The Muse

by Raine Miller

  Graham wished for a knife to cut out his tongue.

  Mina and Sophie exchanged looks, their sisterly glance a sure sign they were noticing what a foolish arse he was making of himself.

  “You are correct. Lord Wyneham was popular in the House of Lords, and served quite distinctively until his untimely death.” Mina hesitated before offering more. “Miss Imogene has become close friends with our sister, Jocelyn, and has not shared but only a little even with her. And she’s just barely out of official mourning.”

  Graham nodded respectfully, waiting for Mina to carry on. It bothered him that he was so eager to know everything about this Imogene Byron-Cole. What in the hell was wrong with him? He must be losing his mind. He’d been away from England for far too long.

  Mina smiled gently and continued with her story. “As I understand it, Imogene has experienced her multiple losses in the space of only a year. The first, being separated from her beloved sister, and only sibling, due to the lady’s marriage to a gentleman and her departure to, I believe, Gloucestershire. Next, her mother, Lady Wyneham, succumbed to a wasting illness after years of affliction just a few months after the wedding. And then there was the unfortunate death of Lord Wyneham just seven months past. He was killed in a shooting accident of uncertain circumstance, some putting it about it was done purposefully, owning to the grief of losing his wife. About six months ago, after the furor died down and arrangements settled, Lady Wilton returned from Essex with Imogene. Needless to say, she is struggling to adapt to the loss of everyone she loved and the lack of security in her life this past year.”

  Graham could not resist the question, thinking he hated the idea of her being sent off to a family who might not want her. “And you say she is welcomed by her relations?”

  Mina nodded, but not before a knowing smile escaped first. “I believe her to be much loved though I imagine some of their devotion has got to be partial gratitude, as her great loss has enriched their family enormously. Since Lord Wyneham died without a male heir, his title, estate and peerage have passed to his nephew, her cousin, Timothy Wilton, who will take it all when he reaches his majority next year. Though for now, he is still at university, Cambridge.”

  “And what is her age?” Graham wanted to know more. “Has she come out?” He knew he was showing himself to be a pathetic fool but could not find it in him to be very concerned.

  “I do not think she has yet attained her twentieth year from what Jocelyn has said. She did have a London season last winter, but limited due to her mother’s illness.”

  “And she rides often?” he asked recklessly.

  His cousin, Julian Everley, who up to this point had remained quiet during the conversation, finally spoke up. “Christ in heaven, Graham, this is a certain surprise. Yes, she rides often.” Jules bore a confident smirk as he doled out a little more information. “We have encountered her several times whilst riding out. She appears very confident and experienced, but clearly prefers her solitude to the company of other riders.”

  Hargreave chimed in next. “Yes, she’s a practiced rider as Jules says. Always very polite and modest, everything a young lady should be. Her uncle, Sir Oliver Wilton, approached me soon after her arrival to Shelburne. I was given to understand that riding is her one true comfort, and he indulges her wishes to be allowed the freedom to ride out solitary. Her horse was brought here from her home in Essex. Upon our first meeting, I was happy to grant her access to Kenilbrooke, as Sir Oliver felt should she ride within the boundaries of the estate where her safety could be better secured. My manager, Jacks, arranged everything and absolutely dotes on her like a daughter. He sees to it that she can enjoy her riding in peace under the protection Kenilbrooke offers her.”

  Graham responded decidedly. “I see. Well then, Hargreave, I shall require an introduction to Miss Byron-Cole at the ball this evening.”

  Hargreave pursed his lips in amusement, ready to start in on the mockery. “Really. I was under the impression you were only showing the merest passing interest.”

  Graham narrowed his eyes and thought all manner of retorts he would never speak in the presence of ladies. How about a passing interest in my Hessians up your arse? Hargreave knew it, too, and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

  “Consider it done, my friend. But please remember she is a young lady of good standing, and not a person to be trifled with. She has many protectors.” Hargreave spoke the last cautiously.

