The earnestness of his vow floored her.
And the knowledge that he took her account seriously made her think twice about telling her parents the truth about Silas. Maybe they would believe her, too, about what had happened with her and with Belinda, and now what he’d recently done. But then, even if they did, what would they think about her for her part in it? Would they judge her? Condemn her? Cast her out?
While she didn’t want to believe her parents would shun her, especially after her father’s recent admission that he only had her best interests at heart, she’d met too many women at Haven who’d been dismayed when their families had cast them out after an indiscretion or even an attack. Nearly all of them had been accused of lying, too, while the men who’d assaulted them went free. She couldn’t bear it if she lost them.
In the end, she had asked Ronan not to say anything to them about Silas and the kidnapping. Instead, Imogen told her parents that she’d mistakenly believed she was to meet Aisla the following day and had spent the afternoon and evening visiting a number of potential investors for Haven. She’d apologized for causing such worry, and her parents, too relieved to have her safely at home again, had simply asked her to be more mindful of her appointments in the future. Imogen was grateful. Her father would have suffered apoplexy to discover that his only daughter had been kidnapped. By a man he trusted, no less.
Hilda bustled into the room, her round face pale and drawn. The maid, who knew the truth of what happened, had been distraught at Imogen’s disappearance and upon her safe return hadn’t let her mistress out of her sight, fussing like a clucking hen. Rory, too. It was a miracle that the girl had even agreed to go to bed in her own bedchamber, but she’d been exhausted. Between the two of them and Ronan, Imogen had not wanted for company. Or shadows on her every step. But now, she was restless and sick of being indoors for two days.
“Are you sure there’s no entertainment tonight? Perhaps a musicale or a soiree?” she asked.
Hilda sniffed. “Perhaps it’s too soon for you to be up and about, my lady.”
“I’m not made of glass, Hilda.”
The maid frowned, her glance falling to the darkened skin at her wrists. “Yes, just very vulnerable flesh and bone.”
“If you’re worried about people seeing these marks, I will wear gloves.” She huffed a breath. “I’m not afraid of Silas, and even if I were, he would not attack me in public.”
“He took you off the streets!” she shrieked. “Snatched you like a plucked flower, in full view of everyone.”
She had a point. But Imogen did not want to cower in hiding. “I need to get out of this house, Hilda.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
The voice came from the open doorway, and both Imogen and Hilda looked up to see Aisla standing there. Her usual smiling expression was conspicuously missing. Imogen frowned, reading into the emotions playing across her face.
“Sorry, Burns said you were up here, and I told him not to announce me,” she said in a breathy rush. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” Imogen said. “Is anything the matter? What’s wrong? Is Ronan all right?”
Aisla gave her a circumspect look but shook her head quickly. “Ronan is fine. This is about you, actually.”
“About me?” Imogen said, directing her to a chair in the small seating area of her chamber and asking Hilda to fetch a maid for tea. She turned to her friend with a quick frown. “Or perhaps something stronger than tea?”
“Stronger, trust me.” Aisla settled into an armchair, her face tight, and waited for Imogen to get settled opposite her before canting her head. “There’s no easy way to say this,” she began. “There are rumors.”
“Rumors?”
Aisla nodded. “About you and Silas Calder.”
Imogen felt her heart shudder and slow. She’d known that something like this might happen. She wouldn’t have put it past him to spread some scandalous gossip about her…anything to turn the tide in his favor. “What are they saying?”
“Terrible things,” she whispered.
Imogen squared her shoulders. “Nothing that man says can hurt me.”
“This can,” Aisla said, her mouth downturned. “The gossip rags are saying that since your attack, you are damaged goods, and that you’re ruined.” She paused, wringing her fingers, speaking just as Imogen opened her mouth to argue that she wasn’t afraid of a little gossip. “It gets worse. They are saying that you work with lowlifes in Edinburgh and that it’s tainted you. That the shelter you run has leached into your life and you have lowbrow and vulgar tastes.”
“What does that even mean?” Imogen asked. “Haven provides hope for women who have none. What’s vulgar about that?”
