by Ivy Brooke
Without hearing any replies, she found the quickest way out of the house, yearning for the clear air and the warm sunshine to calm the feeling that she would fly completely apart. As such, she never even went in the direction of Jane's home, but rather parked herself in the gazebo for an hour. She then spent the whole remainder of the day in her father's room, reading aloud when he was awake, and reading silently when he was asleep, immersing herself instead into problems that did not exist in her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jane had learned of her friend's return home, and as Mr. Cartwright was recovering rather well from his influenza, she thought to visit the Cartwrights and to tell Imogene everything. Though Imogene typically looked to her dear friend whenever she felt the need to escape, it was the first time that Jane was just the person she felt the need to escape from. Nonetheless, she made herself readily available in the parlor. Too nervous to even pretend to work on needlepoint or dressing a hat, she stood staring out the window until her friend's arrival.
"Ms. Butler, ma'am," the servant announced, then left the two women to talk.
Imogene felt immediately guilty of her jealousy, as she never in her life recalled her friend looking so bright and happy. She smiled more genuinely than she had thought herself capable, and embraced her friend with a kiss.
"Congratulations, Jane," she said. "I am really so happy for you."
"It is still coming to me in waves, I confess," Jane said. "I had not any inclination that he cared for me so very much. Admittedly, I had long felt that way for him, but somehow felt ridiculous about mentioning it to you."
"It was never your way to chatter so about any man," Imogene said as she motioned for her friend to sit with her. "How did it happen?"
"We were reading The Misanthrope. He wanted my help in casting it. We took turns reading parts, and for a moment while I was reading, I noticed he was staring at me in a very particular way. And...then..."
"Jane, that is wonderful."
"And now you are home, and your father is doing so well, I want very much for your family to be at the wedding, and in particular, for you to be my maid of honor."
"Of course I will; you are my dearest friend."
"Good." Jane sighed with happy relief. "The Misanthrope will close the reception, and then Philip and I are to spend some time Italy."
"Italy? That is certainly a fine choice." Imogene returned the happy grin; seeing her friend so happy, it was difficult for her to not feel so. And as she pictured Jane and Philip together, she imagined them as a very amiable couple. "When will the wedding be, then?"
"Next week. I really cannot believe how anxious it has made me. I have really made no efforts to secure a husband, and...now here I am."
Imogene felt torn for a moment. She had wanted to purge herself of her anxieties sprouted from Mr. Henry Cole's proposal, but she could hardly do so to the fiancee of his brother.
"Something wrong?" Jane was oftentimes more keenly observant of her friend's subtleties than Imogene cared for.
"I had something to say, but speaking about your wedding has dispelled it."
"Oh, tell me. What else are friends for, if not for being the only ones to willingly bear the brunt of each other's grief?"
They both chuckled at the statement.
"That is a very euphemistic way of putting it," Imogene said. "I suppose being in love puts you in such a frame of mind."
"Come now, what is it?" She then took Imogene's hand and leaned in, mustering a sinisterly sincere tone. "Let me bear the yolk with you, my sister."
Imogene grinned at the mock dramatics, astonished by how altered her friend was by love. "My sister, your betrothed's brother proposed to me."
Jane's dramatic sincerity transformed into genuine sincerity. "Proposed to you?"
"In perhaps the most detached words and frantic manner I have ever known it to be done, yes, he did. Naturally, I refused him."
"Henry Cole? I honestly did not think him capable of..."
"My mother had threatened before to speak to him of the idea, but I never imagined he would seriously consider it—and follow through with it."
"You think he may actually care for you?"
"He could not possibly. He confessed so himself, really, when I reproached him on it. He said that it should only matter that he will secure my comfort, and that I will have the security and comfort."
Jane nodded pensively. "Perhaps that is just his way. We know he is not a romantic sort of man."
"But why marry at all? For a man of his position and wealth, why marry someone he does not care for?"
"Your mother must be more persuasive than we credit her." Jane sighed slightly. "I am sorry to announce, then, that as my maid of honor, and as he is the best man, you will be forced to dance together at the reception. I do promise, however, to make a note to the band that the song be as brief as possible."
"My gratitude for that." With a sudden smile, Imogene held her friend's hand. "Lord bless you for taking you out of such confusion!"
Jane laughed. "I think the Lord knows you can bear it better than others. Most other women would have said ‘yes' to a proposal by now."
Imogene was struck, suddenly wondering if she had made a mistake. "You are right..."
"Oh, no, dearest friend, I meant that as a compliment towards you! Women are so set on marriage, that they agree the first chance they get, for fear of that security never presenting itself again. But you are brave, Imogene! You bear yourself up, and are determined not to settle, but to only agree to love. I confess, had someone asked me before Phillip, I might have settled. I was rather afraid, really, believing that I would be the sort of woman to settle. But I have never feared for you, dear friend. You are braver and more clever than all the rest of us put together."
