by Raine Miller
Imogene could see how the Burleighs did their good by example, and that this was how such acts of kindness and charity were passed along.
During dinner it became apparent that the Burleighs and Tristan Mallerton were already well acquainted and good friends. Imogene was content to sit back and enjoy the conversations around her when Graham addressed his friend. “What’s this I hear about a portrait for Imogene that you are going to paint? She was quite thrilled by the idea.”
“Lady Rothvale has commissioned a portrait of her horses and the grounds of Gavandon for her redecorated chamber.” Tristan looked at her conspiratorially. “A tribute to her new home. Isn’t that right, Lady Rothvale?”
Imogene smiled back at Tristan. “Please call me Imogene.” She looked at everyone at the table. “Graham and I just had a conversation about the formal address of the titles and how off-putting I find it to be. When we are in private, among friends, I would wish to be called Imogene, please.”
Tristan looked mischievous. “As you wish, Imogene, but would you feel slighted if I insisted you continue to call me Mr. Mallerton?”
“Not at all, Mr. Mallerton,” she said smoothly and with great understanding. “It would crush me to think I had made you uncomfortable by my familiarity, Mr. Mallerton.” She gave him a generous, serene smile.
Tristan burst out laughing. “Nothing rattles you. I have tried and tried, and you remain as cool as a cucumber despite my most vigorous efforts. I am teasing you, of course. I would be honored for you to call me Tristan. Mr. Mallerton was my father, the draper from York, remember?” They laughed together in sharing their private joke. “Does nothing rattle you, Imogene?”
“Oh, I am quite certain something rattles me.” She looked to Graham. “And he’s sitting at the head of the table.”
Everybody laughed at her joke. Graham gave her a quick wink.
“Well, since we are all good friends now, I have a question for you, Graham,” Tristan challenged wryly.
Graham waved him off. “Yes, yes, I know. Why did you get two separate invitations to dinner; one from me and one from Imogene? I will tell you. I am befuddled and distracted, apparently, now that I have taken a wife.”
Imogene cut in. “And I saw to it that he was soundly punished. I doubt if such a problem will present itself ever again.” Absently moving her hand up to her neck, she fingered the heart pendant as they shared a look over the table.
James glanced at Jemima, and then at Tristan. They all smiled at each other, and then James spoke, “Graham, you assessed it true, my friend. Befuddled and distracted, indeed!”
The men separated to have their port, leaving Jemima and Imogene alone after dinner. “Imogene, I cannot say enough how changed Graham is. We have never seen him so happy. It is apparent that you are very well matched. It’s as if the events of last year had never happened.”
“What events do you refer to, Jemima?”
“Well, his mother’s death. It was very hard on him.” Jemima seemed to realize her mistake right away, steering the conversation into another direction. “Graham has shared that you are a rider. I would love to ride with you. I don’t get to go out as often as I’d like, but would love to arrange some time with you. It would be good for me to spend some time in the fresh air. Let’s plan a date, shall we?”
Imogene didn’t push for more explanation, but that didn’t stop her from wondering of the circumstances preceding Lady Rothvale’s death…
WHEN Imogene got into bed that night there was a book lying on her pillow. It was a thin volume entitled, The Princess and the Toad. Her heart stuttered at the sight. It was the story Graham had told to her the morning after their wedding night. He’d written the words out in a fine-looking hand and had coloured in some illustrations to accompany the story pages. Somehow, he had taken it to be bound in leather, the title embossed in gold lettering. It was an object of beautiful art to Imogene. She was utterly speechless as she poured through the velum pages and read the beautiful story.
“My darling Valentine, I hope you like it.”
“It is priceless to me. Priceless. Thank you for such a beautiful gift. I treasure it as I treasure you.”
He saw the tears welling and smiled, for he knew she was deeply touched by his gift.
“MAMMA?”
“Yes, love?”
“I’m hungry and I want my dolly.”
“I know, Clara. We’re just on a little trip and we’ll have to get you a new dolly. You must be brave, darling. Can you be brave for Mamma?”
“Yes, Mamma,” she sniffed.
“It’s just a little farther.” They had walked about a mile after receiving directions from a farmer driving an oxcart. The inn was just coming into view and Agnes pointed it out to Clara. “When we get to the inn, you may have your supper, and when we get to our room, we can lie down and I’ll tell you your favourite story.”
“The one about Dick Whittington and his cat?”
“The very one and the same, Clara.” Agnes sighed.
The inn looked finer than her meagre budget could withstand, a sign identifying it as ‘The Lion’s Crown.’ There was a small garden in the front and some benches. Clara found a tiny frog and immediately became distracted, following it in the grass. Agnes sank down onto a bench wearily and summed up their situation. Not very good. A single woman with a child of five years, very little money, and abandoned on the road. She had no idea where the village of Stapenhill even was. From the looks of the topography, she thought she must be many miles south from Gladfield.
It felt like thousands of miles away.
HE saw her walk into the courtyard. She was lovely. Very well dressed and the child too, in beautifully stitched clothes. It struck him odd that they had walked here. From where?
