To her credit, she didn’t even so much as flinch. “I want some answers from you, and I feel I’ve waited long enough,” she said with impressive hauteur. He had never seen her thus, and felt he would have been aroused if he wasn’t so damn mad. And wet.
He glanced in disbelief down at the bed, the sheets dripping, the pillow sodden, his shirt and breeches clinging to him in an uncomfortable, clammy way. “And you had to drown me to get them?”
She cocked one eyebrow, her lips twisting. “As it is already late afternoon, I thought it prudent to wake you.”
His head swung in disbelief to the window—he winced again at the sudden movement—and sure enough, only indirect light filtered in. His window faced east, which meant the sun was well on its daily journey at the other side of the house. He had slept all day? What in hell had been in that whiskey last night?
He turned with careful movements to Imogen. “And what answers would you be wanting, madam?”
She placed the pitcher on the bedside table, a muscle in her jaw ticking. “I would like to know why you reacted so harshly to your sister yesterday morning when you found us at the cemetery.”
With a sudden flash of insight he remembered everything, why he had stayed away all day yesterday and why he had drunk himself insensible. Emily and Imogen at Jonathan’s grave; Imogen proclaiming to Emily that she could not marry him; their fight after; the pain he had felt at Imogen’s betrayal.
Rage began to pound within him, pushing aside the thickheaded befuddlement that had been present since he had been woken in such an abrupt manner. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly, breathing deeply, trying to rein in his temper. Rivulets of water dripped from his clothes, pooling on the polished wood floor, but he paid it no mind. He towered over Imogen, expecting to see her shrink back, but she only stuck her chin out and narrowed her eyes.
“Perhaps you are the one who should be providing answers,” he said in biting tones.
“I get the distinct feeling,” Imogen said, not in the least cowed by his demeanor, “that you believe yourself to be wronged somehow.”
“No, just unfairly judged.”
“I assure you, the only thing I am judging you on is your asinine behavior to your sister yesterday.”
“Is that true?” He curled his lip. “Then why did I hear you declare that you cannot marry me? Do you mean to tell me that comment was not brought on by something Emily told you?”
Imogen blushed, but her eyes narrowed. “You know I have always been opposed to marriage,” she said, her voice low and saturated with pain.
A twinge of doubt crept in.
“You seem to be under the impression that somehow your sister sabotaged your chances,” she continued. “That could not be further from the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did not lie yesterday when I said Emily has been your champion. She had just gotten through with trying to convince me to accept you before I declared I could not marry you.”
He stared at her a long moment. “That cannot be.”
“Why, because you cannot conceive that I made my decision on my own? You think my mind would be altered by anything she could have told me?”
Pain washed through him. “Yes.”
Her eyes tensed at the corners like they used to when she went without her spectacles. “Perhaps you had best explain.”
Bitterness mingled with the pain. “What is the point? You have already declared you will not have me.”
He suddenly turned from her, unable to bear being so close to her now that he knew she was lost to him. He strode for the door to his dressing room.
“Where are you going?” Imogen cried. He could hear her scuttling after him but didn’t turn around.
“I’m going to change out of these clothes,” he said, the weary defeat in his voice apparent even to him, “and then we can see about getting you ready for your journey back to London.”
Chapter 31
Imogen’s steps faltered. He was sending her home before she could get the answers she needed to help this damaged family. But a second later she resolutely put her head down and marched forward. She grabbed Caleb’s arm just as he was about to go through the door and spun him to face her.
“Now you listen to me,” she ground out. “I will not stand by and watch you completely destroy whatever tenuous peace this blasted family is living under. You will give me answers, and you will give them to me now.”
His eyes had dulled, and he regarded her with a weary defeat. “Why? You’ll be leaving soon. Telling you will change nothing.”
Her heart ached at the lost look in his eyes. But she could not have put that there. He did not love her, after all. He would forget her soon enough.
That did not mean, however, that she had to leave him with nothing.
“That may be. But then again, telling me may help everything,” she said. “Let me in, Caleb.”
He regarded her uncertainly for a moment. It was now or never.
“I have already figured that it has to do with Jonathan’s death.”
Such pain flared in his eyes that her chest constricted. She reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
“If Emily did not tell you, how did you find out?” he asked, his voice hollow and resigned.
She smiled sadly. “All part of being a wallflower, I’m afraid. I’m unbelievably observant.”
Still, he looked uncertain. She pursed her lips, and then gave him a little push toward the dressing room door. “Why don’t you change into something dry? When you return, I expect answers.”
He nodded distractedly and disappeared inside. Imogen went to a set of heavy mahogany chairs before one of the windows, sinking onto the slate blue damask cushions.
It wasn’t long before Caleb appeared, dressed in a dry linen shirt open at the chest and soft buckskin breeches. His hair was still damp but now brushed back from his forehead. He regarded her with hooded eyes for a moment before joining her. Imogen clasped her hands primly in her lap, turning her eyes to the landscape out the window, patiently waiting for him to start.
“I loved my brother,” he said haltingly. “Before I begin, you must know that.”
