Her father married her to a beggar because she was born blindwhat happened next left everyone speechless.
Cordelia had never seen the world, but she felt its cruelty with every breath. Born sightless into a family that prized beauty above all else, she was the shadow between her two radiant sisters. While they were admired for their dazzling eyes and graceful figures, Cordelia was treated like a burden, a shameful secret locked away. Her mother died when she was only five, and from that moment, her father changedgrowing bitter, resentful, and cruel, especially toward her. He never called her by name, only “that thing.” She wasnt allowed at the table during meals or near guests. He believed her cursed, and when Cordelia turned twenty-one, he made a decision that shattered what little remained of his broken heart.
One morning, he strode into her small room where she sat quietly, fingers tracing the Braille of a tattered book, and tossed a folded cloth onto her lap.
“You marry tomorrow,” he said coldly.
Cordelia froze. The words made no sense. Marry? To whom?
“A beggar from the cathedral,” he continued. “Youre blind, hes poor. A fitting match.”
Blood drained from her face. She wanted to scream, but no sound came. She had no choice. Her father had never given her one.
The next day, she was wed in a hurried, hushed ceremony. Of course, she never saw his face, and no one dared describe it. Her father shoved her toward the man and ordered her to take his arm. She obeyed like a ghost in her own body. People snickered behind covered mouths, whispering, “The blind girl and the beggar.” Afterward, her father thrust a small bag of clothes into her hands and pushed her back toward the man.
“Now shes your problem,” he muttered, walking away without a glance.
The beggarwhose name was Edwinled her silently down the road. For a long time, he said nothing. They reached a crumbling cottage at the villages edge, smelling of damp earth and woodsmoke.
“Its not much,” Edwin said softly. “But youll be safe here.”
She sat on an old mat inside, holding back tears. This was to be her lifea blind girl, wed to a beggar, in a house built of mud and quiet despair.
But that first night, something strange happened.
Edwin made tea with careful hands. He gave her his coat and slept by the door like a guard dog at a queens bedside. He spoke to her as though he truly caredasking what stories she loved, what dreams she held, what food made her smile. No one had ever asked before.
Days turned to weeks. Edwin guided her each morning to the river, describing sunlight, birds, and trees so vividly she almost saw them through his words. He sang while she washed clothes and told her tales of stars and far-off lands at night. For the first time in years, she laughed. Her heart began to open. And in that strange little cottage, something unexpected happenedCordelia fell in love.
One afternoon, as she reached for his hand, she asked, “Were you always a beggar?”
He hesitated. Then, quietly: “Not always.”
But he said no more, and she didnt pressuntil the day she went alone to the market. Edwin had given her careful directions, and she memorized every step. But halfway there, someone yanked her arm.
“Blind rat!” hissed a voice. It was her sister, Beatrice. “Still alive? Still playing beggars wife?”
Tears stung, but Cordelia held firm. “Im happy.”
Beatrice sneered. “You dont even know what he looks like. Hes rubbishjust like you.”
Then she whispered something that shattered Cordelias heart.
“Hes no beggar. Youve been deceived.”
Cordelia returned home in turmoil. She waited until dusk, and when Edwin returned, she asked againthis time, fiercely.
“Tell me the truth. Who are you?”
He knelt before her, took her hands, and said, “You werent supposed to know yet. But I cant lie anymore.”
His pulse raced under her fingers. He drew a deep breath.
“Im not a beggar. Im the son of an earl.”
The world spun. “A son of an earl.” Her mind replayed every momenthis kindness, his quiet strength, his stories too rich for a beggarand now she understood. Her father hadnt married her to a beggar, but to a lord in disguise.
Her legs gave way. Her heart tore between love and betrayal. Edwin knelt beside her.
“I never meant to hurt you. I came to the village in disguise because I was tired of women who loved the title, not the man. I heard of a blind girl cast aside by her father. I watched you for weeks before asking for your hand, pretending to be a beggar. I knew hed agreehe wanted rid of you.”
Tears fell. The pain of her fathers rejection tangled with disbelief that someone had gone so far to find a heart like hers.
“So what now?” she whispered.
Edwin squeezed her hand. “Now you come with meto my world, to the manor.”
“But Im blind. How can I be a lady?”
“You already are,” he said gently.
The next morning, a grand carriage arrived. Guards in black and gold bowed to Edwin and Cordelia. Clinging to his arm, she stepped forward.
At the manor, a crowd gathered, stunned by the return of the missing heirand more so by the blind girl at his side. Edwins mother, the countess, approached, studying Cordelia. But Cordelia curtsied with grace. Edwin stood firm and declared,
“This is my wifethe woman who saw my soul when no one else could.”
The countess was silent. Then she embraced Cordelia. “Then she is my daughter.”
That night, listening to the manors unfamiliar sounds, Cordelia marveled. She was no longer “that thing” locked in darkness. She was a wife, a lady, loved not for sight but for her heart.
The next morning, she was summoned to court. Nobles murmured as she entered with Edwin. But then he did the unexpected.
“I will not take my title unless my wife is honored here as I am. If she is notI leave with her.”
Gasps rippled through the hall. Cordelias heart pounded. “Youd give up your title for me?”
He met her gaze. “I already did once. Id do it again.”
The countess rose. “Let it be known: from this day, Cordelia is not just your wife. She is Lady Cordelia of this house. To slight her is to slight the title itself.”
