Imogen joined Lady Willbridge in her laughter. She could well imagine the picture the woman had painted. Daphne had been full of boundless energy during their trip, and more than once Caleb had been forced to haul her back into her seat for fear of her tipping them all over into the River Spratt.
“You should come out with us sometime, Mama,” Daphne said.
The marchioness held up her hands. “As I’ve told you many times before, no thank you. I leave such adventures to the more stout-hearted of you. For anyone who heads into open waters with you on board is either very foolish or very brave. As I am certainly neither, and Caleb and Imogen fall into the latter category, I leave them to it, with a grateful heart.”
Mother and daughter shared a chuckle. Imogen smiled, her heart warming at their banter, though underlying it was the smallest twinge as she thought of her relationship with her own mother.
Just then Billsby arrived. To Imogen’s surprise he approached her, holding out a silver salver. “These have arrived for you, Miss Duncan.”
Imogen took the letters, giving a quick gasp of delight when she saw the returns.
Daphne was at her side in an instant. “Who has written, Imogen?”
Imogen smiled, fingering the envelopes. “My sisters, Frances and Mariah.”
Daphne bounced on the balls of her feet in her excitement. “Your sister in London, and Lady Sumner? Oh, read them, please do!”
“Daphne,” her mother admonished. “We should let Imogen read her correspondence in peace.”
“Actually,” Imogen said with a wry smile, “I find I cannot wait to return to my room. Would you mind terribly if I read them now? And I did promise to share any details of London with Daphne.”
Lady Willbridge smiled. “Of course. Please feel free to use my desk.”
Imogen hurried to the small white escritoire in the corner. Sitting down, she quickly opened the first letter, her gaze skimming the short missive eagerly.
“What news, Imogen?” Daphne called out.
“My sister Frances and her husband have just returned early from a trip to his property in Rutland. She is asking us to visit.” She turned to Lady Willbridge. “Could my father and I take a carriage to call on her tomorrow afternoon? We see each other rarely now that she has married.”
“Certainly, my dear. What a wonderful bit of chance that they should arrive while you are in the area.”
Imogen could barely contain her excitement. To see Frances, to garner some strength from her, was a chance she could not ignore.
Daphne spoke up. “Perhaps we can make a party of it. I would love to see your sister.”
“Yes, it has been some time since we visited with her,” Lady Willbridge mused. “I do hope it is not an imposition, but do you think your sister would mind if we joined you, Imogen?”
“Not at all. Frances would love it, I’m certain.”
As Lady Willbridge and Daphne discussed the trip, Caleb moved closer.
“Shall I accompany you?” he asked quietly.
Imogen regarded him. To have Frances meet Caleb, to have the chance to get her sister’s impressions regarding him, would be valuable indeed.
“Certainly, my lord,” she murmured. His eyes, to her surprise, flared with relief before he bowed and moved away. Had he feared she would deny him?
She broke the seal on the second letter, giving it a quick read before going back to the beginning to pore over her sister’s words more slowly.
Daphne was at her elbow the moment she lowered the paper to the desk. “And what news from London?”
Imogen laughed. “My sister Mariah has attended four balls since we have been here, and received an invitation to Lady Seymour’s afternoon gala for next week. She also talks a great deal about a dance that is taking the ballrooms by storm, one called the Andrew Carey.”
“I don’t believe I have heard of that one.”
“It was new around the time of my come out. But now it seems to be having a resurgence in popularity. I’ve witnessed it done, but have not done it myself.”
Daphne’s eyes lit with what Imogen was beginning to recognize as mischievous purpose. “Would you teach me? If I am to be in London next Season, I wish to know all of the most popular dances ahead of time.”
“Certainly,” Imogen said with warmth.
“But surely we cannot learn the dance without a proper amount of couples.” Daphne looked to her mother. “We should invite the Sanderses, and cousin Mottram and his family as well. And Lord and Lady Sumner, of course.”
