Chapter 28

Early the next morning Imogen opened the door to the gardens and peered out, securing her shawl about her shoulders. The air was chilly, the sun not yet over the horizon. A faint mist lay over the land, and along with the pale gray light the landscape was cast in a ghostly pall.

A perfect morning for visiting a graveyard, Imogen thought wryly as she stepped into the dewy air and closed the door behind her.

She took a moment to get her bearings before setting out in the direction the housekeeper had indicated. Small, cold droplets of moisture pelted her face, misting her spectacles. She wiped impatiently at them and pulled her shawl closer about her as she strode through the sunken garden, past the small pond to the far end. At the break in the hedge, instead of heading straight to the avenue of oaks and the stone bridge as she had with Caleb that first morning, she turned right. She had a sudden vision of Emily running into them during that very same walk, nearly toppling her in her haste to get back to the house.

Emily had been coming from the cemetery, she realized now.

She walked on, the trees appearing from the fog, their branches like upraised arms embracing their early morning shrouds. Shivering, she hurried her steps. She wanted to get this over with, to return to the house before anyone else awoke.

Imogen had not been able to sleep the night before. She had been appalled with how quickly and completely she had surrendered to Caleb. She would have given herself to him without a second’s thought.

It had occurred to her, with a decided lack of surprise, that she was quickly running out of time. Not in the sense that she was leaving in a few days, but that her heart was once again winning the battle.

She knew she would refuse his offer of marriage when next he offered. Frances’s pain was too fresh in her mind for her to do anything less. But that did not stop her from loving him, from wanting him, from nearly giving herself to him again. And that she could not do.

There was still the matter of helping Caleb regain his closeness with his family. But how could she possibly accomplish that in the short time she had left…and without succumbing to Caleb in the meantime?

It had been in that moment, as she had lain in her bed, exhausted but unable to find rest, that she’d thought of visiting the boy at the center of the turmoil. She would go to Jonathan’s grave, she’d decided, and see if she could garner any inspiration from it. It was a mad idea at best. But she was willing to try anything at this point.

She had risen before dawn had lit the sky and dressed hastily by the light of a candle. And then she had sought out the housekeeper, who gave her directions to the family plot, and raced from the house before she could think better of it.

And now here she was, rounding the small parsonage. The sun began an earnest burn through the fading fog. As the ancient stone church came into view, the golden morning light hit it, giving a warm, honeyed glow to its hallowed walls. Imogen paused to soak the beauty of it in, taking strength from it, before she moved off toward the Masters family plot.

She let herself through the small wrought iron gate, breathing a sigh of relief as it swung on silent hinges. Immediately she saw a still figure at the far end in a dark gray cloak covering a pale blue dress. The lady had her head bowed, her bonnet obscuring her face. But Imogen knew who it was; there could be but one person here.

Imogen walked slowly through smaller graves and into the family plot, the large rectangular edifices and beautiful, elegant lines of the carved stone standing testimony to the status of the departed. Several of the older tombs were worn by the elements, pockmarked from wind and rain, moss dotting their surfaces. But as she moved further on she saw the graves here were newer, their stone smooth and cleared of growth. The tomb that rose up before the silent figure was particularly well cared for, its pale face soaking in the fresh light of dawn.

The woman at the grave showed no signs of hearing her approach. Imogen drew up quietly beside her. “Emily,” she said softly.

Emily gasped, spinning to face her. “Imogen, what in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

She motioned toward the stone edifice before them. “The same as you, I suppose. I came to pay my respects.”

Emily looked at her oddly. “You never knew him.”

“But you did. You loved him, and still do.”

A tremulous smile touched Emily’s mouth, pulling at her scar. She reached out a gloved hand, and Imogen took hold of it. Together they turned to face Jonathan’s resting place. Imogen studied it, noted the meticulous way the grass and bramble had been cleared from it and the fresh bundle of flowers that adorned it.

“How often do you come here?” she asked.

