by Raine Miller
“My tears can only be a symbol of joy now, for you have taken all of my sadness away.”
“Yes, well, that has all been part of the plan.” His words teased, but she hoped that she was taking away some of his sadness too, just as he was doing for her.
THE twilight air sparkled when they both appeared for her special evening. Imogene was silenced by the sight of Graham in formal dress. He bowed to her in compliment. “You are a vision tonight, Imogene. The emeralds do justice to you. Thank you for wearing them.”
“You are very welcome. May I say that you are the epitome of fashion in gentleman’s dress this evening?”
“Thank you, chérie.” Once in the carriage, he sat beside her rather than across from her as was custom. He took her hand and held it, looking so solemn she wondered about the mysteries of him. Graham was not a chatterer. He was a watcher.
“How did you manage to get everyone into the other carriage and us alone?” she asked.
He caressed every inch of her with his eyes. “I told the drivers and hoped Lady Wilton would allow it.” He shrugged. “Being a lord should be good for something.”
She squeezed his hand. “Well I am glad my aunt is so generous for I love to be alone together.”
“I could never tire of gazing at you, Imogene. I look so I can seal the image into my mind and remember how you are at that moment. Later when we are apart, the image I have of you, will get me through the time I must be away from you.”
“But now you will be in Town, really?”
“I will.” He brought her hand up and kissed it. “I could not be away from you for a moment longer. I had to come. And tonight we celebrate your birthday.” He proffered a soft package. “Here’s a gift I chose. The colours remind me of you. I hope you like it. Happy birthday, chérie.”
Out spilled the most elegant Indian shawl: the heavy silk a soft yellow gold with splendid designs in burgundy, blue, and green, shot through with gold thread, the fringed edges floating with each movement. “Graham, this is a work of art. It’s so gorgeous, and I shall adore wearing it. Thank you. I love that you are knowledgeable of art and design. You have quite the artistic eye.” She tilted up to give him a gentle kiss.
His eyes got that dark look again and he held her face up close against his. “Yes, I do have quite the eye for beauty. I look forward to the day when I might see you in that shawl and nothing—”
He let her go and changed position in the seat, looking a bit strained. “Are you all right, Graham?”
“I am fine. That the shawl pleases you makes me glad, for in all things that is my purpose.” He bent to kiss her awaiting lips.
THE hour was very late. Surely no one would be awake. It would just take a moment to slip down the hallway and get her journal. Imogene remembered where she had left it. The library was the last place she’d written in it and she would have retrieved it this afternoon, but Graham’s surprise visit had changed her plans. She often wrote at night, reflecting on the events of the day, and writing it down was comforting. Graham had treated them to a delightful evening as well a very special birthday celebration and she wanted to put it in her journal.
Imogene wrapped the new shawl around her nightdress, took up the candle carefully and walked swiftly down the hallway. As soon as she entered the library, she knew she wasn’t alone. A light glowed from between some shelves. Quickly crossing to the desk where her journal lay, she picked it up and turned to leave without lingering. She jumped a foot when she found herself facing a pair of very familiar green eyes.
“Such a hurry, chérie. Whatever for? And you look so fetching in that shawl. It pleases me that you wear it.” Graham carefully removed the candle from her hand, setting it down on a nearby table.
“You startled me, Graham. I came to retrieve my journal thinking everyone would be asleep at this—”
He silenced her with a very determined kiss, the sound of her journal dropping to the floor echoed off the walls. He filled his hands with her hair and pulled her close against him, his lips devouring, his body pressed hard into hers. “By all that is holy I can’t help what I am doing. I want you so badly—looking like a goddess coming in here,” he mumbled.
