Mary, thought her
charming and sweet and kind. He’d been infected with her enthusiasm for life, and
invigorated by her spirit. He’d been challenged by her wit and impressed with her
thirst for knowledge, but he hadn’t been in love with her. And he had never, except
at the end when he’d been wracked by guilt, been obsessed with thoughts of her.
What was it about Sarah that attracted him so?
Perhaps he simply admired her determination in the face of such a disabling condition.
Perhaps it was that she didn’t act blind. There was little about her, save for those
dark glasses, that reminded him of her disability. No, Sarah Hopkins was a strong
woman whose presence was undeniable—certainly undeniable in his thoughts, because
he couldn’t seem to eradicate her from them.
“Are we working too hard for a walk in the park?” Peter asked suddenly, startling
himself with the question.
Christ, what the devil was he doing? He was paying her to instruct his son, not to
take bloody walks in the park!
Sarah’s head popped up, though she didn’t turn in his direction. “Mr. Holland!”
“Daddy!” Christopher shrieked through a mouthful of chewy sweets, but he didn’t rise
from his seat at the table. His face, however, reflected his pleasure, and Peter took
joy in that expression so filled with love.
With his gaze fixed not upon his son, but upon the woman seated before him, Peter
stepped into the room. She sat still at the little table, her posture straight and
her previous good humor seeming to have vanished with his sudden appearance.
“Good morning, Miss Hopkins.”
“We have only just begun, Mr. Holland,” she replied, ignoring his greeting.
He got the immediate impression she was dismissing him, and Peter suddenly refused
to take no for an answer.
“A walk in the park will clear our minds, and do us much good,” he suggested.
“A clear mind, at this point, is not what we need,” she countered.
“Perhaps, but I should like to speak with you,” Peter said, and his tone brooked no
argument. “Your lessons may continue this afternoon.”
She lifted her chin, and Peter watched her, uncertain what it was about her that left
him ill at ease, besides.
“You wish to speak to me?”
“I do,” he said.
“Very well,” she relented, her annoyance quite clear in her tone. “A walk in the park
would be lovely,” she said, and rose from the table, bending first to seize her cane
from the floor.
CHAPTER 9
Lovely was hardly the word for their afternoon.
It hadn’t been Sarah’s dislike for the man that had made her reluctant to accept his
invitation, but fear, if the truth be known. She scarcely knew how to act around Christopher.
Naturally, she was uncomfortable under his father’s careful scrutiny.
And she wasn’t certain which was harder to tolerate, the brisk March winds or the
scalding warmth of Peter’s hand on her arm as he guided her through the park.
Blast, but must he touch her so solicitously?
She wanted nothing more than to free herself from his mindful grip. She didn’t need
his bloody attentions, nor did she appreciate his guidance. She felt a little, in
fact, as though he kept her upon a leash.
Sarah walked along beside him, tapping her cane and listening to father and son’s
discourse with a sense of growing hysteria. The two of them were discussing the content
of the morning’s lessons, and Sarah was surprised to hear Christopher recite nearly
every word she had uttered to him. He certainly was a prodigy, and yet, as she watched
him, it was also quite apparent he had never been allowed to be a child at all. Christopher
Holland was a little wizened man, and Sarah was uncertain whether to be proud of him
or furious with his father.
She tapped her cane a little viciously at the thought.
“And Miss Sarah says Mr. Braille was in an accident like me.”
“Was he?” Peter asked
charming and sweet and kind. He’d been infected with her enthusiasm for life, and
invigorated by her spirit. He’d been challenged by her wit and impressed with her
thirst for knowledge, but he hadn’t been in love with her. And he had never, except
at the end when he’d been wracked by guilt, been obsessed with thoughts of her.
What was it about Sarah that attracted him so?
Perhaps he simply admired her determination in the face of such a disabling condition.
Perhaps it was that she didn’t act blind. There was little about her, save for those
dark glasses, that reminded him of her disability. No, Sarah Hopkins was a strong
woman whose presence was undeniable—certainly undeniable in his thoughts, because
he couldn’t seem to eradicate her from them.
“Are we working too hard for a walk in the park?” Peter asked suddenly, startling
himself with the question.
Christ, what the devil was he doing? He was paying her to instruct his son, not to
take bloody walks in the park!
Sarah’s head popped up, though she didn’t turn in his direction. “Mr. Holland!”
“Daddy!” Christopher shrieked through a mouthful of chewy sweets, but he didn’t rise
from his seat at the table. His face, however, reflected his pleasure, and Peter took
joy in that expression so filled with love.
With his gaze fixed not upon his son, but upon the woman seated before him, Peter
stepped into the room. She sat still at the little table, her posture straight and
her previous good humor seeming to have vanished with his sudden appearance.
“Good morning, Miss Hopkins.”
“We have only just begun, Mr. Holland,” she replied, ignoring his greeting.
He got the immediate impression she was dismissing him, and Peter suddenly refused
to take no for an answer.
“A walk in the park will clear our minds, and do us much good,” he suggested.
“A clear mind, at this point, is not what we need,” she countered.
“Perhaps, but I should like to speak with you,” Peter said, and his tone brooked no
argument. “Your lessons may continue this afternoon.”
She lifted her chin, and Peter watched her, uncertain what it was about her that left
him ill at ease, besides.
“You wish to speak to me?”
“I do,” he said.
“Very well,” she relented, her annoyance quite clear in her tone. “A walk in the park
would be lovely,” she said, and rose from the table, bending first to seize her cane
from the floor.
CHAPTER 9
Lovely was hardly the word for their afternoon.
It hadn’t been Sarah’s dislike for the man that had made her reluctant to accept his
invitation, but fear, if the truth be known. She scarcely knew how to act around Christopher.
Naturally, she was uncomfortable under his father’s careful scrutiny.
And she wasn’t certain which was harder to tolerate, the brisk March winds or the
scalding warmth of Peter’s hand on her arm as he guided her through the park.
Blast, but must he touch her so solicitously?
She wanted nothing more than to free herself from his mindful grip. She didn’t need
his bloody attentions, nor did she appreciate his guidance. She felt a little, in
fact, as though he kept her upon a leash.
Sarah walked along beside him, tapping her cane and listening to father and son’s
discourse with a sense of growing hysteria. The two of them were discussing the content
of the morning’s lessons, and Sarah was surprised to hear Christopher recite nearly
every word she had uttered to him. He certainly was a prodigy, and yet, as she watched
him, it was also quite apparent he had never been allowed to be a child at all. Christopher
Holland was a little wizened man, and Sarah was uncertain whether to be proud of him
or furious with his father.
She tapped her cane a little viciously at the thought.
“And Miss Sarah says Mr. Braille was in an accident like me.”
“Was he?” Peter asked
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