Chapter 23

At Imogen’s approach, the silent figure tensed and whirled about. Her white night robe billowed out, her heavy braid swinging in an arc. The flame from her candle nearly guttered at the movement but struggled back to life, shining on the face of Lady Emily Masters. The glittering trails of tears shone like diamonds on her cheeks.

The two women stared at each other for a shocked moment. Lady Emily was the first to react.

“Miss Duncan, what are you doing up?”

“The storm woke me,” she answered gently. “I thought I heard you in some distress, so I followed. Forgive me. I thought I could be of help.”

Emily shook her head and wiped hastily at her cheek. “I apologize for disturbing you.”

Imogen regarded her carefully. This was the longest conversation she had ever shared with the other girl, and she feared breaking this unexpected truce with a wrongly placed word.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” she said softly. Emily turned from her, back to the portrait. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, knowing she would not get a chance like this again to reach out to her, Imogen slowly stepped up beside her.

The painting was of a young boy, perhaps ten or twelve years of age. His copper hair curled endearingly over his forehead and hung a bit overlong to shoulders still narrow under his deep blue coat. He had a wonderfully assured look in his gray eyes, with a spark of mischief that was only enhanced in the slight quirk of his lips. He had one hand in his pocket, the other holding the lead to a black and white spaniel that lay obediently at his feet.

With a shock, Imogen realized the young lad looked eerily like Caleb. But with a sad certainty Imogen knew deep in her heart that this boy was Jonathan, the brother Caleb had told her of who had perished so cruelly and at such a young age.

She felt a wave of grief for this boy she would never know. She could not imagine what Emily had gone through, being so young when she lost her twin, nor what she must still feel with her face as a daily reminder of it.

“This is Jonathan?” she asked quietly.

Emily swung sharply to look at her. “How do you know about Jonathan?” she rasped. Imogen could hear no animosity in the question, only shock.

“Caleb told me,” she answered.

Emily’s mouth fell open. “He told you? About Jonathan?” Her voice broke slightly on his name; she frowned and cleared her throat.

“A little. Just that he died quite young, and that you were injured in the same accident.”

Emily regarded Imogen in silence for a long moment.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “Yes, that is true.”

“I imagine it would be difficult to get over losing a sibling in such a way,” Imogen said softly.

Emily turned back to the painting. “It is not something you can get over.”

Imogen regarded the portrait with a respectful silence. Another burst of lightning, this time not quite as bright. The rumble of thunder that followed was slow in coming and muted with distance. Rain began to hit the long windows with more force.

“Would you like to talk about him?” Imogen asked gently.

She glanced over at Emily in time to see her close her eyes, a look of such painful longing on her face that Imogen felt inclined to look away again from the sheer private nature of it.

Emily’s voice was a mere whisper. “He was amazing. So brave, so funny, so clever. He never turned me away when I insisted on following after him, never grew cross with me or refused my company. When he went off to school I felt I’d lost a part of myself. Every time he drove away for the new term, I couldn’t breathe for a week after. He was my very best friend.”

“He sounds an incredible brother,” Imogen said softly.

“He was. Oh yes, he truly was.” She opened her eyes and turned to Imogen. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. When I was young I was mischievous, and daring, and lively. My brother brought those things out in me, you see. He made me strong.”

“I suppose,” Imogen said carefully, kindly, “that those things are still inside you. They would not have manifested at all if you were not capable of them from the start. You can still draw strength from your brother, though he may only be with you in spirit, and find that part of yourself again if you so wish it.”

Emily’s expression seemed to lighten at that. Her mouth tugged up a fraction, and she turned back to look at Jonathan once more. Imogen watched her for a moment, the sudden bond she felt with this sad girl surprising her. It sounded as though Jonathan had brought out different qualities in Emily than anyone else had, ones that had perhaps made her more daring and outgoing. What, then, was the difference between this girl and herself? In Caleb’s friendship she had found the strength to try new things, to stand up for herself and find her voice. Even having the willpower to refuse him was a direct result of that. So what would happen to her if she decided to reject his offer of marriage? Would she, too, lose that part of herself, allow it to shrivel until it had all but vanished?

