With Love in Sight
Page 19
“I do, though I have not had occasion to practice for some time.”
“I should love to hear you,” Emily said before turning back to her food. After a moment, the hand holding her fork stilled and she looked at Imogen as if about to ask her something. Imogen tilted her head expectantly.
“Do you also sing?” the girl asked haltingly.
Imogen made a face. “Some.”
Emily laughed a bit, but it did not relieve the look of uncertainty that had taken root. “You do not seem as if you enjoy it.”
“No, I enjoy it very much.” She smiled wryly. “But I’m afraid natural shyness and singing in public do not go hand in hand.”
“I do know what you mean. Though, perhaps,” she ventured, “you might make an exception for me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Emily leaned forward. “I have so longed to sing a duet, but my sister, though talented, shows no interest.”
Imogen looked at her in some alarm. “Do you mean in the evening, in front of your family?”
“No!” Emily recoiled, her eyes widening in almost comic surprise. “No, I merely mean to suggest that you join me at my practice. I do so daily after breakfast, and it would mean much for me to have your presence there.”
“Oh!” Imogen exclaimed, warming at the request. “That sounds lovely. It would be my honor to join you.”
Emily’s entire visage lit up. She was truly a beautiful girl. When she smiled like that, with her entire being, one could easily forget the scar that marred her features.
“Do you think you would be open to joining me this morning?”
“I would like that above all else.”
It was at that moment that Caleb entered. Imogen watched, surprised, as the smile fell from Emily’s face and she shrank down into her seat. Imogen looked up at Caleb, saw his steps falter when he saw them.
“Emily, Imogen,” he acknowledged, and began piling a plate high with food. Imogen was aware of a sudden tension that had come over the room. She had already determined that Jonathan’s death was at the crux of the strain in the family. But what had happened during that long ago accident that affected everyone even now? Grief she could understand. Something so horrific would leave its mark well after the event itself. But what went on in this family seemed something else entirely.
Just then, however, the heavy unease seemed to lift as he came and sat beside her. His gray eyes regarded her warmly.
“You were incredible last night, teaching everyone that dance. You amaze me more and more every day.” His voice was a low murmur that vibrated intimately through her body. She flushed and cleared her throat, acutely aware of Emily’s silent presence at the table. From the rustle of the paper she guessed she had gone back to reading the Times.
“Thank you, my lord. I admit I was a bit overwhelmed at first. But I have often done as much for my siblings, and so it was an easy matter to pretend that was the case in this instance as well.”
“What an inspired way of viewing it. I, for one, have never enjoyed dancing more. Well, perhaps one other time…”
Imogen just kept herself from gasping, and instead kicked him under the table, hard. Caleb grunted, reaching down to rub at his shin.
“How fortuitous I am wearing boots,” he muttered for her ears alone, “or that might have done far more damage than it did.”
“What a pity, then,” she replied flippantly, turning back to her plate and taking a small bite of ham.
“Touché,” he said, and she could hear his grin. “Seeing as I am not grievously injured, however, I thought perhaps this morning we could ride into the village. You haven’t been yet, and there are several sweet little shops we can visit in which you may be able to pick something up for your siblings.”
Imogen shook her head. “I am sorry, but I cannot this morning. I have plans, you see.”
“Plans,” he repeated blankly.
“Yes. Emily and I will be practicing some duets this morning.” She turned to look at Emily, who had forgotten her paper and gaped at Imogen. “Isn’t that so?”
Emily nodded mutely. Her eyes darted between Imogen and Caleb in an uncertain fashion.
“Perhaps we may go into the village tomorrow?” Imogen asked Caleb.
“Certainly,” he replied immediately.
“Wonderful.” She turned to Emily. “Are you done with your meal? I should love to begin presently. I have some lovely songs that I think may interest you.”
At Emily’s stiff nod Imogen rose. The other girl followed suit, and soon they were heading out the door for the music room. Just as she was about to duck into the hall, however, she glanced back. Caleb was sitting at the table, his back straight, a frown marring his forehead. Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, Imogen followed after Emily.
• • •
Caleb felt as if he had walked into some strange, otherworldly place. By the time he regained his senses, the two women were gone from the room. He stared down at his untouched plate, suddenly finding he had no appetite.
He couldn’t understand it. When had Imogen and Emily become familiar with one another? He had seen no sign of friendship develop between them in the week they had been there.
An uncomfortable weight seemed to have formed in his chest. Pushing away from the table, he rose and strode from the room. Imogen was innately kind; her attempts to befriend his sister surprised him not one bit. He had seen her distress at Emily’s aloof attitude to her, her confusion at the reserve she had found. But he had not thought much of it at the time. Emily was naturally reticent with strangers, after all.
Now, however, there was something forming between the two. And he hadn’t a clue how to deal with it.
His steps slowed as he neared the closed door of the music room. He could just make out their light chatter, the gentle sound of a melody being tested out on the keys of the pianoforte. There was a bout of quiet laughter before the music started up in earnest.