Imogene could hear warnings going off in her brain but was helpless to do anything about them. As he compressed against her, she could feel him hard at the hips through her thin gown. I cannot make him stop. Don’t want to stop—
Graham had her pinned up against the library wall, raining kisses over her face and neck. She moved against him. Their breathing filled the silence of the library. His hands moved too, touching and feeling determinedly. Tracing down her neck, his nose dipped lower, below the loose neckline of the nightdress, toward her breasts. Searching hands shifted up from underneath, lifting them toward his lips.
“So soft. I need—I want to taste.” His lips pushed the fabric of her gown open farther and trailed over the bared flesh of her breast.
A low moan escaped from her and the sound seemed to snap Graham out of the flare of desire that gripped him. He pulled back, his hands coming to rest on the wall upon either side of her face. Something compelled him to look up the wall and straight into the portrait of some stern-looking Everley ancestor, no doubt. She had seen those dour portraits every day she’d come into this room since she’d been staying in this house. She panted against the wall as he stared at her in the candlelight. The space between them felt cold now that his body had pulled away, and every place he’d touched with his mouth was still tingling. Imogene never would have asked him to stop.
Graham looked longingly at her for a moment before bending to pick up her journal and placing it in her hands.
Then he determinedly straightened her shawl, layering it over the front of her.
“My dearest, Imogene, chérie, beloved, you’ve caught me by surprise. I fear I have quite lost my manners, and sincerely apologize for my imposition upon you just now. Please forgive me?”
Imogene tried to control her breathing. “Of course, Graham. It was…reckless of me to come in here like this.”
“Probably, yes, but you have made such a beautiful visual memory that I might take with me for the next few days, and for that, I thank you.” He placed the candle into her other hand. “Until tomorrow then, my darling.” Opening the door, he kissed her forehead, sighed heavily and led her out into the hallway. “Off to bed you go.” He watched her walk away. “Imogene?” She turned back to look. “Lock your door when you get to your room please.”
“All right.” She nodded.
“Sleep well, chérie.”
“WHAT a beautiful shawl, Imogene,” Aunt Wilton remarked at breakfast the next morning.
“Graham brought it for my birthday. He has quite the talent for choosing beautiful things, and I am fairly taken with it.” Imogene stroked the elegant fringe.
“Lord Rothvale is very generous to be sure and honorable and everything a gentleman of his standing should be, but I daresay he is more taken with you than either of you realize, my dear Imogene,” Aunt Wilton responded with a knowing smile.
Imogene blushed, lowering her eyes. Aunt Wilton put her hand atop Imogene’s and squeezed it. “My dear, there are some things I feel it my duty to share with you—to prepare you for marital life with your husband. Your mamma is not here and she would not wish to send you away to be a wife, uninformed and ignorant of what will come to pass.” Imogene nodded, listening. “Lord Rothvale loves you very much, Imogene. It is evident to the world and I am sure he will be gentle and kind in claiming his nuptial rights.”
“His rights…yes I know, but I don’t really know what that means.”
“Well, you will have to submit to him, willingly, in the marriage bed. It is your duty. And with your figure, and the way he looks at you, you should expect him to be…ah…very keen on claiming them. But as I have said already, he will be good to you. I know it. He adores you so, and will lead you in the ways of what he desires.” Aunt Wilton squeezed Imogene’s hand again. “You should not drea
d it, darling. It is not unpleasant if accomplished in the correct attitude. With the possible exception of the very first time you come together. That first time, when you are no longer a maiden, it will hurt just at the beginning only, and even then not badly if he has prepared you, which he will. If you go to him willingly I am sure you will find him very careful and loving.”
“But what exactly will he do?” Imogene was insistent. “Please tell me.”
Aunt Wilton paused before answering, “He will join his body to yours, intimately, and stir it, spilling his seed in you. He will seize great pleasure from your joining and will want you in this way…often. It is typical of new husbands with their brides. If God is willing, the start of his child will take eventually. You will have a sign of this occurring, if your courses stop and do not come; that is the best indication that you are with child. There are other signs too and I will be happy to speak of them later, but I daresay you will know it when the time comes and you will have Philippa to go to, and Dr. Brancroft, of course. That is the way of it, my dear. We are all born to do our duty and yours will be to honor your husband, acquiesce to his wishes, and bear him the heir to Gavandon. Remember, Imogene, he has extensive properties, and a title to secure.”
