With Love in Sight

by Christina Britton

  She wanted to recall the words the moment they were from her mouth. What had possessed her? How could she have been so bold?

  He smiled at her then, and it was so tender that she felt a spurt of hope. His next words, however, dashed that all to pieces.

  “Have no fear on that score, Imogen. I’m not the kind to ever fall in love. I’ve never felt anything even remotely like what the poets and dreamers talk about. So you may rest your mind—I will never fall in love, will never be unfaithful to you, will never leave you.”

  He looked for all the world as if he’d just gifted her with something infinitely precious. She tried to return his smile—after all, what else could she do? So there was an end to it. She felt the hot press of tears but fought them back.

  “And we do have passion, as I think you’ve seen,” he continued, his voice suddenly dipping lower, making her remember things she had no wish to. “To have that, along with friendship, is more than I ever hoped for in a marriage.”

  She could not stay here with him a moment longer. He thought he was making things better, convincing her of their suitability, not knowing that he was only pushing her further away.

  Standing, she made to leave. “I must get some rest.”

  He rose and again caught her arm, forcing her to stop. “You do care for me a bit, don’t you, Imogen?”

  She nearly blanched. “You know I could not have lain with you if I did not…care for you.”

  He moved closer. “Then give it a chance, Imogen. Give us a chance.”

  She should refuse him, remain stern and unyielding and let him know in no uncertain terms that she would not accept him. Especially after the revelations of the past several minutes.

  But even after his verification that he would never love her, the words would not come. She tried to force them out. But her throat closed up and her lips would not form the words. Instead she found herself pleading, “I need till the end of my visit. Please.”

  He studied her for a long moment. Then something changed in him. His face took on a determination that frightened and thrilled her, and his lips quirked in that lazy, cocksure smile that melted her very bones. His gaze fastened on her lips. She could do nothing but stare up at him like a rabbit in a snare.

  “I think you will find, Imogen,” he practically purred, his hand cupping the back of her head, his deft fingers massaging into her hair, “that at the end of these two weeks we will suit. Very much indeed.”

  Chapter 19

  Imogen spent more time than usual readying herself the following morning, but it was not by choice. Kate had insisted on giving her hair a softened look, framing her face with curls.

  Her sister’s dress had given Imogen pause when it had been brought out. The pale blue gown, with its wide satin sash under her breasts and delicate embroidered white flowers, was feminine and sweet, and unlike anything Imogen had ever worn.

  She stared at herself in the glass when Kate was done. She didn’t look much like herself anymore, though she admitted reluctantly that the changes wrought were positive. The blue of the gown gave an alabaster look to her skin and brought her eyes out in a startling way. Truly it was a lovely color, and Imogen knew that, had she been allowed to choose her own clothes, this fabric would have been just what she would want.

  Then the thought occurred to her that perhaps Caleb would see these changes as her trying to please him. But a moment later she shook her head, straightening her shoulders and following the maid who was sent to show her down to the breakfast room. How she looked and what he thought would change nothing. At the end of this trip they would still go their separate ways. Then she could go back to her life as if nothing had changed.

  Sorrow washed through her at the thought. But it was what had to be done, and so there was no point in wishing it otherwise. These two weeks would be a pleasant interlude. But when they were over she would put it behind her and soldier on, as she always did.

  The breakfast room was on the ground floor, on the east side of the building. Pale yellow fabric covered the walls, and with the sun streaming in through the windows, Imogen found it to be a wonderfully cheerful space. Lady Emily was there already, seated at the rosewood table, her plate of food and the Times before her. She froze when Imogen entered, a bite of egg hanging suspended on her fork before she lowered it to her plate.

  “Lady Emily, good morning,” Imogen said brightly. The girl merely nodded before pushing back from the table and heading for the door. She slid past Imogen without a word, leaving her to stare after her in confusion and dismay. Had she offended Lady Emily the day before in some way? But no, the girl had been unpleasant from the moment she had met her.

  Shaking her head, Imogen went to the sideboard. It was fairly groaning with food, surely more than six people could reasonably eat. She decided on toast and coddled eggs and took a seat. Just as the footman placed a cup of chocolate before her and she was spreading honey on her bread, Caleb entered the room.

  He was exceedingly handsome in his buckskin breeches and burgundy tailcoat. The color highlighted the copper tones in his hair and made his eyes appear even more pale and striking. He smiled broadly as he entered. Her spoon slipped and she smeared honey on the back of her hand.

  He came directly to her. “Imogen, you look utterly ravishing this morning,” he murmured, taking up her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His tongue darted out and slowly licked the honey from her skin. If she had been standing she was sure her knees would have gone out from under her. When he released her and moved to the sideboard, she clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling.

  He returned a short time later with a plate piled high with food. Though the table was a large piece of furniture, well able to hold a dozen people or better, he took the seat next to her, brushing against her leg as he did so. Feeling the need to busy herself, Imogen reached for her chocolate, gulping it down. She just kept herself from gasping as her tongue was singed by the hot liquid.

  Instead of starting on his food, however, Caleb reached out, tugging at a curl that was hanging down the side of her neck. His long fingers just barely skimmed her skin as he did so, and Imogen swallowed hard.