He stared for a time at the door, listening. As their voices joined together in song, he frowned and strode further down the hall. Why did this bother him so much? He should be glad Imogen was finding a friend in Emily. He had seen a bond develop between Imogen and Daphne, seen how she respected and cared for his mother. Wouldn’t it be in his best interest then to have her become attached to the final person in the house? It would connect her even more firmly to them, make it harder for her to refuse him when it was time once again to ask her to marry him.
But what if Emily talked of his part in Jonathan’s death? She was one of the few who had been there, who would be able to tell the whole ugly truth. How would Imogen feel about him then, knowing he was responsible?
Agitated, he headed toward the stables. He should not have brought Imogen here. But blast it all, he had not been able to see another way to get her to accept him.
He glanced back quickly at the house. Now it seemed there was every chance he could lose her forever.
Chapter 24
After an enjoyable morning singing followed by a walk in the gardens with her new friend, Imogen took leave of Emily and retired to her room to rest and read. But she could not concentrate on the words. Instead her mind was full of energy after the changes in the past day. How strange and wonderful to finally have made a connection with the other girl, especially as Imogen was now considering marrying Caleb.
Emily was wonderfully sweet. She was not at all like her siblings, whom others instinctually gravitated toward. No, Imogen found the other woman was much like herself. The both of them were shy, had difficulty around strangers, and tried very hard to blend into the plasterwork. People such as they had a tendency to be eclipsed by those of a more outgoing nature. She was so glad, however, that she had been able to unearth the true person within.
A knock sounded at her door, breaking her from her thoughts. A maid entered, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Miss, Lady Sumner is here to see you. She’s in the small drawing room.”
“Thank you, I�
�ll be there momentarily.”
The treat of having her sister here for a visit was too good to miss even a moment of. She rushed through the house, her feet fairly flying. What would Frances say if Imogen were to tell her she was considering Caleb’s offer of marriage? They would be close enough to visit one another every day if they wished. Joy burst in her chest, and the sensation caused her to skid to a stop just outside the drawing room door.
Had she decided, then? Was she going to marry Caleb? She rather thought the answer was yes.
A grin spread over her face, relief pouring through her veins. She had to tell someone. Of course, Caleb should be the first to tell. But he was off to places unknown, and Frances was here. Surely he would not mind if she confided in her sister first.
Throwing open the door, she rushed in. “Frances, I am so glad you are here.”
Imogen went to her sister and embraced her. But as she pulled back she saw, even through her euphoria, that something was not right.
There was that misery again that she was so used to seeing in Frances’s eyes. But now it was etched even more deeply, almost a raw pain.
Frances’s voice was full of false bravado. “Nothing could stop me from coming to see my dear sister. Especially as she is so close.”
Imogen’s excitement vanished in an instant, and worry settled in her belly like a stone. She guided Frances to the sofa. “Sit with me for a bit and we can have a nice talk.”
Frances frowned. “I would like a nice, simple conversation with you above all things, dear. But I’m afraid my visit has a purpose, and I dare not delay in bringing it up.”
Alarmed, Imogen sat straighter in her seat. “What is it?”
“Mother wrote to me. She’s told me what you’ve done, that you’ve rejected Lord Willbridge.”
Imogen flushed. “Yes, I did reject him.”
“Why? I saw you together when you came to visit. You care for him, Imogen, deeply.”
“It doesn’t matter why.”
“Of course it matters why. Tell me, Imogen.”
“He doesn’t love me.” In the next moment she slashed her hand through the air. “But that is neither here nor there. I have decided that when he asks me again I will accept.”
Frances reached out and squeezed Imogen’s hand. Her eyes took on a feverish gleam. “No! You cannot do that. Have you learned nothing from me?”
It was the most intense tone Imogen had ever heard from her sister. She pulled back in surprise, breaking the contact.
“I don’t understand,” she mumbled through numb lips. “You and Lord Sumner seemed so happy yesterday. I thought things were finally turning around for you both.”
Frances’s face crumpled. Her hands flew to her mouth. But not before a sob escaped her lips.
Imogen leaned forward. “Frances, what is it?”
“I was such a fool,” Frances whispered. “I knew he didn’t love me when we wed. I told myself he would love me eventually, that my love would be enough for us. But I was wrong.”
Imogen felt sick to her stomach. “But…yesterday…”
“An act,” Frances spat. “Do you honestly believe James wanted the Marquess of Willbridge to see him in a negative light? That and the babe.”
Imogen could well imagine the shock that took over her face. Frances caught sight of it, her lip curling. Even so, her hands came protectively over her abdomen.
“Yes, I’m with child. After so long married, it is a surprise to me as well.”
“But this is good news, is it not?” Imogen wanted to embrace her sister, to congratulate her. But the bitter look in her eyes stopped her.
“Good for James, perhaps. He will finally get his heir after years of failure on my part. As he has told me on numerous occasions in the past week.” She gave a sharp, humorless bark of laughter. The sound sent a chill up Imogen’s spine. “You are stronger than me, Imogen. How I wish I had your strength all those years ago when I overlooked my better sense and agreed to marry a man more concerned with status and position than with the comfort of those in his care. I would give anything to go back in time and change things.”
