That was good. Surprisingly, though, he found that he was anticipating their conversation with some delight. Ordinarily, it would not surprise him that accompanying a young woman whom he was about to paint would seem delightful, but Henry had put Alice in a different box than those other women.

Henry had another surprise when Alice extended her hand and asked him to guide her across the lawn. Clearly, one of Mrs. Barvell’s main functions was to provide assistance to Alice. Why would Alice not ask for help from her? He had not expected Alice to play the role of “lady” to his “gentleman”, but here she was apparently doing just that. Surely, she did not think of him as an eligible man who, perhaps under other circumstances, would be wooing her. Or did she?

As Henry took Alice’s hand and guided her to an exquisitely designed garden chair on the lawn, he noted a pleasant warmth that seemed to pass between the two of them, if only momentarily. Assisting her to her seat, Henry moved another chair to within a couple of feet of her and sat himself down nearly facing his subject. Henry loved to study his subject close up and full-face, even if the eventual portrait were more in profile. Mrs. Barvell, meanwhile, positioned herself at a respectable, but not too great, distance.

Henry took the initiative. “Lady Cornell,” he began, certainly not wanting to seem too familiar, “it is my job, my desire, to capture as much of your essence as I can in my portrait of you. So, let us begin with this. What are your dreams or your hopes? Or, when, under what circumstances, do you feel most alive?”

As Henry waited for Alice’s reply, he studied her features, her facial expression, the way she held herself. “She is,” Henry realized, “every inch the noblewoman.” He paused in his thinking, “correction, a young noblewoman.” Henry’s thinking paused again as a perception and an attitude began to form in his mind, “double correction, a young, beautiful noblewoman.”