Lady Willbridge lowered her teacup. “What exactly are you hatching in that mind of yours, Daphne?” she asked with amusement.
“Nothing extravagant. Perhaps a small dinner party and casual dancing after.”
Caleb spoke up from across the room. “Absolutely not. Imogen does not like crowds or strangers.”
Daphne stuck her chin out mulishly. “They are not strangers. Besides Imogen’s own sister, half coming would be related to us and the other half would be Vicar Sanders and his family. Hardly the scum of the earth. Even if they all accept, we shall have only seventeen people, surely nothing grandiose or objectionable.”
Imogen fought the urge to laugh at the sarcasm dripping from her voice. Caleb, on the other hand, only grew angrier. “Most of them are not known to Imogen, and thus strangers to her. I will not allow it.”
At once Imogen felt a frisson of ire travel down her spine. “On the contrary, my lord, I have no objections whatsoever. It sounds like a lovely evening.”
Daphne beamed. “There, you see? Imogen has no objections, and so it behooves you to agree.” She turned to her mother. “I shall send invitations out directly. If I warn Cook now of the extra guests for dinner, we can have them here as early as tomorrow evening!”
The girl bounded up and out of the room with her typical energy. Imogen stared after her with a small smile. That is, until she realized what she had agreed to. Daphne wanted her to teach the dance steps to everyone present. She would be getting up in front of strangers and instructing them. A queer sickness settled in her stomach.
She was just about to run after Daphne, to tell her to forget the entire thing, when she happened to glance over at Caleb. He was staring at her again, but with a hint of wry admiration in his eyes. Pressing her lips together, she settled back into her seat. She could no more lose face in front of him after that display than she could waltz at Almack’s in nothing but her shift. She would grin and bear it…even if it killed her.
• • •
“Imogen! I am so glad you have come, dearest.”
Frances embraced her, and Imogen found herself holding on a bit longer than necessary. The turmoil of the past days seemed to still. Here was reason. Here was why she had fought so hard against Caleb’s pull.
As Frances greeted their father, followed by Caleb and his family, Imogen greeted her sister’s husband. “Lord Sumner, thank you for having us.”
Frances’s husband smiled benignly at her. “Not at all. We are family, after all.”
Imogen kept her placid expression from slipping, but inwardly she rolled her eyes. He hardly ever showed himself during the visits her family made to his homes, and never deigned to visit his wife’s relations at all.
She knew what made the difference now, however. She watched as he moved toward Caleb. The earl’s fawning smile and over-eager attitude told her all. The man was highly ambitious. To have someone with the status of the Marquess of Willbridge visit his home was a coup, indeed.
But enough. It was not him she had come to see, after all.
“Won’t you all have a seat?” Frances said, motioning to a circle of highly fashionable, highly uncomfortable seats. No doubt Lord Sumner’s choice. The man made certain every aspect of his residences, from the wall coverings to the silverware—even to his wife—showcased his status in the very best light.
“I must thank you for allowing us to accompany Imogen and Lord Tarryton on their visit,” Lady Willbridge said
to Frances. “It is most kind of you. I do hope we are not encroaching on your private family time.”
“Not in the least, my lady,” Frances said.
“No, indeed,” her husband chimed in. “We are happy to have you. Please know that your family is always welcome here.” He glanced from Caleb to Imogen. She could practically hear him wondering what this peculiar visit by his sister-in-law meant in the grand scheme of things. And how he could benefit from it.
Lady Willbridge nodded politely to Lord Sumner, her expression serene, before she returned her attention to his wife. “It has been such a pleasure having your father and sister visit with us. It was so generous of your mother to spare them while the Season is in full swing. She must have her hands full with your younger sister’s schedule.”
“Oh, have no fear on that score,” Frances replied. “Our mother would put any military general to shame. She quite delights in that sort of thing.”