  “I like your hair in this fashion,” he murmured, his voice husky. “It is very becoming on you. You should not hide it away, you know. You have amazingly beautiful hair.”

  His words were deliciously intimate. Too intimate. Imogen glanced frantically at the footman stationed nearby, relieved to see he was busy rearranging the dishes on the sideboard. She could only hope his ears were as much engaged elsewhere.

  “And this gown,” he continued, and his fingers trailed feather light down the side of her neck to the sleeves of her dress. “The color compliments your eyes beautifully. I do believe it is my favorite color on you thus far.”

  Imogen cleared her throat. “Thank you, my lord. It is my sister’s maid, you see. My mother sent her along with me. It was very generous of her, but I am afraid Kate is much more used to attending to Mariah. I was not at all certain about the changes she has made, but she was quite insistent, and as she knows what she is talking about in regards to fashion and the like, I felt it was not prudent to argue with her. I am much more used to seeing to my own hair, you see. And this gown is not mine, but I do like the color as well.” She knew she was babbling, but she could not seem to rein in her tongue.

  “Caleb,” he cut in softly.

  Her eyes flew to his in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

  “We agreed to use our given names,” he reminded her.

  She feared the slender bones in her hands would snap, the pressure of her fingers gripping each other was so great. “I think it best if we forgo that for now.”

  “Why?”

  “It might give your family the impression that we have come to an…understanding.” She flushed, eyeing her untouched plate.

  He was silent for a time. “Would that be so very repugnant, Imogen?” he asked quietly.

  There was no pos
sible way to answer that truthfully without showing her feelings, so she remained silent.

  “Now, let us see what Cook has to offer this morning,” he went on in a cheerful voice that was completely at odds with his previous tone. “You are in for a treat. Cook’s food is my very favorite thing about returning to Northamptonshire. She does have a habit of preparing all of my favorites when I am in residence. I believe that if I were to stay here for any length of time I would soon be as big as the house.”

  He grinned at her and then dove into the mound of food on his plate with gusto. Imogen watched him in disbelief for a time before reaching for a piece of toast from her own and biting into it absentmindedly.

  Her father chose that moment to join them, a book tucked under his arm. “My lord, Imogen, a fine day isn’t it?” he said happily.

  He moved directly to the sideboard, filling a plate and seating himself across from them. The book came up and his head went down, and Imogen knew with wry amusement that a herd of elephants could have tromped through the room and her father would not have noticed. His presence, however, allowed her to relax a bit. There was something unnerving now about being alone with Caleb.

  Which was a sad thing, really. For some of the most pleasant moments she had ever spent were times when she and Caleb had been alone, far from judgmental eyes. One night of intimacy had changed all that.

  “Do you have a preference for your first day at Willowhaven?” Caleb asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  A decided gleam entered his pewter eyes. She was suddenly, achingly reminded of their days of adventuring.

  “What do you say to a bit of exploring?”

  “Exploring?”

  He waved his hands about expansively. “This house is nearly three hundred years old. There has been an incredible amount of history in those centuries.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Some of it quite unsavory, indeed.”

  Imogen felt a smile tug at her mouth and the stirrings of excitement in her blood. There was nothing she would like more than to delve into every nook and cranny of this amazing house. “That sounds wonderful.”

  The happiness that suffused his expression was blinding. Her pulse leaped, but she shook it off and turned to her father. “Papa,” she said loudly.

  He looked up, obviously reluctant to leave his book. “Yes, my dear?”

  “Lord Willbridge is generous enough to bring me on a tour of the house this morning and tell me some of its history. Would you like to join us?”

  Beside her she could hear Caleb give a soft growl of frustration. She hid a smile. Point one for her.

  “That sounds magnificent!” her father exclaimed. “Why, I do believe there’s a house of similar design not far from here. It belonged to Queen Elizabeth when she was quite young, and to King James after. I wonder, my lord, if…”

  As her father expounded on historical details, comparing the two houses and questioning Caleb relentlessly, Imogen settled back in her seat and finished her food off with much more enthusiasm than before. So this was the secret to self-preservation in the coming weeks, was it? Now if she could only engage a third person on most of their outings and refrain from being in solitary company with Caleb, she just might come out of this with her sanity intact.

  • • •

  She could not, however, hope to keep her father’s attention forever, despite the great draw a house such as Caleb’s commanded.

  As soon as they reached the last room and Caleb suggested a walk in the gardens, her father excused himself and scurried off to the library once more. It was with much more reserve than she had shown throughout the pleasant morning that she took hold of Caleb’s arm and allowed him to lead her out of doors.

  The sun shone warmly on her as she stepped into the small sunken garden just off the house. A stone pool graced the center, and as they approached, a number of birds took flight, the flapping of their wings like a hush on the still air. A small, simple fountain stood at the center of the pool, water breaking over its top and trickling down with musical grace. Tall, manicured hedges surrounded three sides of the space, giving it a feel of privacy and otherworldliness. At the far end was a fanciful walkway built through the hedge itself.

