Chapter 20

Caleb steadied her. “Imogen, are you hurt?”

“No, not at all. No harm done,” she said, waving him off. He had put his arm around her, and that along with the confusion from the impact was making her feel decidedly dizzy.

She looked up to see who had caused the commotion and was surprised to find Lady Emily standing before them. Her face was pale, her scar standing out in vivid relief on her cheek. Her eyes seemed puffy and slightly red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. She had her shawl clasped about her shoulders with a white-knuckled grip. Within the cage of her fingers Imogen thought she caught sight of a snowy handkerchief.

“Lady Emily,” Imogen exclaimed. “Are you well?”

She reached out a hand, but the girl recoiled. Her pale eyes, so like Caleb’s, swiveled to him, regarding him with a strange sorrow.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she muttered through stiff lips. She glanced briefly behind her. Caleb tensed as he followed her gaze, the same grief that had been etched on Lady Emily’s face flashing across his own.

“I am so sorry for having bumped into you,” the other girl managed. Not waiting for an answer, bobbing a quick curtsy, she pushed past them. Imogen watched her go in confusion until she disappeared from view into the house’s interior.

Caleb’s hand was on her arm in a moment and he was pulling her along without a word, through the hedge and along the gravel path toward the avenue of oaks.

Imogen looked up at him in surprise. Shouldn’t there be some concern for his sister?

“We should go after her,” she said. She tried to tug free of him, but his fingers only tightened.

“She is fine,” he murmured. “Our presence would only cause her more distress.”

Imogen stopped abruptly. “But surely we should find out what is wrong—”

“I know what is wrong,” he broke in. As Imogen stared up at him in bewilderment, his face transformed, losing the tightness that had momentarily overtaken it. “Trust me, Imogen. This is nothing we can help with. If we go after her she will only grow more anxious. She needs time alone.”

Now that was something Imogen could understand. Her own need for peace and quiet, away from even those she loved, caused her to be particularly sensitive to such needs in others. Finally, she gave him a quick nod, and he smiled, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, and continued on.

But Imogen was not easy. She longed to ask him what was going on here, what lay between him and his family to cause such tension. She had a sense, however, that he would close himself off completely if she questioned him in a direct manner.

They walked in silence for a time. The oaks on either side of them stood like silent sentries, their immense size showing them to be a century or more in age. The leaves above their heads rustled as if in a whisper as a slight breeze passed through the branches. Typically, she would have reveled in the quiet beauty. But there was a disquiet in her now. She racked her brain, and yet she could think of no way to scale the immense wall Caleb seemed to have put up about himself.

Finally, they reached the river. It gurgled merrily beneath a gracefully arched stone bridge. Willow trees dotted the grassy bank on either side, their long, trailing branches dancing in the breeze, brushing the water like the graceful fingers of a dancer. Caleb and Imogen walked to the bridge, stopping when they reached the middle. Taking the chance to release his arm and distance herself from him, she went to the stone railing, placing her palms flat on the sun-warmed surface and leaning over to watch the water rush by. Caleb came and stood near her, his lean hip resting casually against the railing.

“If I recall from previous conversations of ours,” she ventured, “you have three siblings. Where is the third?”

“Andrew is between Emily and Daphne in age. He has just finished at University, like your brother Nathanial, and is staying with friends.”

His voice was casual, disinterested. She took that as a good sign and plunged on. “Daphne is lovely, very vivacious. She reminds me of Mariah in many ways. Is your brother more like her, or is he quiet like Lady Emily?”

She held her breath to test his reaction. There was a slight pause, barely noticeable, before he answered. “He is definitely more like Daphne. I expect I’ll be getting a request for a commission soon from him. I cannot see him in the clergy, leading a flock with his upright behavior.” There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

“Lady Emily seems very different in personality from the rest of your family.”

She glanced up at him as she spoke. Was that pain she saw in his eyes? He turned his head to look out over the water, however, hiding the emotion from her view.

“No,” he finally said, quietly, “she’s quite different from us all.”

“However did she get such a scar? It must have been exceedingly painful for her.”

His jaw worked for a moment. “You recall me telling you of my brother, Jonathan? The one who died young?” His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him.

“Yes.”

He took a slow, deep breath. “She got that scar in the same accident that killed him. There was an outcropping of rocks, close to the fishing pond. They were at the top when it gave way. They were twelve at the time.”

“Oh, how horrible for her,” she exclaimed. “It must have been a violent fall indeed to have caused such an injury.” She frowned. “I had no idea Lady Emily and Jonathan were twins.”

“Yes. They were very close, did everything together. She was forever trailing about after him…” His voice faltered.

Imogen could think of nothing to say. She watched the play of emotions over his face. It was obvious he still felt deeply about it. And Emily too must relive it daily whenever she looked in the mirror.

Perhaps this was the reason for the tension and estrangement between them all? Though surely not. How could the accidental death of a twelve-year-old boy cause this horrible distance between family members a decade after it happened?