“Nothing, dear,” Aisla said, lifting a hand as if to placate her. “Not to us. What you do there is truly remarkable. They are saying…” She broke off, sending Imogen an agonized glance before continuing. “They’re saying that you encouraged him.”
“I did nothing of the sort. He’s behind it!”
Aisla shrugged. “You and I know that. Ronan knows that. But you know how the ton is and how fast gossip travels, especially when it involves tearing down one of our own. And right now, you’re a juicy target.” She cleared her throat. “The way people have perceived you these last few weeks in London, particularly after the Bradburne ball, hasn’t been pleasant. The older denizens of the ton claimed that you were flaunting your assets in a manner unbecoming the daughter of an earl.”
Imogen blinked. She’d first seen Silas at that ball, and she’d been dressed in the demure white gown to irritate Ronan. After that, she’d dressed more provocatively to make a statement. That she wasn’t some naive young woman with stars in her eyes—that he could have no hope in hell of winning someone like her. She sucked in a horrified breath.
Recalling what she’d said earlier, Imogen leaned forward. “Wait, what do you mean by they think I encouraged him?”
Aisla looked appalled to explain it, but she steeled herself and finished the explanation in a rush. “I don’t believe this, just so you know, but they are saying that you couldn’t find what you were looking for, so you went to St Giles on your own, seeking loose male company, and that’s how you got yourself abducted.”
Loose male company? Imogen nearly snorted. If they only knew how inexperienced she was, besides what she could not recall with Silas, they would laugh. She acted a good performance. Clearly too good of one, if they all believed she was a slattern and wanted to denigrate her for it.
“That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, her mind racing. She couldn’t fathom how people could be so cruel, so quick to strike down and condemn others, but nothing surprised her anymore. In fact, she’d seen more humanity and compassion among the lower classes the beau monde so reviled.
“Though we cannot prove it’s him, Lady Bradburne said she heard that apparently Silas Calder, a gentleman who has admired and loved you for years and was once your betrothed, received a message from you for a rendezvous in a surprising part of town. He’s claiming he didn’t say anything to the police when he was questioned because he didn’t want to tarnish your reputation, but now, after the accusations made against him, he has no choice.”
“That bastard,” Imogen swore. “He’s no gentleman. He’s a liar and a crook. And he’s not in love with me in the least. He’s in love with my coffers. My father’s coffers, to be precise.”
A chambermaid arrived with tea, and Hilda had seen to a small amount of whisky for each of them. Imogen’s hand shook as she poured.
“I’m sorry, Imogen. People can be awful,” Aisla said, compassion written all over her. “For what it’s worth, all our friends, like the Duke and Duchess of Bradburne, the Earl and Countess of Dinsmore, and the Earl and Countess of Langlevit have been your champions these past few days, and they are powerful voices speaking on your behalf. Niall and I have done what we could as well.” She gave a small smile. “Th
ough my husband’s tactics are more hands-on. I’ve had to keep him on a tight leash so he isn’t tearing aristocrats apart.”
Imogen swallowed. “And Ronan?”
“He’s furious, of course, but he’s focused on finding Calder’s accomplice.”
She’d wondered why she hadn’t seen much of Ronan the last two days. He’d been busy, though she suspected nothing would come of his efforts.
“He won’t find him,” Imogen said with sudden and overwhelming despondency. “Silas is clever and has likely had him dealt with by now. Besides, as you’ve said, people are already judging me. Finding one man with an eye injury isn’t going to change anyone’s mind.”
Aisla reached for Imogen’s hand. “You don’t have to stay in London. You could go to Maclaren. These rumors won’t matter there.”
Perhaps not, but they would still be like an impenetrable wall around London, barring her from ever coming back. And if the rumors mounting here were to reach Edinburgh, she would not be able to escape the ramifications even there. She closed her eyes and remembered that Ronan believed her. He’d vowed to, always. She could go with him to Maclaren, as Aisla suggested. And now that they were marrying, Haven would not suffer a lack of funding, ever. Emma and the girls who needed the shelter could carry on as always.
