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display on all the walls. The only picture in the Timms house was a rather awkward painting of a slave ship, approved by the elders as a reminder of the sufferings of their fellow man. As she was gazing at an ornately framed still life hung over a music stand, with the surprisingly demure theme of rough-cut lilac stems thrown down beside a clutch of robin’s eggs, Jervaulx spoke.
    “How long ago did you lose your sight, Mr. Timms?” he asked.
    Maddy stiffened a little in her chair, surprised by such a pointed personal question. But her papa only said mildly, “Many years. Almost… fifteen, would it be, Maddy?”
    “Eighteen, Papa,” she said quietly.
    “Ah.” He nodded. “And thou hast been my blessing every one of them, Maddy girl.”
    Jervaulx sat relaxed, resting his elbow on the chair arm, his jaw propped on his fist. “You haven’t seen your daughter since she was a child, then,” he murmured. “May I describe her to you?”
    She was unprepared for such a suggestion, or for the light of interest that dawned in her father’s face.
    Her objection died forming as Papa said, “Wilt thou? Wilt thou indeed?”
    Jervaulx gazed at Maddy. As she felt her face growing hot, his smile turned into that unprincipled grin, and he said, “It would be my pleasure.” He tilted his head, studying her. “We’ve made her blush already, I fear—a very delicate blush, the color of… clouds, I think. The way the mist turns pink at dawn—do you remember what I mean?”
    “Yes,” her father said seriously.
    “Her face is… dignified, but not quite stern. Softer than that, but she has a certain way of turning up her chin that might give a man pause. She’s taller than you are, but not unbecomingly tall. It’s that chin, I think, and a very upright, quiet way she holds herself. It gives her presence. But she only comes to my nose, so… she must be a good five inches under six foot one,” he said judiciously. “She appears to me to be healthy, not too stout nor thin. In excellent frame.”
    “Rather like a good milk cow!” Maddy exclaimed.
    “And there goes the chin up,” Jervaulx said. “She’s perhaps a little more the color of a light claret, now that I’ve provoked her. All the way from her throat to her cheeks— even a little lower than her throat, but she’s perfectly pale and soft below that, as far as I can see.”
    Maddy clapped her hand over the V neck of her gown, suddenly feeling that it must be entirely too low-cut. “Papa—” She looked to her father, but he had his face turned downward and a peculiar smile on his lips.
    “Her hair,” Jervaulx said, “is tarnished gold where the candlelight touches it, and where it doesn’t…
    richer— more like the light through a dark ale as you pour it. She has it braided and coiled around her head. I believe she thinks that it’s a plain style, but she doesn’t realize the effect. It shows the curve of her neck and her throat, and makes a man think of taking it down and letting it spread out over his hands.”
    “Thou art unseemly,” her father chided in a mild tone.
    “My apologies, Mr. Timms. I can hardly help myself. Shall we proceed to her nose? That, we shall call a nose of— character. I don’t think we can call it perfect; it’s a little too aquiline for that. A decided nose.
    A maiden lady’s nose. It goes with the tilt of the chin. But her eyes… I’m afraid her eyes ruin the spinster effect again, most emphatically. And her mouth. She has a pensive, a very pretty mouth, that doesn’t smile overly often.” He took a sip of wine. “But then again—let’s be fair. I’ve definitely seen her smile at you, but she hasn’t favored me at all. This serious mouth might have been insipid, but instead it goes with the wonderful long lashes that haven’t got that silly debutante curl. They’re straight, but they’re so long and angled down that they shadow her eyes and turn the hazel to gold, and she seems as if she’s looking out