Imogene appreciated her aunt’s direct approach. What is the point of skirting around issues, speak them and be done. Honesty was always the best course. As she pondered her aunt’s words, understanding began to dawn. The look in Graham’s eyes was sometimes puzzling. She had not truly recognized what she saw in them before. Especially now, it was becoming clearer: the encounter in the library last night, the powerful feelings when he touched her, her unwillingness to stop him, his request that she lock her door upon return to her room. She began to understand. Now she imagined, and correctly so, that he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do with her, but could not act upon them. Not yet, but soon he would. He would do all of those things he was thinking about. Imogene felt an involuntary shiver take hold and sweep through her as she thought about the things he might do, and it was not at all unpleasant.
GRAHAM sat opposite Imogene in the coach today. Looking, longing, loving her with his eyes only. After last night’s passionate lapse in the library, maintaining a modicum of decorum seemed like the wise course. When he’d called upon her late this morning, explaining there was another gift, and they would go in the carriage, she had been full of questions. Where are we going? We will go alone together? Assuring Imogene that all was approved with Lady Wilton, Graham could only give thanks for the woman. He really needed to show his appreciation for her understanding in allowing him some liberties that other guardians would have never considered granting.
He lazily studied Imogene as she looked out the window at the passing scenery. She focused on her surroundings for a bit and then turned away from the window to address him. “I know where we are going,” she said firmly.
“And does it please you then?” He needed assurance. “If not, just say the word and we’ll go right back.”
“No. It’s a lovely gesture and I should—I should like to be there, again. And you’ll be with me, Graham.” Smiling bravely, she nodded her head.
“I just thought you might like to visit, and you know, get some of your things that you might like to have, with you, when you start—when we start our life,” he trailed off, feeling much less sure. “I’m sorry, I’m not saying this right at all. What I meant was I did not want to take you away from everything, from your home, without you getting a chance to—a chance to say goodbye.” He exhaled. “This was a mistake, wasn’t it? Damn, I’ve made such a mess of things. I am so sorry, chérie.”
“Graham.” She reached out to him. “Darling, it is fine and good that I go. You are quite right in this. I need to go back to my home. I want to, and I am so grateful you will be with me.” She closed her eyes, still nodding.
Graham immediately moved from his seat to hers, drawing her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his chest and let him comfort her. He held her like that for the remainder of the journey and worried if he had done the right thing in bringing her.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis, was waiting for them when the carriage pulled in the drive. Imogene flew into her arms. The elderly Mrs. Ellis took Imogene’s face into her hands. “You are grown up so lovely, Miss Imogene. I know your mamma and papa are feeling very joyous for your happiness. Lady Wilton has written and told us of your love match, you see?” She turned to him and bestowed a sincere smile. “Lord Rothvale, bless you for loving our Imogene and caring for her so kindly. Our hearts here at Drakenhurst can now be eased to know she will be in such good hands.”
Graham bowed graciously. “The honor is all mine, I assure you, Mrs. Ellis. I bless the day that fate allowed me to find her.” Mrs. Ellis veritably glowed at his words.
“My dear, I took the liberty of putting together the things I thought you would surely wish to have, but please have a look around and make sure you get everything you wish for. We’ll have a late luncheon served for you when you are ready.”
Imogene excitedly showed Graham everything. The house, the stables, her favourite haunts as a child. The portrait gallery was his favourite though. Mrs. Ellis had packed thoroughly and there was really nothing Imogene wished to have in addition to what she had already gathered for her, apart from her bows and wrist gauntlets. Graham liked that she would have her bows for he intended to set up targets for her at Gavandon so she could take up the sport again. He’d teased her that the bows would be needed for the Artemis portrait he intended to have done of her.