She looked bereft—so lost—on the verge of tears, even. Their situation was not right. It smelled of misdeed, most definitely. He let her be at first, watching from the window. He waited another hour before he couldn’t stand it any longer.
His shadow fell over her as she sat on the bench in front of his inn. “Madam,” he spoke gently, bowing. “Mark Jacobson, proprietor of The Lion’s Crown. May I offer my assistance to you? I’m sorry but you seem to be in distress. It will be dark soon.” He looked over at the sun, dipping low on the horizon. “Do you want a room?”
His offer seemed to unravel her. A sob escaped.
“I apologize, sir, Mr. Jacobson. I…I lost track of the time and have been distracted sitting out here. Yes. I’ll take a room, the smallest you have. Thank you.”
Her little girl bounded up then. “I found a tiny frog,” she announced, holding out her hand to show him.
He bent down to view her impromptu pet. “He looks like a fine frog to me. I wonder though, since he is so tiny, that if he were changed into a handsome prince, would he be a tiny prince or that of a normal sized man?” He viewed the child earnestly, awaiting her opinion.
She seemed to ponder his question with all of the seriousness that one of her age could possibly give. “Well, a prince that tiny wouldn’t be much good, I don’t think.”
He smiled widely at her firm logic. “A good point, I daresay.” He bowed to her. “Whom do I have the pleasure of greeting?”
“I am Clara, and this is Mamma.”
“Well, Miss Clara, welcome to The Lion’s Crown. I am your host, Mr. Jacobson. Shall we see about showing you to your room?”
Clara nodded at him. Clara’s mother rose up from the bench to follow. She looked about on the verge of collapse. He wanted to help her. Hell, he needed to help her.
After they were settled and supper sent to them in their room, he returned to the register to study her entry.
‘Agnes Schellman’ was written in a clear, fine hand.
SIXTEEN
Affliction is enamoured of the parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
William Shakespeare ~ Romeo and Juliet, 1595
AMBLING up the path toward the house, Imog
ene hoped Graham might be finished with his work. Her ride with Terra had been lovely, and after exploring some new places on the Gavandon estate, she had plenty of questions for him. Learning everything about her new home was her first priority as the new mistress, and she had every intention of doing her duty as Lady Rothvale.
Up ahead, she could see her husband at the front of the house, waiting for her. Several of the grooms as well as Mr. Hendrix appeared to be hovering as well. Imogene could tell that something was off, especially when all of the servants cleared off, leaving Graham standing there staring as Terra brought her closer to the house with each step.
The sight of her husband with his boots planted in the gravel, arms crossed over his chest, and looking furious, was not what Imogene was expecting to find upon her return.
Graham’s face was hard, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed, but those were nothing compared to the blazing anger rolling off of him in waves. Imogene had never seen him like this before. She didn’t even know he had such an extent of the expression in him, and she was afraid.
As she pulled Terra to a stop, he wasted no time in snatching her down from the saddle. His method was rough…fraught, as he grabbed her and clutched her hard against his chest. His breathing ragged in and out as she felt his chest move from the effort.
His manhandling shocked her, and she pulled back questioningly. “What? What on earth is the matter?”
He stood there glaring at her, hard and unbending. “Excuse me, madam, if I cannot speak. I am very, very angry with you, and barely able to spit the words out right now.”
Imogene felt her spine grow stiff. “Why are you angry with me? And why do you address me in such a way?” She was indignant.
“Oh, please!” he barked. “You pretend not to know? Fine, then. I’ll play at your game but I know you are very aware of what you have done.” Stabbing a finger in her direction, he shouted. “You rode out solitary! Nobody knew of where you’d gone! We did not even know of which direction to begin a search for you!” His voice went low and acrimonious. “You broke your promise to me, never to ride alone. You promised me, Imogene, and you—and you did it anyway.” His eyes looked possessed by a demon, he was so angry. And his behaviour was so bewildering to her she hardly knew how to calm him.
“Graham,” she spoke gently, “the promise I made to you at Shelburne was, I believed, for my riding there, while you were away from me. We are together now and this is my home.” She stretched her arm out over the land. Am I not free to ride here on the estate? You have shown me the lay of the land and I know the way now. Surely you can’t mean to keep me from riding—”
“Oh, I do mean it, madam, and my word is law here. I forbid you to ride solitary. I forbid it. This behaviour will not be repeated. Believe my words as I assure you I do mean them, every word.”
Imogene recoiled in shock, utterly crushed by his poisonous words. “You forbid me?” Incredulous at his demeanour and tone with her, she gaped at him in wide-eyed shock. Who are you? I don’t recognize you at all.
Graham leaned in then, close and tight, his mouth next to her ear, his words slicing into her painfully. “I do. And just so we are completely clear on this matter, understand me now. If you should wish to leave the immediate grounds in any manner other than your own two feet upon the earth below them, it had better be in a conveyance or in the company of another rider.”
Imogene straightened her back, pulled herself together, and forced calm words from her mouth. They sounded calm but were really a mask for the outrage that roiled inside her. In deference to him, she lowered her head. “My lord, as you wish.” Then she flashed him a cold stare, turned from him, and walked toward the house with her head held high. At your command, my lord!