She stared at the flame of her candle, which danced in the faint breeze from her breath. The bright golden glow of it was so fragile. The slightest effort on her part would have it gone, snuffed out forever. Her newfound strength, too, could easily be extinguished if she allowed it.

She cupped her hand around the flame, protecting it. It glowed orange on her skin, the heat seeping into her, warming her chilled fingers. Yes, Caleb had brought out the best in her. But perhaps her best had already been within her, slumbering, waiting for the spark to waken it. The trick was to never let the flame go out.

• • •

After Imogen had returned to her bedroom, she had been unable to sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw Jonathan’s innocent face as Emily must have seen it last, bloodied and still, all of the life gone. Imogen attempted to imagine what she must have gone through in that horrific moment, tried to imagine herself in a similar situation with one of her siblings. She couldn’t do it. Her mind recoiled from it with a violence that shocked her. The thoughts haunted her even after she finally fell into a fitful sleep, disturbing her dreams so much that she was glad to awake the following morning and escape them.

She had an understanding of Emily now, one that made her feel connected to her in a small way. She had the distinct feeling that the girl had a difficult time opening herself up to others, especially an outsider such as Imogen, and felt touched that she had chosen to share even a small bit with her. Perhaps, though, it had just been the vulnerability of the moment. And so, uncertain of her reception by Caleb’s sister in the bright light of day, she entered the breakfast room with trepidation.

Emily was already seated at the table with a small plate of food and the Times before her. At Imogen’s entrance she looked up from the paper. Imogen tried for a smile and was relieved when Emily returned it.

“Lady Emily,” Imogen said, moving to the sideboard. “I do hope you slept well after the storm last night.”

“I did, thank you.” She laid the paper aside, the reserve from before all but gone. “And please, call me Emily.”

“Emily,” Imogen repeated happily, pausing in spooning eggs onto her plate. “And you must call me Imogen.”

“I’m afraid I do not sleep well in storms. But last night I admit I dropped right off upon returning to my bed.” She sipped at her chocolate.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Imogen responded, taking a seat at the table with her plate. “You played beautifully last night, if I may say so. You have a natural talent.”

“Thank you. I admit it is one of my joys in life. Do you play?”

“I do, though I have not had occasion to practice for some time.”

“I should love to hear you,” Emily said before turning back to her food. After a moment, the hand holding her fork stilled and she looked at Imogen as if about to ask her something. Imogen tilted her head expectantly.

“Do you also sing?” the girl asked haltingly.

Imogen made a face. “Some.”

Emily laughed a bit, but it did not relieve the look of uncertainty that had taken root. “You do not seem as if you enjoy it.”

“No, I enjoy it very much.” She smiled wryly. “But I’m afraid natural shyness and singing in public do not go hand in hand.”

“I do know what you mean. Though, perhaps,” she ventured, “you might make an exception for me?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Emily leaned forward. “I have so longed to sing a duet, but my sister, though talented, shows no interest.”

Imogen looked at her in some alarm. “Do you mean in the evening, in front of your family?”

“No!” Emily recoiled, her eyes widening in almost comic surprise. “No, I merely mean to suggest that you join me at my practice. I do so daily after breakfast, and it would mean much for me to have your presence there.”

“Oh!” Imogen exclaimed, warming at the request. “That sounds lovely. It would be my honor to join you.”

Emily’s entire visage lit up. She was truly a beautiful girl. When she smiled like that, with her entire being, one could easily forget the scar that marred her features.

“Do you think you would be open to joining me this morning?”

“I would like that above all else.”

It was at that moment that Caleb entered. Imogen watched, surprised, as the smile fell from Emily’s face and she shrank down into her seat. Imogen looked up at Caleb, saw his steps falter when he saw them.

“Emily, Imogen,” he acknowledged, and began piling a plate high with food. Imogen was aware of a sudden tension that had come over the room. She had already determined that Jonathan’s death was at the crux of the strain in the family. But what had happened during that long ago accident that affected everyone even now? Grief she could understand. Something so horrific would leave its mark well after the event itself. But what went on in this family seemed something else entirely.

