Chapter 17

The following morning began the longest day and a half of Imogen’s life.

She should have known Caleb planned on making things difficult for her the moment he stepped from his carriage. Ignoring everyone else, he approached her. Which was mortifying on its own. But then he reached out, gripping her fingers in full view of her family. While her cheeks burned he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “You left me no choice. You are mine now, you know, and I wasn’t about to let you go so easily.”

The words had made her shiver, and not just from apprehension.

She had done her best to pretend he did not exist during the long journey. But it seemed the harder she tried, the more aware of him she became. A bump of his leg here, a brush of his hand there, and the plush interior of the carriage seemed to shrink with each passing mile. His heated glances and small smiles told her more than words that he was fully aware just how he affected her. Even now, as he rode alongside the carriage for the final leg of the trip, she was not immune to him. He passed into view, and though she had determined to keep from seeking him out her traitorous eyes had other ideas. He caught her looking and gave her a roguish wink. She jerked her gaze from him, but even so the damage had been done to her already taut nerves. She squirmed in her seat.

“Are you well, Imogen?” her father asked over his book.

She blushed and adjusted her spectacles. “Yes, Papa.”

He glanced out the window, squinting at the bright landscape. “Lord Willbridge said we would be arriving late this afternoon. How lovely that Northamptonshire is not even two days out of London. And who knew it was so close to Frances’s home? It really is too bad she’s in Rutland just now. It would be wonderful to see her; we get that chance so rarely these days.” His voice trailed off, his brow lowering before he turned back to Imogen with a bracing smile. “We should be seeing the start of Lord Willbridge’s property shortly.”

Sure enough, the carriage rumbled to a stop and Caleb rode up to the window. “The gatehouse to our land is just a mile ahead of us, and then it is a mile to the house. I’ll ride on ahead to give them news of our approach and will see you there.”

Though his words sounded relaxed enough, cheerful even, there was a certain tightness to his eyes that gave her the impression all was not right. Not for the first time on the journey, she recalled their conversations regarding his family, and wondered why he was bringing her here. It was obvious it would be a difficult situation for him, given his strained relationships with his siblings. So why was he insisting on this trip?

Before she could think on it further he was off at a gallop and the carriage lurched forward to rumble at a more sedate pace in his wake.

“Splendid,” her father said with a happy sigh. “Cannot wait to stretch my legs. Never did like travel.” And then he was back to his book, and Imogen was able to stare at the passing scenery in peace, even as her insides roiled.

Only two more miles, she thought, listening to the carriage wheels eat up the distance. Two miles until she would see his home, the home she could be mistress of if only she could ignore her instincts and go along with her desires. Two miles until she would meet the family that could have been hers.

She had come to a sad realization after miles of road with nothing to occupy her mind except some novels that did not hold her attention. Though they had been traveling for the better part of two days, though her legs were cramped and her body was stiff from the confining—albeit, sumptuously appointed—interior of the carriage, she was still not ready to see Caleb’s home and meet his family. And she would most likely never be ready. To see these things, to have them in her memories, would only make the future all the more painful for her. Even though she was saving them both from an imprudent match and unhappy union, she would always know that, had she been any more selfish, she could have had these things for her own. And now the time was upon her, and there was no delaying it.

A short ten minutes later and they were passing the gatehouse. Then they were on his land, the distance between her and Caleb’s home closing by the second. Was it just her, she thought as panic began to set in, or were the horses going uncommonly fast? She was vaguely aware of her breath speeding up and her hands clenching at the seat beneath her. With utmost will she slowed her breathing and loosened her grip. Trying to distract her mind, she studied the passing landscape. The trees were enormous oaks, lining both sides of the road and shading the gravel drive as they no doubt had done for centuries. Beyond them she caught brief glimpses of open areas warmed by the sun, the hills green and rolling. And then the tree line opened.

Imogen had known his home would be a place of beauty. But she was quite unprepared for the scene that greeted her wide eyes. Beyond two soaring carved stone columns and a circular drive lay the house, the late afternoon sun lighting on the pale limestone of the Jacobean exterior. The mullioned windows sparkled under gracefully shaped gables. Front and center stood a small portico, and there was Caleb, smiling as they drove closer. Imogen felt an immediate welcome, a homecoming, and ruthlessly tried to squash the feeling. No good could come of being enamored with the house. It was bad enough she’d fallen in love with its owner.

The carriage made a circuit of the drive, rocking to a gentle halt before the entrance. Then the carriage door was thrown wide.

“Welcome to Willowhaven,” Caleb murmured, offering her his hand.