Emily sighed, her breath carrying on the morning air. “Not very often. Perhaps once a month. Maybe less.” She paused. “Well, more than that since Caleb has returned home, I suppose.” She turned to face Imogen. “He has never been home for such a length of time. When he is here, it’s typically only for a matter of days. It’s because of you, you know.”

Imogen blushed and kept her gaze on the stone, tracing over the engraved letters. “It was kind of him to invite my father and me.”

“It was not kindness on his part,” Emily replied. “I know he wishes to marry you. We all do. Surely you must realize as well.”

Imogen was surprised to feel tears sting her eyes. “I know.”

“And you won’t have him?”

Imogen swallowed hard. “No.”

Emily pulled on her hand, forcing Imogen to face her. “But you love him. I see it in your face when he’s not looking.”

It was not a question, and didn’t need an answer. How appalling, Imogen thought with a sad humor, that her feelings were so glaringly obvious.

“If you love him, why won’t you marry him?” Emily asked.

Imogen struggled for an answer. Finally she could only say, “It’s…complicated.”

Emily frowned. “I don’t pretend to understand. Things must be much deeper than I’m aware, much more convoluted. But I do know,” she said quietly, shyly, “that I would very much like to have you for my sister.” When Imogen made to speak, she held up her hand. “I know things have been bewildering here. It’s not natural for families to be as estranged as we are. I promise you, however, that my mother, sister, and I will move to the dower house once you marry Caleb. You can live here in peace. Just do please consider it.”

Imogen felt her heart constrict. “How I wish I could. You have no idea how much. But,” she said, her voice rising in strength, as if to convince herself, “I cannot marry Caleb. Not now. I don’t think ever.”

• • •

Caleb had not slept well. Actually, he had not slept at all. Imogen’s response to him, her acceptance of his kiss, the feel of her in his arms, had left him aching for half of the night. The other half was spent in worry. He would tell her directly after breakfast. And after that, his future, their future together, would be in her hands. Anxiety filled him at the thought, and he tossed and turned in his bed, his sheets twisting about him.

As the horizon began to glow with the slow, gray creep toward dawn, he gave a harsh exhale and sat up. There was no use lying abed. He would dress, get out of doors, work off some of his excess energy with a brisk walk.

But as he set out, he knew no amount of activity could exorcise his demons.

He stopped at the sunken gardens, looked up at the sky, where the sun burned through the last of the fog. The warmth of it, so comforting after the coolness of the damp morning air, seeped into his very bones. In that moment he knew what he needed to do. For before he told Imogen of his past sins and asked her to marry him regardless, he first had to ask forgiveness from the one he had harmed the most.

The walk to the cemetery seemed to take an inordinately long time. He had only been once since his brother had been laid to rest, and that was for their father’s funeral a few short years after. He could still recall the pain of seeing that fresh stone, the name carved into it sharp and new.

There were times when he was feeling vulnerable that he let the mantel of self-preservation go and he remembered his younger brother. It was then he could recall every heartbreaking detail, from the cocky, robust joy on his face, to the boundless energy that had him leaping from one forbidden adventure to another. He could see the shock of copper hair that never stayed put no matter how much it was brushed, the lanky frame that no seat could contain, even hear his infectious laughter that started from his belly and shook his whole body.

Caleb thought of that during his walk to the boy’s resting place. The guilt rose up as it always did, bowing his shoulders, making it hard to breathe. But it was time he stopped trying to forget. If he was to have any future with Imogen, he had to come to terms with Jonathan’s death and his own part in it.

Finally he was at the churchyard gate. He let himself in, walked unseeing past the graves of known and unknown people of the town, headed for the more stately tombs of his ancestors. He was nearly upon the two figures at the far end before he even realized they were there.

The shock of seeing Imogen and Emily before Jonathan’s grave froze him. In the next instant he had the horrified thought that he should move away. He could come back to make his peace another time.

But as he made to leave, Imogen’s words reached him, sending a jolt of despair through him.

“I cannot marry Caleb. Not now. I don’t think ever.”