Not a person present could fail to hear the hint of coldness in Frances’s words. Imogen ached for her sister. Frances, she knew, had never forgiven their mother for her ruthless maneuverings during her own Season.
Lady Willbridge spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled like a pall on the group. “Daphne comes out next year, and I am quaking in my shoes at the mere thought. It has been many a year since I have been to London. My husband was not fond of city life. To be truthful, I’m not that keen on it myself. And you, Lady Sumner? Do you enjoy time in town?”
The distraction worked, for immediately talk turned to safer subjects. Imogen could only be grateful for it, and though she had gained a deep respect for Caleb’s mother, she now found her heart swelling with affection as well.
Tea and a light repast came then, and when everyone had their fill, Frances suggested a walk in the gardens. The group set out, Imogen making sure she hung back in order to be paired off with her sister. They linked arms and followed slowly after the rest. The sun was warm on their backs, the air smelling heavily of roses and rich earth.
Imogen watched as the others pulled ahead a bit before speaking. “You are well, Frances?”
“Very well.”
And, to Imogen’s surprise, Frances did look well. There was a bit more weight on her and a certain fresh blush to her cheeks. Could it be that things were improving for her sister and her husband?
“I am glad you are here,” Frances continued, squeezing Imogen’s arm and smiling at her. “What a treat this is.”
“I am sad you won’t be able to make it to Lady Willbridge’s dinner party this evening. Can you truly not change your plans?”
Frances gave a small sigh. “I’m afraid not. James has been trying to convince Lord Finch for ages to sell his property to him. It rests against the west fields, and would double the grazing area for our cattle. He has a very limited time in which to meet with the man. It was the reason we returned from Rutland in such haste. No, James will not change his plans, even for a marquess.” She turned to Imogen with a speculative look. “Speaking of which, what was Lord Willbridge’s reason for inviting you and Father to his home? It does seem peculiar.”
Imogen blushed but couldn’t find the words.
“He is devilishly handsome, Imogen,” Frances went on, a slight smile lifting her lips. “Of course, you are looking much improved yourself. That dress is lovely on you. And your hair. I cannot believe the difference it has made.”
Imogen could feel her face grow hotter. “It was not of my doing, I assure you.”
“It is nothing to be overwrought about.” Frances patted her arm comfortingly. “Though I do wonder at the change, especially as I see you are now allowed to wear your spectacles in public. What was that battle like, I wonder.”
Imogen gave a wry smile. “Not pleasant.”
“And now to have captured the attentions of the Marquess of Willbridge? Does he mean to court you?”
Again Imogen could not speak. She knew her sister would take her reticence for the answer it was.
They walked on in silence for a time, and Imogen allowed her gaze to rest on Caleb. Daphne’s arm was tucked into his, and he responded to something that Lord Sumner was saying. He looked toward her then, gave her a small smile. Her body reacted immediately, her draw to him unmistakable. Yes, he was handsome. Quite the handsomest man Imogen had ever seen. But there was so much more to him than that. There was kindness, and gentleness, and a deep hurt that she wished with all her might she could mend. What, she wondered, did Frances see?
As if reading her mind, Frances spoke. “He seems a good man, Imogen.”
“He is,” she murmured.
“You care for him.” It was not a question. And again, silence was the only answer Imogen could give. She had acknowledged it in her heart. If she said it aloud, it might be her undoing.
“Take care, dearest,” her sister whispered.
The rest of the party joined them then, and there was no more chance for talk. But Imogen observed. And what she saw surprised her.
Here was Lord Sumner, actually showing care for Frances. She had noticed it earlier in the drawing room, but now it was more pronounced. He made certain his wife rested, that she not over-exert herself, that she was shaded from the hot afternoon sun. Frances for her part seemed happy with the change.
Something uncurled in Imogen’s chest. If things could alter for the better in Frances’s marriage, wasn’t it possible for a relationship to work between Caleb and herself?