  Caleb silently guided her down one side of the garden, their boots crunching on the gravel path. It was a lovely moment, and though she knew it would pain her in the years to come, she memorized every bit of it, tucking it away to pore over later.

  His voice broke through the magical silence, and yet only seemed to enhance it, the intimacy of his deep baritone shivering through her. “Do I dare hope that you like Willowhaven, Imogen?”

  It was the first either of them had spoken aloud since they had parted from her father. She continued at his side, trying to formulate a reply to his question, something he seemed to ask with heartfelt curiosity. How could she even begin to vocalize how she felt about his home?

  Because the truth was, she absolutely adored it. Every bit of decorative plasterwork, every tile, every inch of silky wood. Even the ridiculous stories he had told that morning about dissolute monarchs and noblemen, the strange histories that had taken place inside these walls; she held it all in her heart. She could see herself living here. She felt at home. And the thought of leaving this place, of leaving him forever, made her want to weep.

  Finally, she could delay no longer. “It is wonderful here,” she said with a small sigh.

  They reached the opening in the hedge. Caleb stopped and turned her to face him, gently taking hold of her arms. “Could you learn to love it, I wonder?”

  She wanted to cry out that she already did, almost as much as she loved him. But she reined in her tongue and stepped to the side, effectively extricating herself from his loose grip.

  “This avenue is lovely,” she said firmly, waving her arms toward the oak trees that lined each side of the path stretching on ahead of them. Their heavy branches reached out over the walk to protect whoever should happen to stroll in their shade.

  He came up beside her, not touching her, and yet she could feel the heat of him across the small space that separated them. His voice was casual, as if to put her at ease.

  “Beyond this avenue is the River Spratt. Well, it is so narrow here that it resembles more of a brook, really, unless we get a torrential downpour. There is a stone bridge there as well as some truly beautiful willow trees that I would love to show you, if you’re amenable?”

  She nodded, placing her fingers on his offered arm. Just as they were about to pass through the hedge, however, a figure came around it, colliding with them and nearly toppling Imogen to the ground.

  Chapter 20

  Caleb steadied her. “Imogen, are you hurt?”

  “No, not at all. No harm done,” she said, waving him off. He had put his arm around her, and that along with the confusion from the impact was making her feel decidedly dizzy.

  She looked up to see who had caused the commotion and was surprised to find Lady Emily standing before them. Her face was pale, her scar standing out in vivid relief on her cheek. Her eyes seemed puffy and slightly red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. She had her shawl clasped about her shoulders with a white-knuckled grip. Within the cage of her fingers Imogen thought she caught sight of a snowy handkerchief.

  “Lady Emily,” Imogen exclaimed. “Are you well?”

  She reached out a hand, but the girl recoiled. Her pale eyes, so like Caleb’s, swiveled to him, regarding him with a strange sorrow.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she muttered through stiff lips. She glanced briefly behind her. Caleb tensed as he followed her gaze, the same grief that had been etched on Lady Emily’s face flashing across his own.

  “I am so sorry for having bumped into you,” the other girl managed. Not waiting for an answer, bobbing a quick curtsy, she pushed past them. Imogen watched her go in confusion until she disappeared from view into the house’s interior.

  Caleb’s hand was on her arm in a moment
and he was pulling her along without a word, through the hedge and along the gravel path toward the avenue of oaks.

  Imogen looked up at him in surprise. Shouldn’t there be some concern for his sister?

  “We should go after her,” she said. She tried to tug free of him, but his fingers only tightened.

  “She is fine,” he murmured. “Our presence would only cause her more distress.”

  Imogen stopped abruptly. “But surely we should find out what is wrong—”

  “I know what is wrong,” he broke in. As Imogen stared up at him in bewilderment, his face transformed, losing the tightness that had momentarily overtaken it. “Trust me, Imogen. This is nothing we can help with. If we go after her she will only grow more anxious. She needs time alone.”

  Now that was something Imogen could understand. Her own need for peace and quiet, away from even those she loved, caused her to be particularly sensitive to such needs in others. Finally, she gave him a quick nod, and he smiled, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, and continued on.

  But Imogen was not easy. She longed to ask him what was going on here, what lay between him and his family to cause such tension. She had a sense, however, that he would close himself off completely if she questioned him in a direct manner.

  They walked in silence for a time. The oaks on either side of them stood like silent sentries, their immense size showing them to be a century or more in age. The leaves above their heads rustled as if in a whisper as a slight breeze passed through the branches. Typically, she would have reveled in the quiet beauty. But there was a disquiet in her now. She racked her brain, and yet she could think of no way to scale the immense wall Caleb seemed to have put up about himself.

  Finally, they reached the river. It gurgled merrily beneath a gracefully arched stone bridge. Willow trees dotted the grassy bank on either side, their long, trailing branches dancing in the breeze, brushing the water like the graceful fingers of a dancer. Caleb and Imogen walked to the bridge, stopping when they reached the middle. Taking the chance to release his arm and distance herself from him, she went to the stone railing, placing her palms flat on the sun-warmed surface and leaning over to watch the water rush by. Caleb came and stood near her, his lean hip resting casually against the railing.