“Perhaps,” she attempted, “you would show me his portrait some time.”

He finally looked at her, and she saw the shutters go up behind his eyes. Perhaps she had pushed too hard.

He smiled, but it was hollow somehow.

“Now, why would we wish to visit such memories when I have but two weeks to convince you to marry me?” He pushed away from the railing and offered his arm. Imogen took it, strangely sad that the town mask was back. What was this hidden part of him that he refused to show to the world? And why couldn’t she seem to let go of the need to find it out?

• • •

The following morning Imogen managed to make it down to breakfast at an even earlier hour, hoping to avoid Caleb. As she was rising to leave, however, he entered.

He took her hand and pulled her off to the side of the room. “Come riding with me today, Imogen.”

She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but he only tightened it. She gave a small huff of frustration. The night before she had done all in her power to engage Lady Willbridge and Daphne into conversation, all but ignoring Caleb’s attempts at drawing her focus to him. Apparently, however, her efforts had been all too obvious. And they had not deterred him at all.

She gave up trying to free herself and glared up at him. “Let go of my hand.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “No.” He tried tugging her closer. Her gaze shot meaningfully to the footman in the corner, who was attempting to ignore them. Caleb’s grin only widened. He leaned toward her, his face near her ear, and let his breath fan the curls on the side of her neck. “Have I told you today that your sister’s maid is a wonder with hair?” he asked in a low rumble that she felt straight to her toes. “And this pale green gown is even lovelier than the blue.” With his free hand he idly traced up her arm to the tiny cap sleeves.

Imogen glowered at him and slapped his hand away.

He chuckled low. “Come ride with me, Imogen.”

“Fine,” she snapped, finally pulling herself free.

“You know, I don’t remember you being quite so difficult to manage.”

“Keep pushing me and you shall see just how difficult I can be,” she muttered.

Caleb laughed, clearly not put off at all. Dare she say he even looked delighted?

Just then Daphne entered. She caught sight of them, standing much closer than what was proper, and a grin, a mirror of Caleb’s own, spread across her face. “Brother, Imogen,” she said, fairly bouncing across the room to the sideboard. “Good morning to you both.”

Imogen had a sudden inspiration. “Lady Daphne,” she called to the girl. “Your brother has asked me to go riding with him this morning. Would you like to join us? I would love to have the chance to get to know you better, and what more perfect way than a brisk ride through the parklands?”

“Oh, what fun!” the girl exclaimed. “Just let me eat and I shall join you directly.”

As Daphne went back to filling her plate, Imogen turned to Caleb with a serene smile. “Wonderful. I shall go up and change after I seek out my father.”

She bobbed a quick curtsy to Caleb before walking off. And then it was her turn to grin, for the thunderous frustration on his face had been a sight to behold indeed.

• • •

Imogen easily kept her mare in pace with Daphne’s. As they crested a hill and paused to take in the view, Caleb once more tried inserting his gelding between the two girls’ mounts. With a beautiful bit of synchronization, however, Imogen and Daphne were able to put a stop to his endeavors.

It had been like that all morning. Daphne, bright girl that she was, had quickly understood Imogen’s invitation and had gone about helping her with an impish delight. And so, despite his best efforts, Caleb had been unable to get Imogen alone.

It was actually a bit fun, though she felt a faint qualm every time she caught sight of the frustration on Caleb’s face. But truly, did he think to get her alone and seduce her into accepting him? If the expression in his eyes whenever he looked at her was any indication, she was tempted to believe that was true. Never mind that the idea made shivers dance up her spine.

She told herself that his passion would fade and the thrill of chasing her would disappear. And then where would she be? Worse off than before.

“I believe it is time to return to the house,” Caleb called out as they nudged their horses off to admire the fields laid out before them, separated by low stone walls and resembling a large patchwork quilt. “Luncheon will be ready by the time we arrive.”

Imogen glanced at him. He looked perturbed, his voice harsh. She felt a pang of guilt but quickly abolished it. It was his own fault, after all.

They turned their horses toward Willowhaven, and a short time later cantered into the stable yard. As they handed over their horses, the head groom approached.

“Lady Daphne,” he said, “Lady Willbridge said to tell you when you returned that she needs you to join her in her sitting room directly.”

“Oh dear, I wonder what Mother wants,” she muttered. “Thank you, Joseph.” She turned to Imogen, giving her an apologetic smile. And then she was off.

Imogen watched her depart in frustration. Suddenly Caleb was at her side.

“Shall we?” he murmured, indicating the path before them that trailed toward the west side of the house. His expression, she noted in consternation, was downright cheerful.

Without bothering to acknowledge him, she swept down the path, leaving him to trail after her. She kept her pace brisk, hoping she could reach a populated area before he had a chance to catch up to her. She was to find, however, that he was a much more determined man than she gave him credit for.