Imogen paused before she placed her shaking fingers in his and descended the steps. The gravel crunched under her boots, and then Caleb led her forward toward an intricately carved, heavy dark oak door that stood ajar. She was vaguely aware of her father being helped down behind her before Caleb guided her into the entrance hall.

The walls were paneled in the same beautiful dark wood as the door, giving an impression of intimacy and warmth. The floor was white marble interspersed with black marble diamonds, the ceiling painted white with dark beams running throughout. She walked as if in a trance by Caleb’s side, taking it all in. He moved them beyond the small entrance into a bright room with arched windows opening onto what seemed to be an interior courtyard. Delicate tables were set in alcoves, topped with vases overflowing with blooms. The heady aroma was a delicious addition to her senses. Against one wall stood a huge marble fireplace, a portrait of James I gracing the space above.

Imogen swallowed at the grand richness of it all. She could only be glad that her mother was not there. For Lady Tarryton would have been an embarrassment of fawning attention in the face of so much wealth and grandeur. Their family was aristocracy, and far from poor, but her mother had been a mere baronet’s daughter, and a snob for social position, and this would have sent her into raptures.

Lord Tarryton, on the other hand, stood silently beside his daughter, smiling affably at their host. Though her father was absentminded in his best moments, he would provide a silent support for her through this and would not embarrass her.

As the butler relieved them of their outerwear and instructed the footmen on the removal of their luggage from the carriage, as well as directions for their servants that had followed in a second, smaller carriage, Caleb spoke.

“Billsby will show you to your rooms now. We can meet before dinner in the small drawing room. I shall have a maid show you the way at the appointed time.”

Imogen felt a frisson of uncertainty travel down her spine. She could not place it until, as she turned with her father to follow the butler, she realized what it was.

She stopped and turned toward Caleb. He immediately went to her. “What is it?” he asked in concern.

“Is your mother Lady Willbridge in residence? I was given the impression that she was.”

To Imogen’s surprise, Caleb’s mouth compressed and the corners of his eyes tightened. “Yes, my mother is here, along with my two younger sisters. However, I thought you would be more comfortable meeting them after you had a chance to rest a bit from the journey. You will see them before dinner.”

“I would like to meet them now,” she said quietly.

Caleb frowned. “After we get you settled. You must be tired.”

“No, we should meet them now. It would not be polite to delay.” Her voice held an undercurrent of steel that seemed to give Caleb pause.

“Very well,” he said slowly. He offered his arm to Imogen and she took it. He then bowed to Lord Tarryton.

“My lord, if you are amenable, I will show you to Lady Willbridge.”

Lord Tarryton smiled broadly. “Of course, of course. Lead on, dear boy.”

As they started off, Caleb was strangely subdued beside her. One would almost think he had no wish for her to meet his mother. But she was nervous enough without having to worry about that as well.

It seemed the house was built around the open courtyard she had viewed upon first entering. Caleb brought them off to the left and through a limestone arch to a highly polished oak staircase. They travelled up a floor and through several richly appointed rooms before reaching the small drawing room. The butler was there before them, opening the door and bowing as they entered.

“Thank you, Billsby,” Caleb murmured, and guided Imogen in.

A dainty woman sitting on a pale green settee looked up from her embroidery in surprise when they entered. From Caleb’s initial insistence on delaying her meeting his mother, Imogen was taken aback at the positively frail-looking creature before them. She had expected a harridan, a woman who terrorized all in her midst. Instead, the woman looked more nervous than she herself did. As they approached the marchioness, Imogen saw her look to her son with a longing that was almost painful to behold.

She had Caleb’s coloring, though there was a generous sprinkling of gray dusting her copper hair. Her face was softer, more heart-shaped, and lined around her mouth and eyes.

“Mother,” Caleb said, stopping before her, “may I present Lord Tarryton and his daughter, Miss Imogen Duncan. Imogen, my mother, the Marchioness of Willbridge.”

Imogen curtsied, her knees shaking. As she rose she was surprised to see the marchioness had risen as well and stood before her.

“My dear,” she said gently. There was the same tension in her face as her son, but her smile was kind and genuine as she looked at Imogen. “I am so glad to meet you, that you have deigned to visit us.”

Imogen was taken aback at the strange turn of phrase. She searched the woman’s face for any sarcasm or insincerity but found only an uncertain friendliness.

“Thank you, my lady,” she replied, smiling tentatively. “I am honored to be here.”

“And Lord Tarryton,” the woman said, turning to her father, “I have heard you are a learned man. I do hope you make extensive use of our library during your stay. I believe you will find much to please you. I have been told it is the finest collection of books in Northamptonshire.”