A short time later she made her farewells of her sister and her husband. She placed her fingers in Caleb’s to allow him to hand her up into the carriage for the journey home. As the now familiar electric shock from his touch sizzled through her, she vowed not to make her decision too quickly. But the surge of hope in her chest told her exactly what her heart’s say in the matter was.
Chapter 22
Imogen stood up before the assembled couples and swallowed hard. This was proving even more difficult than she had imagined.
The evening had progressed surprisingly well—as long as she hadn’t allowed herself to think of what was expected of her after supper. There had been a wonderfully casual feel to the party from the start. The good Reverend Elijah Sanders and family had arrived first, as his vicarage was just a short walk from the manor house. He was a jolly, rotund gentleman with an equally jolly, rotund wife. They had two daughters, the Misses Rebecca and Hannah Sanders, both of whom were sweet, bright girls, as well as a younger son, Gabriel, who it seemed would be following in his father’s pious footsteps. The reverend and his family did not fawn over Lady Willbridge, as so many vicars with wealthy patrons did. Instead they had a comfortable way of talking with the marchioness that showed years of true friendship.
Sir Alexander Mottram and his family also seemed quite close to those at Willowhaven, related to Lady Willbridge on her mother’s side. The two families lived but an hour from each other, and from the conversation that circled around the table it seemed they got together often. Sir Alexander and his wife had two sons, tall and witty Mr. Daniel Mottram, who was not long out of University, and Mr. Christopher Mottram, a younger son who was vocal in his desire to buy his commission and join the Horse Guards.
Imogen liked them all immensely. They were neither unfriendly nor pompous, but instead had a wonderful openness that allowed her to relax and converse with surprising ease.
Dinner had gone splendidly. Never had she been surrounded by so much gaiety at a meal before. Everyone laughed and joked, with none of the separation of status that was so apparent in London. Even when they had invited local families to dine with them at Hillview Manor, there had been a pronounced hierarchy. Imogen found that, though meeting new people and conversing in large groups was something she avoided at all costs, she could not help but enjoy herself.
She was achingly aware that Caleb watched her closely throughout the night. He knew her feelings on socializing. And with the informal seating, he made certain to sit by her side at supper. Imogen trie
d to feel annoyed at his hovering, but found she was oddly touched at his sensitivity to her preferences.
Trying to banish the small hitch in her breathing every time his gaze landed on her, she ignored him as best she could. Mr. Daniel Mottram was seated on her right, and was engaging as well as funny. But she was drawn again and again to Caleb at her left. He’d brought forth his town persona for tonight. But it did not feel forced, as it sometimes did, and as it had ever since they had arrived at Willowhaven. He charmed everyone in the room; seemed to genuinely like them all; and it was clear that the two visiting families held him in the highest esteem.
When the time came to retire to the formal drawing room for dancing, however, Imogen found herself nearly paralyzed with fear. She had succeeded in putting the coming event from her mind, but now that it was here she was overwhelmed with anxiety. The gentlemen had eschewed staying at the table and imbibing in the traditional after-dinner drink, instead joining the ladies as they exited. Imogen watched them all go, unable to follow for fear her suddenly trembling legs would give out.
Caleb was at her side in an instant, reaching for her cold hand. He secured her arm through his own, and she felt a modicum of sanity return. She could not lose face now, not when she had purposely crossed him in the matter of this party.
He leaned down close to her ear. “Are you certain, Imogen?”
“Of course.”
He raised one copper eyebrow before leading her forward.
And now here they were, collected before her. All the young people, with the exception of Lady Emily, who had stationed herself at the pianoforte, were standing about. Daphne had paired everyone off in her energetic fashion and directed their eyes to Imogen at the top of the room.
Caleb had not left her side. She glanced up at him, taking a measure of strength from his calm demeanor. Imogen cleared her throat nervously and adjusted her spectacles. Perhaps if she could imagine she was helping her younger siblings out, as she had so often done back at home.
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