  Feeling his hackles rise, he fixed his eyes upon Hargreave with the authority and assertion that came easily to man of his station, his words firm and precise. “You know me. I am a gentleman, am I not? I do not trifle with young ladies…ever.” He must have looked a menace because Hargreave leaned back, putting a wide space between them.

  “Never in doubt, Graham, I know that,” Hargreave assured him.

  Attempting to shake off the defensiveness, he made an effort to soften his tone. “I think I will take my leave for now, locate my brother, and get settled. Until later, then? Mrs. Hargreave, Miss Mina, Jules, Henry.” He bowed to them before quitting the room, knowing gossip would fly the minute he was gone. His cousin and friends would speculate on him. More ribbing and teasing would follow that. He could be sure to expect a thorough lampooning about his interest in the lovely Miss Imogene Byron-Cole before, during, and after the ball tonight. And there was nothing to be done about it now.

  Imogene...an Irish name. Can she be real? I’ve been run through with a broadsword, it feels like. If I am dreaming...do I want to awaken?

  His response to the sight of her had been visceral. He tried to get his head wrapped around the idea, his body reacting independently with no regard for the rational at all. As Graham walked to the stables, he had an epiphany realizing events had been put into motion through fate that reached far beyond his control. It was not what he had expected to find here, but he would no more be able to turn away from Imogene Byron-Cole than he could stop time. His head began to ache, his heart, however, was coming alive.

  Once at the stables the familiar smells and sounds soothed him a little. Graham selected a spirited looking grey and ordered it saddled. While he waited, he spotted her horse alone in a stall. Terra is her name, Mr. Hargreave. He spoke to the horse by name, and stroked her neck before bending down to examine her right foreleg carefully. She didn’t appear to be favouring it now, which was a good sign. Terra was a fine piece of horseflesh and it would be a shame for such an animal to be damaged…or for her rider to be hurt because of it.

  The groom spoke, “That one is not of the estate sir, and she came up lame today.”

  “Yes, I saw the lady lead her in. Is she recovered?”

  “Yes, sir. She had somethin’ like a rock hurtin’ her. Mr. Jacks had the horseman see her. She’ll be good as new for her lady.”

  “Do you know of the lamb that the lady brought in this morning? What of it?”

  “Here, sir. I’m feedin’ it cow’s milk with a bottle ’til the shepherd can be found. Takin’ to it just fine.”

  Graham peered into the corner of the stall, and there it was covered with an old horse blanket. The lamb lifted its head to look at him, blinking big round soulful eyes. He thought about the lamb being held in her arms during the long walk back, pressed against her body, cradled in the warmth of her breasts. He was bloody jealous of that lamb.

  The groom’s voice broke through his ponderings. “Yer horse is ready for ya, sir.”

  Graham rode the grey hard across the fields, trying to clear his mind and think of peaceful things. But peace eluded him. The vision of her with her dark golden hair, and those poignant brown eyes was stuck firmly in his head—going nowhere.

  I have exposed my attraction to her now. What if she doesn’t like me? They’ll all be watching me with her tonight. Christ Almighty.

  TWO

  A dance is a measured pace, as a verse is a measured speech.

  Francis Bacon ~The Advancement of Learning, 1605

  RACING away
from Kenilbrooke on Triton’s steady back, feeling both embarrassed and horrified, she wished she could ride right off the face of the earth. Her intrusion upon Mr. Hargreave, and as he was receiving guests, too, was not an experience she cared to repeat. Imogene was on friendly terms with Mr. Jacks, and had expected to deal with him today, but how wrong she had been.

  She thought about what had just occurred. Mr. Hargreave standing to talk to her with a visitor looking on had been agonizing. They must have thought her addled in the head, wandering across fields with helpless animals. She’d prayed for escape. Forced to remember her manners, she’d tried to show a sincere interest in the ball tonight, but quite frankly, didn’t know if she was up for it. This ball was the first formal occasion since putting the black aside. Was she even ready for this? And who was the tall man standing upon the steps? His intense staring had made her feel she was wearing no more than her shift. That couldn’t be proper, now could it? Imogene shook her head to try to clear it a little. Whoever he was, he must be here for the wedding of Mina and Mr. Everley. Maybe even someone with family connections. As much as she’d like to avoid the idea of an attraction, the stranger had been darkly handsome and mysterious.