Imagining the portraits to be created of Imogene was his absolute obsession. He tried not to blather about it too much to her, but he certainly thought about it constantly. Imogene was beautiful of course, but there was something about her that would evoke deep emotion in a portrait. Graham knew this to be irrevocably true. Just seeing her pick up her bow and sight it for a moment, got his creativity flowing with ideas for backdrop and pose. Watching her made him happy. It was such a simple thing, and yet it was…everything.
After a great deal of exploring and gathering of items, and the late luncheon, there was really only one thing left to be done. Mrs. Ellis pressed a thick wool blanket into Graham’s hands. “The ground is damp,” she told him. Graham nodded in understanding, realizing what it was for, and walked Imogene there.
He put the blanket on the ground in front of the crypt where her parents rested, and asked, “Is this all right, my darling?”
Imogene dropped down on the blanket as if being pressed from above with an immense weight. She looked so haunted he had to look away for a moment. Graham stood back then and gave her the privacy she needed. This was something he understood, very well.
Many, many long minutes and a river of tears later, Graham saw when Imogene put her hand out to him. He came to her on the blanket, and held her as she said her final goodbye. And then it was done. On the ride back she allowed him to hold her again in the carriage. She was quiet for most of the trip and he left her to her thoughts, but toward the end she looked up at him and said, “I made my peace.”
“I am glad, chérie, I only wanted to give you the chance to come home—”
She silenced him with two fingers to his lips. “It was good you brought me here today…to do this.” She returned to her position of resting against his chest and settled back into quiet.
Holding his arms around her soft weight, he thought about his own demons. He’d be facing much the same when he brought her home to Gavandon in a few weeks. Would Imogene still love him if she knew? Would she rest so trustingly in his arms as she was right at this moment, if the truth about his secret were known? Speculation on the outcome was easy to figure. Imogene would turn away from him. She would not love him or want him anymore. And that fear drove him to secure her. Whatever it took, whatever must be leveraged, Imogene would be his. No other option was tolerable. The idea of losing her love, for any reason, quite simply…terrified him. She must never know.
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“MISS Byron-Cole, I finally have the honor of meeting you. My friend has kept you quite secreted away in his plans for you. He was quite right to do it, your beauty and charm reasons enough for him to keep you all for himself.”
“Gravelle, are you trying to charm my fiancée on the night before she weds me? What kind of a friend are you anyway?” Graham glared at his friend even though it was apparent he was joking.
Imogene was having a wonderful time on the eve of her wedding. The Hargreaves, her dear friend, Jocelyn, her uncle and cousins, as well as Colin, had all arrived for the nuptials in the morning. Family and friends were in full support this evening at Brentwood along with some new faces. A Mr. Clive Gravelle was one of them. Very amusing, with as easy a manner as Graham had, but without the somberness.
“Thank you, Mr. Gravelle. I hope in the future, when we know one another better, you can feel free to share some of the memories you have of Graham. He’s told me that you’ve known each other since childhood, with your parents being close friends and neighbours in Warwickshire. I should love to know some little thing of what he was like as a boy.”
“By all means. I must have a veritable trunk-full of stories about his boyhood exploits. For all his outward seriousness there lies a mischievous bent to our Rothvale here.” Gravelle replied with a nod and a rakish twinkle to his eyes.
“How wonderful, Mr. Gravelle. I look forward to a very long and reminiscent conversation with you then.” She looked over at Graham.
Graham rolled his eyes. “Gravelle, you are such a loyal friend. It’s so heartwarming to have one’s true friends in support. Have I thanked you for putting me up in Town this past week?” He directed a menacing glare at his friend but all knew it was in jest and that he was truly grateful to have such a good friend with him on this day.
Mr. Gravelle then focused his attentions on her cousin, Cariss. “Miss Wilton, have you enjoyed your stay in Town?”