She shifted her gaze to his and nodded. For some reason her heart was thumping like mad in her chest. She clasped her hands tighter to keep herself from reaching for him.
“I always allowed him to follow after me. We were ridiculously close, he and I. I am not being conceited when I say I know he looked up to me. And he was such a jolly fellow, a veritable ray of sunshine, that I admit I admired him as well.
“That last morning, however—” Here he stopped. He cleared his throat and stared unseeing out the window. “I was twenty. I had my two closest friends visiting, Tristan and Morley. Perhaps you remember them?” At her nod he continued. “We were young men and wanted to discuss women and gambling and all things inappropriate for younger ears. We had made plans to spend the following morning together by the fishing pond, reveling in this new level of adulthood we had reached. I did not want my younger siblings tagging along. And I told Jonathan so.”
His mouth twisted, but not in humor. There was a deep self-loathing in that expression. “He did not take it well, I’m afraid. We fought. I told him I didn’t want children with us, that he would ruin it for us. I told him he was a burden, an infant, a loadstone I didn’t need around my neck.”
Imogen’s heart ached as she watched Caleb’s profile. The muscles in his jaw worked painfully and he swallowed hard.
“We set out early the next morning. I had no idea that Jonathan and Emily had snuck from the house to follow us. They had taken a circuitous route, you see, not wanting to be spied, and had tried to make their way over an embankment of rocks. But I saw them. I was so angry…” For a moment he sat silently, seemingly lost in his memories. Suddenly, he cleared his throat, looking at Imogen quickly before resuming.
“I climbed up to them. We fought.” He pressed his lips together, seemed
to struggle for words. “So many words I said, that I wish I could recall. I finally turned to leave. But Jonathan grabbed at my arm. I threw it up, trying to ward him off. He flailed. The look on his face was full of such surprise. And then the rocks gave way…”
His voice trailed off. Imogen could stand it no longer. She reached out and gripped his fingers. To her relief he gripped hers back fiercely, as if she were his lifeline.
“There was such a sound. As long as I live I shall never forget it. The deep rumbling that fairly split my ears, the screams. I thought it would never end. As if in slow motion I saw him scramble, try to get purchase on the tumbling rocks. I reached for him, but it was too late. When the dust cleared there he was, at the bottom of it all. He was so still.”
His voice was guttural, infused with pain. The words seemed to speed up as they poured from him. “There was so much blood. And Emily was trying to get to him, stumbling over the rocks. She fell, tore her cheek open. She was like a wild animal, trying to reach him. I remember her clawing desperately at the rock still lodged on Jonathan’s chest. She would not stop screaming. Her face was pouring blood from the gash, her nails torn and bleeding from pulling at the rock. We tried to drag her away, but it was as if she didn’t know we were there. We finally managed to subdue her, to remove the rock from Jonathan. When she saw he was gone, truly saw he was dead, she fainted. We carried them home. I can still remember the blood on my hands, that horrible smell.”
Imogen’s heart drummed painfully and her eyes burned. What they must have endured. And yet—
Still things did not add up. Why had there been ten years of estrangement following that?
“Caleb,” she said gently, “I don’t understand. Why this breach with your family?”
He looked at her, the raw agony in his eyes overlaid with disbelief. “But don’t you see?” he said, his voice hoarse. “It was my fault.”
Imogen looked at him in shock. “Oh, no, Caleb.”
But he was shaking his head. “If I had only let him join us, he would still be here today. But I was so full of pride. I hurt and disparaged him. And when he made to hold me back, I practically pushed him to his death.”
Imogen could see from the hard glint in his eyes that he was not about to let this go easily. Like Donald Samson had said early that morning, he was so damned stubborn.
She sat forward. “Caleb, did you mean to throw your brother off balance?”
A look of horror and anger suffused his face. “Of course not.”
“Then how could you possibly be at fault?”
“How could I not be? It was because of my actions that he fell.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” she pushed, “that had it been Emily who had accidentally thrown Jonathan off balance, you would expect her to take the full guilt onto her shoulders?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “What mad idea is this?”
“Then tell me how it is any more sane for you to do so.”
Caleb went to the window, looking down into the gardens. “You don’t understand. You were not there.”
Imogen watched him, noting the stiff cast to his shoulders under the fine lawn shirt. That was true. She hadn’t been there. She could never fully know the details of what had occurred, and so she knew her words would forever fall on deaf ears.
Her eyes narrowed as she considered what to do. There had been others there. Sir Tristan and Lord Morley, of course, who were back in London. But also Emily. If she could just get the two to talk, for Emily to make him see that she did not blame him, perhaps he could let go of some of the guilt.
She thought long and hard on this as Caleb stood silently at the window. His reaction to Emily yesterday morning told her all she needed to know. He believed Emily blamed him, that she was punishing him. They had to make him see that this was not the case.
But would Emily go for such a plan? Especially now that she was so fragile? She recalled the girl’s advocacy on her brother’s behalf, trying to get Imogen to accept his suit, and she knew in her heart that Caleb’s sister would help.