Imogen swallowed hard, fear rearing up. Her sister’s words hung thick in the air. “But surely Caleb is cut from a different cloth.”
Frances sagged back against the sofa. “That is just what I told myself. I was blinded; I loved him too much to see him for who he was.” She shook her head, closing her eyes wearily. “My love for him died long ago. I am no longer blind.”
Imogen looked at her sister’s face, misery plain in every line. Would that be her in a few years?
She had very nearly given in. When next he asked, she would have accepted him. But this one brief meeting with Frances—no longer guessing what she endured, but seeing for the first time the true depth of her pain—Imogen knew she could never marry Caleb unless he loved her in return.
The joy of mere moments ago snuffed completely out. And with it every hope for her future with Caleb.
• • •
Imogen did not see Caleb until late that night. He had been called away to help with some difficulty with one of his tenants and was quiet and tired when he returned shortly before supper was served. He ate dinner in a strangely subdued manner, asking her about her day, conversing with her father on his findings in the library, deflecting questions Daphne put to him. When the meal was over he asked their pardon, saying he wished to retire early.
As Imogen turned to follow the others to the drawing room, however, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She looked into his face, ignoring the jolt of desire that singed her nerves, deeply aware of the sorrow that had settled in her breast since her talk with Frances. There was a strange reserve in his eyes that had not been present before.
“Would you still like to visit the village tomorrow? I know we had talked about it this morning, but I thought perhaps you might have changed your mind.” His baritone voice was quiet and neutral, giving away nothing of his feelings.
Imogen frowned and searched his face, forgetting her own worries, wondering at his peculiar mood. “Of course, I would love that.”
He seemed to give a soft, almost inaudible sigh of relief. “Shall we leave right after breakfast then?”
Before she could answer, Daphne bounded up to them. “Where are you going tomorrow after breakfast?”
A muscle twitched in Caleb’s jaw. “To Ketterby. I thought Imogen would like to do some shopping for her siblings.”
“Wonderful, I shall join you. I would like to see Rebecca and Hannah Sanders. We can call for them at the vicarage on our way there.”
She bounced off, and Imogen and Caleb were left staring after her in disbelief.
“She is a force to be reckoned with,” Imogen muttered without thinking. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in horror a moment later. What was she thinking, to say such a thing to Caleb about his own sister?
But he only smiled, his pale eyes crinkling at the corners. “She is that. I shall have to endeavor to get you alone another way.” He leaned toward her, his head dipping so quickly that she had no time to react. His mouth captured her own.
But this was no kiss of possession and desire. It was brief but gentle, and so achingly tender that Imogen found she could not breathe for the emotions it caused to well up in her. His lips were firm and warm against hers. She tasted wine on his mouth, felt the soft stroke of his fingers on her jaw line. Just as she began to return the pressure of his lips and lean in to his body, he pulled away.
One more look, his eyes soft and almost sad, and he left the room. She stared after him dumbly for a long moment.
Suddenly her father was at her elbow. How had she had not heard him reenter the room? He eyed her in some concern.
“Are you ready to retire with the others, my dear?”
She forced a smile. “Of course, Papa.” She placed her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her from the room, though her mind was still with Caleb.
• • •
She had thought that a good night’s sleep would return him to his usual cheerful self. But he seemed even more pensive than he had the evening before. He kept casting her hooded sidelong glances that more than once had her stumbling along the well-maintained road.
Imogen struggled for a topic to draw him out. Conversation had never been her forte, and that, combined with this strange awkwardness that had unexpectedly sprouted up between them, had her even more tongue-tied than usual.
“I do like the Misses Sanders,” she finally said with false brightness. “They are both sweet girls.”
“Indeed.”
She cast about yet again. “Have you known them long?”
“All their lives.”
“Ah, that accounts for Daphne’s closeness with them.”
He merely nodded.
Her lips compressed in frustration. “And Emily?”
He paused, giving her an inscrutable look. “What about Emily?”
“Is she friends with them?”
“I’ve no idea,” he replied.
But she is your sister, she wanted to shout.
Just then, however, Daphne returned, followed by the Misses Sanders. The three girls chattered like magpies, dispelling the peculiar atmosphere. Imogen concentrated on their conversation, determined to enjoy such a glorious day. The sun was warm, the sky a clear azure. They reached Ketterby after a short while, and Imogen forgot Caleb’s strange reaction, instead finding herself utterly enchanted by the picturesque scene.
They entered the main road of the town via a wide stone bridge that spanned the River Spratt. Small cottages lined the road, all made of ochre-colored stone, their roofs recently thatched. One ruddy-faced woman tended the garden at the front of her property behind a low stone wall, several freshly scrubbed children playing and screeching at her heels.
“Mrs. Larstow,” Caleb called, making his way to her gate. “I see young Thomas is fully recovered from his injury?”