Simon Tuttle

Late last night upon arriving home after the pageant, Simon was given a message that an emergency needed his attention at the children’s school under his patronage, and he had ridden all night to get there, then turned and ridden for hours again to get back.

Four hours past noon, and eight hours past the time Cora had expected him, Simon’s horse, wet from exertion, stopped in front of Twickenham Manor. He had stopped by Everett’s rented house in Richmond to shake the road dust from his person and saw the letter intended for Cora sitting on the mail tray. It wasn’t meant to be posted, but delivered. That hadn’t happened, and he could only imagine the slight she was feeling at his absence.

What would he say to explain it to her? After all, he’d given his word. He didn’t have an excuse he could share, so he planned just to beg forgiveness as he approached the door.

       “Miss Rey will join you momentarily.” The butler pointed him to the parlor.

Simon nodded his understanding as the man left. He sat on the edge of the sofa only to stand immediately. His emotions felt much too jittery to sit. He wondered if Cora would forgive his absence. He walked back and forth on the wool carpet in the small room. He would offer no excuses—simply apologize, and if that didn’t work, he’d walk away with his pride. He wouldn’t grovel.

He wondered what Cora had meant last night, saying she loved him. It couldn’t be. But if it were, what would he do? That question had plagued him on his ride last night, and he seemed to repeat it to every tree he passed along the way. Since he hadn’t kept his word to return before breakfast this morning, it was likely she didn’t feel that way anymore. A man who didn’t keep promises was not to be trusted with a woman’s heart. He stopped suddenly and placed his hand on the top of a wingback chair. Could he have her heart? If not now, someday?

He realized that her opinion of him was as important as breathing. He wanted her love and her trust. He knew what he must do—he’d grovel.

Cora joined him a moment after his decision. “I missed you this morning.”

Simon wasn’t sure if he heard her right. The tone seemed kind, matching the look on her face. She continued. “Something must have come up. I’m glad you still came. We have little privacy here. Would you like to go for a walk, or shall we call for a tray?”

Simon’s heart continued to race. It would be nice to continue moving for the conversation to come. “A walk, then tea.”

Cora smiled. “I feel the same.”

Of all the things she could say, Simon realized he could read too much into those four words. Did she feel a longing and closeness forming between the two? Did she feel the air sparking with hope?

The path in the garden was filled with tiny white seashells that crunched underfoot. Cora led him over to a bench set in a little courtyard of rosebushes. She sat, then stood and moved to the other side to be on his right.

“I wrote you a letter this morning. I hadn’t decided if I would send it.” She pulled a folded linen page from a pocket. “I’d like you to read it.”

She placed it in his hand, and Simon read the lettering on the front. “To Cousin Simon.”

His heart pinched as he stared at the word “cousin.” He slid his finger behind the wafer and unfolded it, revealing a few scant lines. She sat entirely too close for his eyes to attend to the page, but he forced them to focus on the writing.

       Dear—Oh, I quit. I’ll never figure out how titles here work.

       Dear Simon,

       She had penned his name—the only one that really belonged to him. He was again filled with hope that she saw him as no one else had. He read on.

       Hearing doesn’t define you.

       She knows. Panic flashed through his chest. To have his impairment openly revealed, after he and his family had carefully covered it for the past few years, left him vulnerable. If others came to know of his condition, would he be ostracized? And what of his sisters—would his injury ruin their chances?

Simon reread the line. She knows but isn’t repulsed by me. In fact, it sounds hopeful. Was America truly such a different place that she would overlook what he saw as a serious limitation? He refocused on her words and finished the letter.

       Sincerely,

       Cora

       P.S. Olive juice.

       Simon read the last two words. Had he read them right? He looked again and felt his brow scrunch with confusion. Cora’s hand came to rest on his arm, and he turned toward her.

       She didn’t meet his gaze but continued to tap the fingers of her other hand against her knee. “There’s no easy way to say this. When you said that you were acting as my near relative, I guess I relaxed around you. Too much.” Her eyes lifted to his. “I’m sorry I teased you last night. You’ve been a puzzle, a mystery, and I thought I had all the pieces, so … so I was testing you. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have risked our friendship for the world. Please say that you forgive me.”

       They sat silently, Cora looking eager for his reply.

       “What does this mean?” he asked, pointing to the last line. “I know what it is, just not why it’s in your letter.”

       “That says ‘olive juice.’”

This time, Simon saw the movement of her lips, and since she sat very near him on the small bench, he heard the words. He nodded and looked away. She hadn’t been offering him her heart. In fact, she firmly considered him either family of some kind or a friend—a friend who would help her find a husband. A friend she could tease without worry of being taken seriously.

A fireball of pain volleyed through his chest. She knew his secret and didn’t consider him a candidate for herself. For months, since deciding to return to society, he’d worried about what would happen if someone found out. Now he knew—despair. If he was honest about it, he would admit that this was just what he expected.

Simon, realizing that his shoulders had slumped, and his head hung down, sat up on the bench. “Of course I forgive you. I never imagined that you offered me an insult.”

She also hadn’t offered him her heart or her future. He would re-correct his course—he would marry for convenience to gain an heir. Nothing more.

He stood and helped her from the bench. When Simon began to turn back toward the house, Cora asked, “Shall we see if the hollyhocks have bloomed before we go back?”

They walked several paces, Cora’s small hand tugging gently with each step before he said, “You very cleverly failed to answer a single question I asked in my last letter to you.” Simon gave her a sideways smile. “Perhaps you could bare your soul as we walk.”