Imogene was not feeling so that moment, and it hung on her mind into the night as she restlessly laid in bed, thinking of it. She did fear marrying and bearing children with a man she did not wholly love, but did she fear it as much as she feared losing the security of marriage? She was certain Anthony and her mother would not allow her to live on with them after Anthony was married. Emmeline would likely take her in, but it would feel like an awkward intrusion. Imogene had always dreamed of the day that she would have her own home with a fine assortment of instruments, a decadent garden to stroll through on sunny days, and a large library. She did not believe herself to have any talents that could grant her the independence of living on her own without a husband.
Perhaps she could be a concert violinist. It was rather a ridiculous notion, but she could not help seeing it as a tantalizing escape. She was talented with the violin, but not yet near talented enough to play professionally. Still, pulling her violin case up alongside her bed was enough comfort to allow her to sleep that night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The following morning, and all mornings thereafter, the Cartwright household woke to the strains of the violin, as Imogene rose immediately each morning to practice. She would play until lunch, then take a leisurely break to rest her arms and fingers: a walk outside, followed by some reading. Then, after supper and before bed, would practice again. Her father had no complaints, for though not all the notes were sweet, he made the remark that the constant music streaming through the usually quiet house made the building seem very much less like a mausoleum. Anthony did not seem to care, either, and would at times take advantage of the music, using it to practice his dancing so as to better impress the young ladies. Mrs. Cartwright, however, grimaced with every sour note, and at their luncheon silence, would always make a relieved remark on how delightful it was to hear oneself think. However, not three days before Jane and Phillip's wedding, Mrs. Cartwright had far more to say.
"I had a letter from the elder Mr. Cole today, Imogene," she said.
Imogene set down her fork, knowing that luncheon was about to be ruined. "Yes, mother?"
"I had written him, suggesting that if he were to redress his proposal, he wo
uld meet a more favorable reply. Take heed of it, as you have already had obscenely more chances than any woman of your like should. Mr. Cole is..."
"I am very aware of who he is, mother."
"Evidently not. He is far above any hopes I have had for you, and you..."
"My hopes for myself exceed anything you could devise, mother."
"Do not interrupt me!"
Imogene clenched her fist in her lap, a horrifying realization hitting her mind. "You are right. I apologize. That was rude of me to so disrespect you." With that, she rose from her chair and left the room.
That is what I would become, she thought. If I marry one I do not love, I will become Mrs. Cartwright, a woman who is so discontented that she disregards her husband—no matter how kind a man he may be—and who wants nothing more but to be rid of her children, whom she sees as nothing more than a barrier between herself and her own contentedness.
Imogene took a brisk walk to calm herself, then skipped her reading session to put in some extra hours practicing her violin. Her mother did not speak to her again all evening.
The wedding was approached with trepidation. Before, Imogene had always been somewhat intrigued by Mr. Henry Cole. He was talented with the pianoforte, something she always admired in a person, and the mysteriousness that surrounded him as regards to Mr. Ashcroft always caught her interest. However, the manner of his proposal—indeed, the act of proposing at all—dispelled any such intrigue, and she rather wished to avoid him at all costs.
As she locked her arm in his to travel down the aisle, preceding the bride, she tried to hide her fear and dislike. Were she less "brave and clever" as Jane thought, Imogene could have been arm-in-arm with that man to be married herself, and no doubt her mother would think the same thing as she watched them travel down the aisle. She did not even open her mind to imagine what Mr. Cole might be thinking at the time. Instead, she kept her mind on the wedding, and allowed herself to delight in how bright and happy Jane and Phillip looked throughout.
And Imogene had to confess that as they danced their first dance as husband and wife, they looked very well together—a well fitted match. The dance for the rest of the wedding party was, to say the least, awkward. Mr. Cole kept staring at her, as though deep in thought, so Imogene took every opportunity to direct her gaze elsewhere. And though he moved well, he was stiff and rigid, as though hiding a plank of wood in the back of his coat. Perhaps that was the way a gentleman's posture was supposed to be at all times, but she did not feel it looked right. It seemed to her to clear up the question of why he never normally danced at public functions.
To her great relief, however, she saw nothing of him the whole rest of the reception. She was instead free to amuse herself with conversing with Emmeline and Nell, and even Jane when she had a break from hostess duties. Part of their conversation was bent on Imogene's trip to Penzance for the Golowan Festival.
"My brother had read in the paper," Nell said, "that a fire had broken out there during the festival. Did you see it?"
Imogene took a moment to formulate a reply. "The house we stayed at was much too far from town to see anything."
"It was a very exciting story. Someone was caught in the burning building, so someone went in to save her. And would you think—it was a woman!"
"A woman who was trapped?" Emmeline asked.
"Well, yes, but it was also a woman who rescued her."
"A woman went into a burning building to rescue someone?"
"Yes!"
"That is exciting! But why did no man think to go? Was there not a fire brigade there?"
"The paper did not say why she decided to go in."
"I could not ever imagine going into a burning building; I cannot believe she did. Is that not surprising, Imogene?"
"Yes..." Imogene replied. "Astonishing."
"Perhaps she was a parson's daughter," Nell speculated. "I have heard parsons' daughters feel burdened with behaving to a religious man's expectations, so they act out in strange ways."