Imogen straightened. “You believe Emily blames you for Jonathan’s death.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, the indirect light of the fading day throwing his features into harsh lines. “Of course. Why wouldn’t she? I took away the person she loved best in this world. She is scarred for life because of it.”
“And have the two of you ever talked of it?”
As he turned back to the window he gave a harsh laugh. “Of course not. Her feelings are plain on her face. We have no need to bring it up and court more misery.”
“It is why you believed so easily that she would try and turn me against you.”
He gave her no response but a shifting of his weight, a further tensing of his shoulders. It was answer enough.
“And yet,” she mused, “that conjecture, which you were so certain of, was wrong.”
A peculiar stillness settled over him. He faced her. “Yes,” he admitted gruffly. “I did her a disservice by thinking such a thing.”
The pain in his eyes nearly made her falter. But she could not back down now. No matter the grief he was feeling at this moment, it would be well worth it if she could reconcile these two damaged souls.
“Couldn’t it be possible, then,” she said, “that your other ideas regarding her could be wrong as well?”
But he was already shaking his head. “No—”
Imogen held up a hand. “Do me the honor of hearing me out before you discount what I have to say. You cannot possibly know what is in Emily’s heart until you make an attempt to understand it. I have gotten to know her a bit in the past few days, and I can say that she is one of the sweetest girls of my acquaintance. She has never, not once, said anything to make me believe she holds you in any contempt. Indeed, I get the distinct impression that your distance grieves her.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “That cannot possibly be true.”
“I assure you, it is.”
Several emotions flashed across his face. “Then why did she not come to me?”
“Why did you not go to her?” Imogen shot back. “And besides, your sister is shy, even more shy than me in some ways. Do you honestly believe she would have put herself forward with you, who has become in so many ways a stranger to her?”
Caleb flinched. “What would you have me do?”
Imogen stood and moved toward him. “Go to her. Talk to her. Truly, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If she verifies your feelings, you will be in the same position you have been for the past decade. But, if she does as I think she will and tells you that you were not to blame, you both can begin to heal this wound that has been festering. You can regain your sister. And, I hope, you will also begin to forgive yourself.”
At his dubious look, she took hold of his hand, giving it a tug. “You won’t know until you try. Do you truly want this doubt hanging over your head for the rest of your life?”
It was with a burst of relief that she saw his shoulders slouch in defeat. She gave another tug on his hand and he followed, to what she hoped would be a healing for them all.
• • •
The distance between Caleb’s room and his sister’s was not long, and before he was at all ready they were there. Imogen knocked sharply at the door. There was no answer. Caleb glanced down at Imogen uncertainly. To his surprise she pressed her lips together and took hold of the handle, pushing in, pulling him in after her.
He stood frozen for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. Despite the hour of the day, Emily’s room was plunged into gloom, the curtains drawn tight. Only a few candles had been placed about, barely penetrating the darkness. He finally spotted his sister, seated before the empty hearth, a guttering candle at her elbow, an unopened book beside her.
“I told you before, Mother,” she said, her voice painfully brittle, “I’m not hungry.”
“It is not your mother,” Imogen murmured.
Her voice was gentle and soft. Even so, Emily looked in their direction sharply.
Her face immediately paled when she saw Caleb. Pain flared in her eyes. Pain, Caleb noticed, not blame or hate. Was it possible that Imogen was right? Had he only seen what he expected to see?
“What is going on here?” she rasped. Betrayal saturated her features. “Why is he here, Imogen?”
Imogen pulled Caleb further into the room. “He is here to talk.”
“Talk?” Emily asked in disbelief. “What is there to talk about? I cannot think of anything more he might wish to say to me.”
As his sister presented them with her stiff profile, Imogen gave a small growl of frustration. “Both of you are more alike than you know, stubborn as the day is long. You will have this out, now. Do you know, Emily, that your brother has been blaming himself for Jonathan’s death all these years?”
Pain flooded Emily’s face and she gave a shuddering breath. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Did you not think it wise to disabuse him of that notion?”
Emily swung her eyes to them. “Our mother and father tried for years to tell him he wasn’t to blame. If he would not believe them, what would make me think he would listen to the likes of me?”
“Because,” Imogen said, her voice gentling, “it was your opinion that mattered most.”
His sister’s pale eyes, so like his own and Jonathan’s, settled on him. His breath caught at the incredulity there. “But why?” Emily whispered.
Imogen, at Caleb’s side, nudged him forward. He gave her one last doubtful look before he moved closer to his sister and sank into the chair beside her. It went against everything he had been taught to sit in Imogen’s presence. But he could not tower over Emily for this.
“I know you must blame me, Emily,” he said. His voice came out rough and broken, and he cleared his throat. “You saw what happened. I practically pushed him. He is dead because of my selfishness and pride.”
But his sister sat forward, her formerly dull eyes suddenly blazing. “No, it was an accident. I know you never meant to throw him off balance. You did nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame, it is I.”
With Love in Sight Page 24