But Imogen would still be running in shame. Silas would have ruined her, as he’d promised to do, and driven her from the life she’d built for herself.
“I can’t let him win,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand from under Aisla’s and standing to pace the room. “I can’t let him walk away, unscathed, perhaps even to harm any other young women one day.” Her eyes met Aisla’s. “I trust you’ve heard of Lady Beatrice?”
“Ronan told me.”
“Well, she wasn’t the first,” Imogen said in a dead voice. “My governess Belinda died in childbirth out of wedlock. He seduced her, impregnated her, and ruined her life, all the while courting me. He’s a silver-tongued, two-faced monster.”
Aisla now knew about Silas’s manipulation of her, and about Lady Beatrice as well. But Imogen still held the darkest part of her secret regarding Silas to herself. Confessing to a flirtation with a man and being persuaded to believe he intended to marry her was only a fraction of the truth. Telling Ronan what happened at the Golden Antler, how he’d drugged and forced himself on her, still made her stiff with dread.
“Trust in Ronan.” Aisla stood without touching her tea or whisky. “If anyone can see to Calder’s recompense, it’s him.”
Imogen nodded, even though the words did little to soothe her. Silas had successfully thrown Imogen’s reputation to the curb, and she’d done nothing but help him, what with her own scandalous and outrageous behavior these last weeks. All done, ironically, to thwart him. It seemed instead he’d used the gossipmongers against her, and she’d played right into his conniving hands.
Aisla left, and Imogen sank into her chair. She swallowed each small glass of whisky on the tea service and curled herself into a ball, tucking up her legs and feeling the effects of the drink as it burned her throat and loosened her limbs. She felt like she had all those years ago. Confused and scared and angry. Resentful that she’d made such terrible mistakes. Trusted a man who had turned out to be a consummate liar. Lost everything. And distraught yet again that she was about to lose yet another future.
The next hour ticked by, and Imogen still had not moved from the chair. Hilda eventually returned to clear away the tea service.
“You’ve heard the rumors, I imagine,” Imogen said with a glimpse at her tight face.
“Aye, my lady,” the maid said softly. “A few of the kitchen maids mentioned they’d heard a thing or two.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It would have only made things worse,” she replied.
“Well it’s certainly not going to get better now.”
The engagement ball would have to be called off. It stung, even though she’d only just started to become excited for it. No one would attend, and the poor turnout would only be another thing for the ton to gossip about.
“My parents,” she said, “they have heard these lies as well?”
“Have faith, my lady,” was all Hilda said as a knock landed on the sitting room door. She answered it, and a moment later came back in. “You’ve a visitor. The duke.”
Ronan? Imogen hadn’t been expecting him and, as she took the stairs to the front parlor, assumed Aisla had gone to him after leaving Kincaid Manor. She must have explained that Imogen now knew about the rumors impugning her honor. He was likely here to speak to her about them. Perhaps try to make her feel better or plead with her to leave for Maclaren as soon as possible. While she wanted to see Maclaren, the home Ronan so loved, she didn’t want to do it under a black cloud. Deep down, she didn’t want to bring shame to him.
She frowned as she heard raised voices coming from the parlor. And then her mother’s, clear as a bell: “What, exactly, do you want us to do, Your Grace?”
“To stand up for yer daughter. Is that too much to ask?”
Imogen peered inside the parlor, where her father, mother, and Ronan stood in a tense, small circle before the hearth. None of them noticed her.
“Our daughter is a grown woman who has made her own choices. Do you think we have not noticed her reckless behavior toward Mr. Calder?” Lord Kincaid replied in a hushed tone. “It was yet another of Imogen’s acts that has rebounded on her with severe consequences. Only the poor man wished to make it right when he came to ask for her hand in marriage. He wished to do right by her.”
Imogen cringed that her parents were still shielding this monster, but in their defense, they didn’t know what he truly was.
“To solicit a man for a tryst, to cause such a scandal…” Lady Kincaid added, Imogen’s blood slowing in her veins when she recalled that Aisla had said the same.
