Harry set down the gold-framed spectacles and reached for another lighter, oval-shaped pair. He turned them over in his hands, imagining her as she’d been squinting desperately to make sense of the words on a page, words which had been about him and his actions the previous evening. Why should Anne care whether he’d been with another woman? Why, unless…she cared… And why did he want her to care? History had shown him the dangers in forming any emotional entanglements with a woman who’d pledged to wed a duke.
“And how blurred are the words when this,” the doctor coughed into his hand, “person is reading?”
Startled, Harry dropped the pair of spectacles. They landed with a soft clink upon the collection of other frames assembled before him. “Quite blurred,” he said quickly. Unbidden, a smile pulled at his lips in remembrance of Anne with her copy of The Times and the indignant expression on her furious, heart-shaped face.
“My lord?”
The doctor’s prodding jerked him from his senseless musings. Harry gave his head a disgusted shake and grabbed another pair. “Sh…He, squints.” He picked up a forgotten copy of The Times at the corner of his desk. He held it up and angled the pages away from him to display the angle. “Holds the page about here and squints.” He demonstrated for the old doctor once more the extent of Anne’s squint. “In this manner.”
“Ahh.”
That was it? Just ‘ahh.’ “Also tilts the page toward the light.” He remembered her as she’d been, endearing and enticing in her innocent attempt to muddle her way through the reading of that page. Harry threw the paper down and reached for a third pair of the thin metal frames. “And can you help h-…this person?”
The doctor’s face settled into a very somber, very doctorly mask. “I would have a better gauge on just what is best for this,” he arched an eyebrow, “gentleman in terms of the actual lenses if I were to meet—”
“No.”
“And assess—”
“Still no.” Harry tugged his cravat. “This gentleman is quite busy. Quite,” he added. A gentleman did not give a young lady gifts unless he was prepared to declare for her.
“I see.”
A knowing sparkle lit the man’s kindly blue eyes. Dr. Craven likely assumed Harry’s delicate purchase was for a well-favored mistress. Nothing could be further from the truth.
And all the more dangerous for it. Harry, the Earl of Stanhope, did not call family physicians to his townhouse with a collection of lady’s spectacles and have a pair commissioned; not for a respectable young woman.
Outside of expensive, extravagant, and emotionally insignificant jewels he’d purchased for mistresses through the years, he’d never gifted such a personal and meaningful item—to anyone. And yet, he wanted, nay, needed to make this purchase for Anne.
His mind shied away from the implications of this gift. He looked at the pair of spectacles he currently held. Silver, delicate. He weighed this pair in his palm the way he had the previous pairs. This frame would not be uncomfortable for the lady to wear. He held them up. Sunlight filtered through the drawn back curtains from the full floor-length windows. It reflected off the metallic rim. He imagined Anne in the spectacles and not much more. Biting back a groan at the enticing image, he shoved the pair toward Dr. Craven. “These will do.”
Perfectly.
The doctor tucked them into the front of his coat. “I cannot promise the lenses will be completely perfect for the young…person.”
“Do the best you are able.” Without seeing the lady. Because if this intimate gift for the unwed Lady Anne was discovered by the ton, the young woman would be ruined as surely as if he’d been discovered with her in Lord Essex’s conservatory that first night. “I imagine whatever you manage will be a vast improvement to what the la…person sees now while reading.” Which was next to nothing based on Harry’s earlier observation.
The physician stood up. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Renshaw, Harry’s butler, opened the door and cleared his throat. “Lord Edgerton,” he announced and backed out of the room.
Harry hopped guiltily to his feet. Heat crept up his neck as his friend entered the room.
The other man swept an entirely too astute gaze over the room, lingering a moment upon the doctor, and then of course, the collection of spectacles still littering Harry’s desk. He quirked a mocking eyebrow.
Harry silently cursed and gathered the wire frames into a neat little pile and handed the stack over to Dr. Craven who accepted the awkward bundle in his aged hands.