  After handing Triton over to a groom at the stables, she walked the path to her home. But it wasn’t really her home, was it? She was a visitor here. Even though she knew they loved her, her life was not the same, and never would be again. The contrast between Wilton Court and her own home growing up was starkly dissimilar. Her four cousins were a definite distraction from the harsh reality of grief though, and that was something at least.

  She remembered back to her sister’s wedding. Just a year ago, they had celebrated Philippa’s joy with not a hint of what was to come. Imogene supposed time would ease her melancholy, but for now it still wrapped around her like a cloak.

  The usual disorder greeted her. “Alexander! Take that muddy dog outside at once. And, Bettina, look at you! You have as much mud on you as the dog.” Aunt Wilton scolded them both.

  “Sorry, Mamma.” The twins deferred to their mother before hurrying away to do her bidding.

  Imogene could not hold back her grin. “Bettina reminds me of…me at that age.”

  “Imogene. We were beginning to worry, dear. You are past your time,” she admonished.

  “Yes, Aunt, I am sorry. Terra came up lame and I found an orphaned lamb and brought it to Kenilbrooke. They’ve loaned me a horse to get back.”

  “Always an easy mark for the creatures.” She put her hand up to Imogene’s face. “But you are a sweet girl with a gentle heart who cannot help it, can you?”

  “No, Aunt. I cannot help it.” She shrugged helplessly.

  “Be an angel and go up and help Cariss prepare for the ball tonight. I heard from Mrs. Charleston today that Mr. Everley’s cousins have arrived at Kenilbrooke for the wedding. I daresay there will be new introductions this evening, my dear, so wear your finest and, Imogene, do try to enjoy yourself tonight.” Aunt Wilton took Imogene’s chin gently in her hand. “You are young and beautiful and worthy. You deserve to be happy, my darling. Your mamma and papa would have wanted it.” At the mention of her parents, Imogene’s countenance fell, and her aunt saw, but carried on. “Now, dear heart, please do not let the mention of them sadden you. They are together in heaven and at peace. I know their fondest wish is for their beloved child to find happiness and to be settled into a life of her own as your sister is. This is a time for amusement and diversion, for you to be carefree and to meet new people. You will catch the eye of some gentleman soon. I know it. How could you not? So, a happy face then? You will try?”

  “Yes, Aunt, I will try.” Imogene gave her aunt a gentle embrace.

  Aunt Wilton kissed her forehead. “That’s my brave girl. Off you go now to make yourself beautiful.”

  Hours later, Imogene had taken her aunt’s advice to heart and was determined to make an effort to find some enjoyment in the evening. The gown she chose was blush, chiffon silk, short-sleeved and high-waisted, with an intricate, golden brocade-embellished belt. She left off the requisite long white gloves. Her adornment was her mother’s pearl and diamond choker. The choker was very old and contained four horizontal ropes of pearls, with the middle being secured with a diamond and pearl encrusted oval. Wearing it made her feel close in spirit to her mother. Imogene arranged her dark blonde hair so most was gathered up, but a few long curls were allowed to hang down on one side.

  Her cousin, Cariss, wore a similar concoction, but in pale blue. Cariss was Imogene’s closest friend, save her own sister, but younger by two years. In the carriage en-route to Kenilbrooke she held Imogene’s hand, chatting about the different dances, what the ladies might wear, wondering who their dance partners might be. Pulling up the drive, the glow cast from the blazing torches lit up the courtyard steps. Imogene was instantly taken back to her earlier encounter just today, right here upon this spot. She felt a peculiar sensation sweep over her—odd, with a strangeness of feeling—unaware it was an omen that things were about to change.

  SIR Oliver and Lady Wilton were announced first, then Timothy, Cariss, and finally Imogene. “Miss Byron-Cole,” the footman’s voice boomed through the noisy room. She lifted her head, feeling many eyes fixed on her. Summoning every speck of courage she could muster, she held her chin high and stepped forward.