Her father’s eyes positively lit up, and suddenly Imogen knew the draw this visit had for him, how Caleb had used her father’s passion for books to guarantee their presence.

“Thank you, my lady,” her father replied, “I look forward to it.”

The marchioness turned then, and for the first time Imogen noticed the two young women seated off to the side. One, a subdued-looking young woman in a slate colored gown with Caleb’s copper hair, had her face resolutely turned to the side. The other, obviously the younger of the two, had curling strawberry blond hair and a fetching lime green gown. She was staring at the newcomers with avid interest.

“And may I present my daughters?” the marchioness went on. “This is Emily,” she said, motioning to the more sober of the two. “And this is my youngest, Daphne.”

Imogen curtsied once more. Lady Emily stayed seated, and somehow, without looking directly at Imogen, managed to incline her head in her direction. The younger, however, sprung from her seat and took hold of Imogen’s hands. Her eyes were a brilliant green that almost matched the hue of her gown and filled to the brim with excitement.

“Miss Duncan, I am so thrilled you are here. You have come straight from London?”

“Y-yes,” Imogen stuttered. Lady Daphne was all bounding enthusiasm and energy, a daunting force indeed.

“Please come and sit here by me.” Without waiting for an answer, the girl pulled Imogen to the couch her sister occupied.

“Daphne,” Caleb said in a warning voice.

“It is quite all right, my lord,” Imogen said, not wanting to be the cause of further strife between them.

“Yes, Caleb,” Daphne chimed in. “Calm yourself. Imogen and I will be the very best of friends. I may call you Imogen, mayn’t I? And you must call me Daphne. None of this ‘Lady Daphne’ business, if you please. We mustn’t stand on ceremony here, after all.”

Imogen drew breath to reply, but the girl launched on and Imogen closed her mouth with a snap.

“And I simply must hear all about London. Imogen, you must tell me about all the latest gossip and fashions. Mother says we may go to London next Season for my come out, and it seems ages until we do.”

The marchioness cut in. “I must apologize for my youngest, Miss Duncan. We do not get many visitors here, you see, and she is quite keen to go to the capital.”

Imogen smiled reassuringly. “Please, there is no need to apologize. I understand. In fact, your daughter reminds me not a small bit of my own dear sister, Mariah, who is in London for her own first Season now.”

Daphne jumped on this. “Oh! Is she quite popular? Has she permission to waltz? Has she any prospects as of yet?”

Imogen broke into a startled laugh. “Oh yes, she is quite popular. And when I receive word from her, for she has promised to write, I shall share with you any news I receive of London.”

“Oh, how delicious,” Daphne gushed. She twisted with impressive speed to face her sister, who sat silently on the other side of her. “Emily, isn’t that simply wonderful?”

Lady Emily turned then. Imogen was suddenly very glad she had practiced her careful, calm expression so often. For when she caught sight of the other side of the girl’s face, she very nearly gasped aloud. An angry looking scar ran from her left temple and across her cheek, ending at the corner of her mouth. It seemed an old wound, but how it must have pained her when it occurred. What could have caused such a violent injury?

“Yes, wonderful,” Lady Emily murmured. She stared at Imogen, as if testing her reaction to her appearance.

Imogen smiled gently at her. “And have you been to London, Lady Emily?”

“No.”

And that was it. Lady Emily gave Imogen her profile once again and said no more.

Imogen had no time to ponder her strange attitude, however, for the marchioness spoke up. “Is not Lady Sumner your sister as well?”

“Yes. I was pleased to hear your estate is so close to her own, though she is not at home just now. They are visiting one of her husband’s estates in Rutland.”

“That is too bad. It would have been lovely for you to have a chance to visit with her while you’re staying with us. Though perhaps she might return in time. We do like Lady Sumner exceedingly.”

Daphne, who had been bouncing impatiently in her seat for this short exchange, captured her attention again and held it until Caleb moved to her side and interrupted. “It is time Miss Duncan and her father retired so they can rest before dinner. They have been travelling the better part of two days and will want to get settled.”

He put his hand under her elbow. Imogen rose obediently, but she chafed at his management of her. She was surprised at how readily she had taken to Caleb’s family, how much she enjoyed their company, and would have liked to stay a bit longer.

Though, now that she thought on it, perhaps it was best not to get too attached. As she allowed Caleb to lead her father and herself to their rooms, however, she saw that particular battle had already been lost. For she liked his family very much, and knew that she would only grow to like them more during her stay, which would make her final break from Caleb all the more painful.