“I don’t have any stories as good as yours. I wish I could have seen the frogs at the birthday party.”

“It’s not something one is likely to forget. To this day, I can’t hear the word ‘frog’ without imagining the creatures plopping into the punch or some rather expensive cake.”

“And to call yourself the ugly duke-ling … ” She laughed.

Simon enjoyed the bright smile of it and the crinkle around her eyes. Yes, if she offered friendship, he’d accept it. “No more about me. We are halfway through the garden, and I haven’t learned anything new about you. Start with an easy one—your town or your home, perhaps.”

“Hmm, my home. We lived in a red brick home on Quail Run Road. We lived removed from other children, and my best friends were my horses. I spent long hours playing music, too. It was a passion of my father’s, and it made me feel closer to him. He was all I had. My mother died when I was young, so after that, it was just my father and me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Simon interrupted. “Do you remember her?”

“I remember her hands, gentle and expressive, and a few other things, but as time goes on, I doubt all of them. Sometimes I find that a memory of her was just a picture I’d seen of her.”

“Your father raised you?”

“Yes. We were very close. I lost him three years ago.” her eyes glanced away form him and blinked quickly.

“I’m sorry. I chose a sad topic.”

She shook her head. “Not sad, just precious.” She smiled, then continued. “It’s funny—though I miss him every day, I think more about the good years we had together than when he died.”

Simon watched as Cora paused to pull a weed that was encroaching on the pathway. As if she thought nothing of the helpful act, she continued her story. “He was a scholar. He loved to study ancient peoples. He had heavy leather-bound books about the places around the world, and while other girls were being tucked into bed with lullabies or fairy tales, he read to me about ancient Roman aqueducts or the production of silk in China thousands of years ago. I don’t remember most of what we read, but I’ll always remember how it felt.”

Together they turned the last corner and headed out of the garden back to the house.

“He sounds like he was an interesting man. I would have liked to meet him.”

“He would have liked you, too.” Cora stopped then, her eyes nearly squinting with thought, perhaps debating what she was going to say next. Simon could see it in her eyes when she decided to trust him. “My father had normal hearing, but my mother was Deaf from birth. I’m CODA, Child of Deaf Adult.”

Simon felt his mouth drop open. He couldn’t imagine Cora’s mother getting a chance to marry and have a family. And she married a scholar. That wouldn’t have happened here. He thought maybe that was why Cora was comfortable with him even knowing his secret.

She began walking again. “That’s part of what I meant when I wrote that your hearing doesn’t define you. It just doesn’t. You’re more than sound waves and ear drums.”

“Thank you.” He felt a relief to have his secret known by someone and to be accepted. He was sure that wouldn’t be the reaction he always received.

Simon swallowed, dragging courage from his chest. “I only recently lost my hearing. Three years ago.”

“Late deafened. That’s what we call it.”

Simon nodded. “I had an injury followed by a severe fever. I lived, but my hearing wasn’t the same. My family sent me to Scotland. I doubt they ever expected me to return, but then I had to assume the role of duke.” It felt good to tell someone, especially her.

Cora’s hand covered Simon’s with a gentle squeeze. They stopped, this time gazing at each other. The air seemed thick between them. Although Simon knew he couldn’t, shouldn’t kiss her, he also knew that’s exactly what he intended to do. Cora’s lips parted, and just the tip of her pink tongue peeked out above her teeth.

Before he lowered his head to hers, she broke the connection and took another step toward the house. “You also asked what I do with my time. Will you keep my secret if I tell you?”

“If you will keep mine.” Simon cocked his head and smiled broadly through his pain. She really didn’t have amorous feelings for him. However, he would gladly take what she offered.

“Deal,” she said, giving him a firm handshake. They continued across the lawn. “I’m a teacher. I teach students who are differently abled than most children. Some are hard of hearing, and some mute. Some have difficulty learning or interacting with others. They are my children for as long as I’m allowed to teach them. Although I don’t need to work, it gives me great joy.”

Simon was stunned. She worked. He strangely found that he admired her for it. Perhaps because it was something else they had in common—wishing all children to learn and caring for those society would shun. Before he had a chance to tell her about his school, the door to the house opened, and her American friend Reese came out. He hadn’t been in the company of the other Americans since Cora was spending most of her time with Lady May Cottrell.

“Are you staying for tea?” Reese asked Simon.

“I am.”

“Cyrus, Jem, and Kaitlyn are here. It’s almost like a little party.” She walked with them into the manor house.

       After the group had been served, Cora gave a dainty cough. “I seem to have a frog in my throat.”

       Simon was grateful he hadn’t moved his teacup away from his lips as he struggled to swallow the tea before he laughed. Cora met his eye. She looked guilty, like she had done that on purpose.

       Polite conversation continued about the fair weather they’d been having and the beauty of the home. When the conversation turned to comparing England to the United States, Cora asked, “‘The Ugly Duke-ling’ is quite a popular tale there. Is it common here? I mean, duckling.”

       Again, Simon had just lifted his cup to his mouth. Her cup was in front of her lips as well, but just to hide a smirk, which he could clearly see. Cora’s eyes danced with delight above the rim at the private joke. The air nearly left his lungs—she could do that to him with only a glance. He thought of the happiness he would win if he could look across the room at her face for the rest of his life. She’d made it clear that she considered him a friend, but she hadn’t explicitly ruled out being something more. He hoped the possibility might yet be there.