Just then, however, the heavy unease seemed to lift as he came and sat beside her. His gray eyes regarded her warmly.

“You were incredible last night, teaching everyone that dance. You amaze me more and more every day.” His voice was a low murmur that vibrated intimately through her body. She flushed and cleared her throat, acutely aware of Emily’s silent presence at the table. From the rustle of the paper she guessed she had gone back to reading the Times.

“Thank you, my lord. I admit I was a bit overwhelmed at first. But I have often done as much for my siblings, and so it was an easy matter to pretend that was the case in this instance as well.”

“What an inspired way of viewing it. I, for one, have never enjoyed dancing more. Well, perhaps one other time…”

Imogen just kept herself from gasping, and instead kicked him under the table, hard. Caleb grunted, reaching down to rub at his shin.

“How fortuitous I am wearing boots,” he muttered for her ears alone, “or that might have done far more damage than it did.”

“What a pity, then,” she replied flippantly, turning back to her plate and taking a small bite of ham.

“Touché,” he said, and she could hear his grin. “Seeing as I am not grievously injured, however, I thought perhaps this morning we could ride into the village. You haven’t been yet, and there are several sweet little shops we can visit in which you may be able to pick something up for your siblings.”

Imogen shook her head. “I am sorry, but I cannot this morning. I have plans, you see.”

“Plans,” he repeated blankly.

“Yes. Emily and I will be practicing some duets this morning.” She turned to look at Emily, who had forgotten her paper and gaped at Imogen. “Isn’t that so?”

Emily nodded mutely. Her eyes darted between Imogen and Caleb in an uncertain fashion.

“Perhaps we may go into the village tomorrow?” Imogen asked Caleb.

“Certainly,” he replied immediately.

“Wonderful.” She turned to Emily. “Are you done with your meal? I should love to begin presently. I have some lovely songs that I think may interest you.”

At Emily’s stiff nod Imogen rose. The other girl followed suit, and soon they were heading out the door for the music room. Just as she was about to duck into the hall, however, she glanced back. Caleb was sitting at the table, his back straight, a frown marring his forehead. Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, Imogen followed after Emily.

• • •

Caleb felt as if he had walked into some strange, otherworldly place. By the time he regained his senses, the two women were gone from the room. He stared down at his untouched plate, suddenly finding he had no appetite.

He couldn’t understand it. When had Imogen and Emily become familiar with one another? He had seen no sign of friendship develop between them in the week they had been there.

An uncomfortable weight seemed to have formed in his chest. Pushing away from the table, he rose and strode from the room. Imogen was innately kind; her attempts to befriend his sister surprised him not one bit. He had seen her distress at Emily’s aloof attitude to her, her confusion at the reserve she had found. But he had not thought much of it at the time. Emily was naturally reticent with strangers, after all.

Now, however, there was something forming between the two. And he hadn’t a clue how to deal with it.

His steps slowed as he neared the closed door of the music room. He could just make out their light chatter, the gentle sound of a melody being tested out on the keys of the pianoforte. There was a bout of quiet laughter before the music started up in earnest.

He stared for a time at the door, listening. As their voices joined together in song, he frowned and strode further down the hall. Why did this bother him so much? He should be glad Imogen was finding a friend in Emily. He had seen a bond develop between Imogen and Daphne, seen how she respected and cared for his mother. Wouldn’t it be in his best interest then to have her become attached to the final person in the house? It would connect her even more firmly to them, make it harder for her to refuse him when it was time once again to ask her to marry him.

But what if Emily talked of his part in Jonathan’s death? She was one of the few who had been there, who would be able to tell the whole ugly truth. How would Imogen feel about him then, knowing he was responsible?

Agitated, he headed toward the stables. He should not have brought Imogen here. But blast it all, he had not been able to see another way to get her to accept him.

He glanced back quickly at the house. Now it seemed there was every chance he could lose her forever.