Imogene was relieved when the conversation was interrupted by the announcement that the performance of The Misanthrope would soon begin. Phillip and Jane put on an excellent performance together, to which Imogene found herself rather surprised. Jane's performance in Midsummer Night's Dream had been somewhat guarded and self-conscious. But being so paired with Phillip, and on their wedding day, she threw herself into the role with very little timidity or fear.
Imogene quite often found herself laughing a little louder than she ought, and so from time to time, had to bury her face in her handkerchief to restrain herself. Seeing her friend so altered was such a spectacle she never thought to see. It delighted her, yet at the same time, concerned her. Certainly her friend changed for the better; but if Imogene herself were ever to marry, she would loathe to think that she would so greatly change, afraid that it would be for the worse. Then that in itself astonished her: that she could be so pessimistic—as was never her habit before that year—and on such a happy day as her friend's wedding. She was determined, then, to cease reflecting on her own emotions, and to reflect instead on her friend's great joy.
It worked well enough through the remainder of the reception. But after waving farewell to her newlywed friend and arriving back at home, the servant met her at the door to say, "Mr. Campbell is here to see you, ma'am."
All her family looked to her at once. Her mother clarified: "Mr. Rupert Campbell?"
"Yes, ma'am. He is in the parlor, ma'am."
Imogene had to take a moment to regain her senses enough to say, "Thank you. I will be there shortly."
She barely heard her mother's order to pay the gentleman every courtesy as she hung her cloak and made her way to the parlor. As she entered, Mr. Campbell rose from his chair and bowed in greeting—the simple action was enough for her to see that he was different. The awkwardness had returned to his bow; it no longer flourished as it did before. He seemed to return to his original state, as he was before his uncle's inheritance. Imogene hardly knew what to make of it, and being thus unable to force words from her mouth yet, she made a simple gesture which invited him to sit. Despite any of her previous judgments of such situations, she chose to sit in the chair nearest him.
Finally, she managed to speak: "What brings you here, Mr. Campbell?"
"I do want to put you at ease right away," he said, almost hurriedly. "I assure you, I have not come in order to...attempt to...sway you...in regards to our engagement. I assure you that it is broken, and shall remain so."
"Please put yourself at ease," Imogene said. She was somewhat startled to see him so disconcerted. Furthermore, in spite of herself, she felt sympathetic. "I can see by your manner that you have no such intentions in your visit. What is it you have come for?"
Imogene's calm manner brought him better to calm. His voice more steady, he said, "I had meant to speak to you when I came to visit your father. You were then, as yet, in Penzance, and I thought perhaps that was for the better; that you would not see me, anyway. But as I so highly regard your good opinion, I felt I could not feel quite myself until I have made amends with you."
Imogene could not help but smile—though faintly—at his declaration. Amends. It was a more beautiful word than she had ever before thought. "Amends, sir?"
"My behavior to you in recent months was abhorred. I have no excuse to offer, except that I was very self-conscious with my new state of wealth, and believed it would honor my uncle to see that I wore it as I should. In doing so, I treated you very ill, for which you had every right to regard me as you have. I never truly felt that your behavior had to change. I like you very much as you are. And...And I appeal to you for your forgiveness, in great hopes that we could become friends."
Imogene's smile grew into better view. "We have never tried being friends before, sir; not even cousins. I think it a most excellent idea."
"Then you do forgive me?"
"I do, yes."
She extended her hand in friendship, and he took
it with a smile of relief and joy. "I thank you, Ms. Cartwright," he said. "I had quite honestly perceived you would react in a different way."
"With so honest and open a manner as you came to me, cousin, I know what you have said is genuine."
He exhaled heavily with relief, rising to his feet. "I must take my leave now. This was rather a sudden plan, and I have appointments yet to keep. May I...visit again tomorrow?"
"Yes, sir. If the weather continues fine, we could take the horses out across the field."
He nodded, his smile beaming. "Thank you. I will see you tomorrow, then." With that, he bowed and quit the room.
Imogene laid back into the chair with a long, relieving stretch of her arms. She felt as though a heavy cloud lifted from her shoulders, and she breathed in fresher air than she had tasted in some months. Although she had never actively worried over Mr. Campbell continuing advances toward her, it was always hanging in the back of her mind as something that would resurface at their next family meeting. But now, she knew there would be no more worries, and for the first time since knowing her cousin, she seemed genuinely interested in coming to know him, as she felt with any new acquaintance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
With her life-long friend Jane gone to Italy, and with the tension between herself and her cousin lifted, Imogene and Mr. Campbell had little difficulty in forging a friendship. They spoke more freely to each other than ever the formality of their betrothal had allowed, and she found him to be humorous and intelligent. He was not quite so entirely altered as yet—he would more formally compose himself when others were around—but when he and Imogene were the only ones around, they conversed as freely as brother and sister; in fact, better than Imogene and Anthony had ever conversed. In little more than two weeks, they began to address each other by their given names. And though she persevered with her daily violin practice, it was not half so much as she wrought upon the household before.