  The mistress of the house, Sophie Hargreave, immediately approached, holding out both hands in welcome. “Dear Imogene, how utterly lovely you look tonight. May I say that Henry told us of your eventful morning and we were all struck by your steady nerve in dealing with the situation you found yourself to be in. My dear, how did you do it?”

  “Thank you, Sophie, and may I say that the general splendour of the room is very pleasing tonight. You are kind in your praise of me, but I was only doing what I should in the circumstance.”

  “Miss Byron-Cole, I think you underestimate your good sense and remarkably strong spirit.” This was Mr. Hargreave’s voice coming from her far left.

  Imogene turned to answer him directly and looked straight into the arresting green eyes of the man who had stood upon the steps of Kenilbrooke just this forenoon, watching her. It is him. Imogene did not reply to Mr. Hargreave immediately. She couldn’t with those green eyes staring at her. “I thank you—th-thank you for the compliment, Mr. Hargreave.” Imogene finally found her voice.

  Mr. Hargreave did the introductions. “Miss Byron-Cole, allow me to introduce my friend, Graham Everley, Lord Rothvale, Gavandon, and Warwickshire.”

  She curtsied. “Lord Rothvale.” Graham Everley. He must be related to Mr. Everley. A cousin perhaps? And he is a lord. His eyes are so…green.

  Lord Rothvale bowed. “Miss Byron-Cole, it is an honor.” He kept staring. She was just as guilty, though. And she could not seem to stop herself from staring, either. He smiled just the faintest bit, his solemn expression softening. “Your horse is recovered, Miss Byron-Cole.”

  “THAT is very excellent news,” she answered with a smile, “but how do you know about my horse, Lord Rothvale?”

  There is definitely a God and I am somehow in his favour. You’re smiling at me. He leaned forward to whisper, “I saw you lead her in this morning whilst carrying that lamb.”

  She blushed beautifully and lowered her eyes. “My lord, you misunderstand. I observed you this morning as well, standing on the steps. What I meant was how did you know she is recovered?” She then lifted her eyes directly, looking for an answer.

  Miss Byron-Cole missed nothing, and she was no shrinking violet, which was even better. And that beautiful blush was delectable to the point he felt his mouth start to water, but when she looked up at him he felt his cock wake up. He was really going to have to concentrate tonight in her presence so as not to embarrass himself. “When I rode out later, I saw your horse in the stables. Terra, I believe you said? Well, your Terra is no longer lame, and the lamb you rescued is thriving apparently. You see? A happy ending all around, and all due to your
efforts.” He felt himself smile right back.

  “I am very glad to hear of it, sir. And thank you for checking upon my Terra.”

  The words came from his mouth before he could even sort them out. “Miss Byron-Cole, may I claim the first set of the dancing?”

  “You may.” He didn’t miss the slight flare of her eyes when she agreed.

  “And the dinner set as well?” he proposed. “I daresay your conversation over dinner would be welcome.” I’ll have to strive to converse coherently—that’ll be difficult. I’d rather just look at you. And imagine you in my bed.

  “Yes,” she whispered, sounding a little less sure. He didn’t care about that part though. She’d agreed and that was all that mattered. Her natural acquiescence pleased him.

  The spell was broken when Jules and Mina joined the group. Mina held out her hands to Miss Byron-Cole in welcome. “You look lovely, Imogene. I hope you are enjoying the evening after your eventful ride this morning.”

  “Thank you, Mina. You look beautiful as always. Indeed, I am finding the evening very pleasant.” She smiled brilliantly at the engaged couple, and Graham was content to simply observe as she chatted with her friends. “Has Jocelyn come tonight? I do not see her.”

  “No, she claimed to feel unwell, but I think she really wanted to avoid the ball. We are quite at a loss of how to encourage our sister to put herself into society,” Mina said.

  “Crowds are difficult for Jocelyn. But a kinder friend could not be found. I am grateful for her and for her friendship.” She fixed her countenance upon Mina and Jules. “If I may say, you and Mr. Everley make a striking couple tonight—your happiness together is evident.”