Imogene had purpose to her step and knew what she was going to do. She went straight to her rooms and packed a valise, throwing her things together quickly. She called for a carriage before changing out of her riding clothes and dashing off a quick note for Graham.
It was a very short and terse note.
And she made a particular point to address it to Lord Rothvale.
She could feel her anger flow out through the pen as she abused it upon the paper, explaining she was going to Philippa at Harwell House and would stay overnight at the least. Mentioning nothing of their quarrel, she preferred her husband to glean his own meaning from her actions. He knew exactly where she would be. She was going there in a carriage, as per his command, and he could not fault her. It was decided and she was going.
Just as she came out of his study from leaving the note, she heard him walk into the foyer. He was looking for her, and had obviously passed right by her awaiting carriage out the front. So be it, she thought as she boldly came down the stairs with her bag.
He stood at the bottom and ogled her. “Where are you going? Hendrix said you called for a carriage.” His voice was no longer as it had been before.
“I am going to my sister’s,” she said flatly. “I left you a note in your study, so you would know.” She looked down at the marble floor, unable to meet his gaze.
“When will you return?” he asked softly, willing her to look up at him.
She kept her eyes down. “I cannot say. My sister will want me surely, and I must avail myself to her at this time of her need.” She hoped her lame attempt at justification didn’t sound as shoddy to him as it did to her. This is dreadful, utterly horrifying. Please don’t let me cry. I am not going to cry.
“You mean you will be gone overnight? You will not be here?” He seemed stunned. All of the earlier spirit had left him.
“That is my intention, yes.” She looked up at him then, and coldly asked, “Do you forbid me? I wish for your clarity on this matter, so we both know I am understanding you completely, my lord.”
He winced as she used his earlier words against him. “Of course not. You are free to see your sister at any time that you wish,” he said stoically. “Imogene, you do not have to leave. You are upset from our disagreement.”
“Yes I do. And yes I am. You know where I will…be,” her voice broke. The tears were coming hard and fast. She moved around him, rushing outside to the waiting carriage. As soon as she was in, she hit the roof hard with her hand, telling the driver to move out. Imogene held her composure for as long as it took to pull away from the drive. She did not look back to see his reaction to her leaving, so she did not see Graham break. She didn’t see the panic in his eyes or how his shoulders dropped or how he stumbled upon the step and nearly fell. She was too occupied holding herself in the seat until she was far enough away from view and could safely fling herself down and weep her heart out.
GRAHAM watched her go. He almost reached for her and stopped her. Almost. He detested how he had spoken to her. It was not in his nature to use such harsh words. Imogene, I was so terrified. Everything came back to me all in an instant. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what— He couldn’t even finish the thought. Scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration, he had no idea what to do next. Let her be. He would give her some space for now and then later he would make amends. Explain his madness. Knowing he had hurt her terribly, and even as painful as the knowledge was, it was far better for her to be safe than to risk any danger to herself. He was right about that. He was right, wasn’t he?
As her carriage disappeared from sight, he felt the anger draw out of his body as if he’d been stuck with a dagger. She left. I was harsh, but only out of anxiety and concern. My anger caused her to flee me. She wanted to get away. From me. She has left.
Graham barricaded himself in his study with a double brandy. The fact that he had poured such a drink was a testament to his state of mind. He avoided such excesses as a rule; hard drinking, tobacco, and gambling held little allure for him as they were painful reminders of his brother’s weakness, and what it had wrought. There was one compulsion though, a vice of sorts. An addiction he could not, and would not curb. It was for Imogene of course, and he felt the withdrawal
symptoms acutely.
He found her note and read it before casting it away like a piece of rotted meat. Imogene had up and left him. She didn’t want to be with him. He poured over the events again and again, until he had stewed everything into a painful, boiling brew fit only for his wallowing in it.
The fault is all yours. You should have told her. You know she does not know. She is too considerate, and would have never gone alone if she knew. You are an ignorant fool.
True.
Graham gave his conscience plenty of fodder to throw around; enough to feed his inner beast for many hours.
IMOGENE cried the whole way to Harwell House. She regretted leaving him as soon she had cooled off. Now she was so miserable, and she didn’t know what to say to Philippa and John when they asked her why she’d come. Graham got very angry with me for riding out by myself. He felt that I had broken a promise I’d made to him, and forbade me to ride solitary ever again. My pride was hurt and I left the house. Well, it was the truth even if it sounded petty and asinine now. Something else was bothering her as well. His reaction was so out of character, she knew instinctively there was some sort of explanation. Jemima Burleigh had alluded to something. If only Colin were here, she could ask him.
Trembling badly, she arrived at the door, actually considering returning to her carriage and ordering it back home.
A maid admitted her, and showed her into the parlor. John got to her first. The look of concern on his face was so sincere that Imogene fell apart at the sight of him. He pulled her into his arms as she cried and tried to explain why she’d come.
“Philippa will be down in a moment. She was resting before dinner,” he murmured.
John’s words brought on a fresh bout of tears when she came under the realization she was intruding upon them unannounced, with Philippa in her condition. Imogene crumbled, very ashamed of her actions, her manners, and for surely upsetting her pregnant sister.