Her heart breaking, Imogen finally stepped forward. “Is this what you believe? Is this what you think of me?”
Her mother saw her and instantly flushed. “Imogen. Your father and I, we don’t know what to think. Your conduct over the last few weeks has been disturbing, first with the duke and then with Mr. Calder.”
“But now, with this scandal, we can’t help but see it as a last desperate effort to get the duke to cry off for whatever misguided reason you have in your head of being a spinster forever,” her father cut in. “To drag poor Silas into it, however, after he’d offered his own hand as an alternative, is too much, even for you.”
She couldn’t believe what they were saying. Silas Calder had so thoroughly enchanted her parents that they were blind to the truth.
“I didn’t drag that deceitful knave into anything. He is the one who had me taken. He is spreading these rumors, all of them!”
“Silas is one of us, Imogen, a friend to our family,” Lord Kincaid replied, looking utterly aghast. “He has been nothing but attentive and devoted to you.”
“Devoted? Oh, aye, indeed, he’s been that,” Ronan said as he took long strides toward her, his whole body rigid with leashed fury. “Imogen did no’ solicit Calder. The man is lying. She rejected him, and he’s taking out his revenge.”
All Ronan did was stand beside her, crossing his arms like a sentry, but it made her feel stronger. Still, it hurt that she needed his support to stand up to her own parents. It was exactly what she’d always feared—that they would not believe her.
“That is preposterous,” her father said, but there was a curl of doubt in his voice.
“Why is it so bloody impossible for ye to believe Calder is lying but so easy to believe yer own daughter is?” Ronan was livid, color rising in his cheeks. He shook his head. “This is why Imogen didnae tell ye to begin with. Because she kenned ye wouldnae believe her. I thought ye were a better man than this, Kincaid.”
“How dare you!” her father sputtered.
“I dare because, unlike ye, I believe her.”
Imogen looked between them, her
tongue heavy and useless. She’d never had anyone stand up for her like this. It filled Imogen with wonder. But also with guilt; she’d never given her parents the chance to believe her. If she’d confided in them years ago, perhaps they would look upon her differently now. But from their point of view, all they were seeing was how she had acted with Silas in the last few weeks. She’d well and truly made her bed, and Silas was using that to his full advantage.
Lady Kincaid stepped between Ronan and Lord Kincaid. “What do you mean, Your Grace, about Imogen not telling us to begin with? You make it sound as if it’s been quite some time now.”
Ronan turned to Imogen. “Tell them, leannan. I ken ye’re afraid, but it’s time.” He took her hand, the warmth and encouragement leaching into her. “Ye’re no’ alone. No’ anymore.”
She held his stare, his blue eyes diving into hers, seeking the trust and fearlessness that Imogen knew he wanted so desperately in a wife. He believed he had found these things in her. And it was under his steady and generous stare that Imogen realized he had not.
But Ronan was right about one thing. It was time for her parents to know.
Silas had pushed her into a small, airless corner, and she could either crouch and huddle there, desperately trying to breathe for the rest of her life, or she could push back. Even if it meant exposing the truth to everyone, including Ronan.
Even if it meant losing him.
Imogen stepped out of his grip with an odd sense of calm descending over her. “Yes. I have to tell the truth. I never quite knew how tired running from it had made me, until right now.”
She turned to her parents, who were watching her with matched frowns of confusion. “I was fifteen when Silas Calder told me that he was in love with me and that he wanted us to be together.” The words came easier as soon as she started speaking.
“I was elated. Thrilled to have the secret admiration of a young, handsome, intelligent man, a man who clearly had your esteem and had been such a close friend for so many years. True to his word, he sought my hand after my first Season, when I was seventeen. But it was all a lie. The Silas Calder you know doesn’t exist. In that time, he got Belinda, my old governess, pregnant and dallied with other servants, all the while claiming to love only me. Hilda was the one who told me the truth—she’d seen his deception with her own eyes. Turns out Silas wanted more than just me…he wanted money and power. And after I learned about Belinda, he tried to take it the only way he could. By force.”
What a Scot Wants (Tartans and Titans) Page 25
