Emma Jensen - Entwined by User

patrician nose at his ancestors by placing her among them.
    How easy it was, reducing the matter to something so simple as a portrait. If only she had better reason for refusing, or any heartfelt reason at all to accept. For all her years of dreaming, this was not a path she could ever have imagined. Nor could she imagine taking it now.
    A night spent tossing in the elegant bed had left her with the conclusion that Lord Oriel was not mad. In fact, at the most superficial level, his plan made perfect sense. Of course he would want to return to Society, and he certainly could not manage on his own, not if he wanted his blindness to remain a secret.
    In Society, where being seen was more important than seeing, with a supporting arm to help him avoid obstacles and a soft voice to prompt him, he would manage perfectly well indeed.
    The question was why he would consider tying himself to an arm and voice so far beneath what would be expected of him. Surely there was a lady in his social sphere who could be trusted with the secret of his blindness, perhaps even one who would be able to convince him that secrecy was unnecessary. After all, vision was the sense best deceived.
    Isobel's own eyes were clear enough. She found no pleasure in viewing her face, less still in seeing the outmoded, faded blue gown whose tight bodice succeeded only in pressing her full breasts into unattractive and uncomfortable slopes. Sighing, she drew her mended shawl closer about her shoulders despite the fact that there was no one to see.
    She had written countless scenes in her mind, changing and rearranging her words so she would be able to greet the marquess with some grace. Of course, all these thoughts fled when she reached the library door. She cursed silently, swallowed, and knocked.
    There was no answer. She rapped again, then hesitantly entered, inexplicably relieved at finding the room empty. In the absence of its owner, the place seemed altogether different. Perhaps it was due to nothing more than the fact that the draperies were drawn fully back, allowing the morning sunlight to flood in. In another time, another place, she would have been delighted by the scene. The countless leather-bound books alone would have enchanted her.
    As it was, her eyes flitted briefly over the very male, very expensive furnishings and seemingly endless, book-lined shelves before they were drawn to the massive desk. Rather than being cleared, as she had seen it the day before, the surface was now covered by ledgers. Atop them was a single sheet of paper. Still uncertain of the proper move, she crossed the thick carpet and took a quick peek. A single word was scrawled diagonally across the foolscap, written in a bold scrawl and liberally dotted with smeared ink: Read.
    It was a command she could not possibly misunderstand. Opening the topmost ledger, she realized that Lord Oriel had left her the estate books for several years past. Sensible, she thought, and perhaps even courteous.
    Instead of being thrown into this part of her duties with no preparation, she would have the chance to familiarize herself with the basic running of the place.
    With only the faintest of misgivings, she settled herself behind the desk.
    There was a chance the marquess would object to her use of his chair, of course, but she was certain she would hear his approach in enough time to move. He was most likely tearing through the fields on his monster horse and might well be gone for some time.
    She opted first to skim, rather than read, each book. The entries were made in several hands, including one she recognized immediately as her father's. It was shaky in spots, and Isobel shook her head resignedly at the sight. It seemed Jamie had had no compunction against dipping into the crystal decanters across the room. He would have noted soon enough that his employer did not make a regular check of either the liquor supply or the books. Of course, he would have been completely fooled as to the