Chapter 33

Imogen was glad she had given herself free rein to cry her heart out the night before their departure from Willowhaven. During the long carriage ride to London, when she’d had nothing to do but sit and think, she had been blessedly drained.

Her father only once attempted to ask what had happened. “Dearest,” he said once they were under way, “did you and Lord Willbridge fight? This leave-taking of ours seems too sudden. I feel something is not right here.”

“No, Papa,” she answered in a dull monotone, “we did not fight.”

He sighed and settled back in his seat. “I don’t understand it. I can see you care for him, my girl. Why won’t you have him? Did he change his mind? Has he done something despicable?”

She felt weary to her very bones. She trained her eyes on the passing scenery, the long avenue of trees they had entered through on that first day. It seemed so long ago now. Another lifetime entirely.

“No, nothing like that. I refused him, is all.”

“But you love him!” her father finally exploded.

She turned to him, too numb to feel surprise, though it was the most agitated she had ever seen him. Having lived with her mother for nearly thirty years, he had perfected the art of outward calm, and rarely lost his composure.

“Papa,” she said slowly, “you promised you would abide by my decision at the end of our trip. Please keep that promise to me, I beg you.”

He must have heard the slight catch in her voice at the end. “As you wish, my dear,” he replied gently. After giving her one last solemn look, he took up his book and buried himself in the pages.

The rest of their journey was spent in near total silence. Now it was late afternoon of the following day and they were just pulling up to their London townhouse. Her father took up her hand before the door to the carriage opened.

“I just want you to know, dearest, that I shall support you. Always. Don’t take your mother’s words to heart. She may be harsh, but she does love you.”

Imogen looked deep into her father’s gentle eyes and felt the first stirrings of tears since their departure. There was nothing in his expression but utter love.

“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered just as the door was flung open. They were handed down to the pavement and made their way up the townhouse steps.

The butler stood there to greet them and divest them of their outer garments. “My lord, Miss Duncan, I trust you had a pleasant trip.”

“Thank you, Gillian. Are Lady Tarryton and Miss Mariah at home?” Lord Tarryton murmured, his eyes sweeping about the hall. Imogen could sense his worry for her as a palpable thing and felt what was left of her heart give a twist.

“Yes, my lord,” the butler answered. “They have just returned and said to inform you they will be down momentarily.”

Before the words were out of Gillian’s mouth a vision in sage green came tearing down the stairs. She launched herself at Imogen, nearly knocking her from her feet. As Mariah’s slender arms came about her, Imogen felt a terrible crumbling of the barricades she had erected. A small sob escaped her before she could stop it, and she hugged her sister back fiercely.

“Oh, Imogen,” Mariah murmured mournfully, stroking her back, having gained every bit of knowledge she needed at Imogen’s reaction.

Suddenly a strident voice carried across the hall. “Well, you’re back, and a day earlier than I had figured. I trust you bring me joyful news?”

Imogen squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her sister’s shoulder. Mariah hugged her tighter.

“Not now, Harriett,” she heard her father mutter quietly.

“But what is this?” Lady Tarryton continued. “You can’t mean to tell me she refused him again?” Her voice rose as she spoke, until it was nearly a shriek.

“Give her some time,” her father said, his voice growing tense. “Can’t you see Imogen is overwrought?”

“Overwrought?” her mother screeched. “She should be overwrought! Refusing a marquess, and twice? The girl is mad. I am ashamed to call her my daughter. I want nothing more to do with her. I disown her.”

At that pronouncement, a shocked hush fell over those assembled in the hall. Imogen let the words clang about in her head for a time, soaking them in. Her tears subsided, a calm settling about her, a strange surge of steel travelling down her spine. She straightened, pulling away from Mariah, and turned to face her mother.

Lady Tarryton’s mouth hung open like a trout’s. She looked at her eldest with wide eyes. Apparently she had shocked herself as much as everyone else. Even at her worst she had never made such a horrible proclamation. But a moment later she pulled herself up to her full height and regarded the room with her typical haughty stare.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your censure and disapproval all these years,” Imogen said with quiet dignity. “I have done everything I could to please you. But it was never enough. I understand that you were upset when you spoke those words just now, and therefore I will not hold them against you.

“However, please know that though I was happy to come to London for my sister, I will be returning to Hillview Manor tomorrow. I’m sure you all realize I have not been content here in town, and I know you only want what is best for me, which is to return to the country with all due speed. If when you return home it pains you to have me in the house, I will set up my own household with Papa’s help.”

With that she turned and walked toward the stairs. Her hand on the railing, she said over her shoulder, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make plans for my trip tomorrow.”

She walked up the stairs without a backward glance.

• • •

Mariah stole into Imogen’s room late that night, her face drawn from worry. But there was a certain unconcealed awe in her eyes. She stood with her back pressed to the door, studying Imogen.

“What is it?” Imogen said, pushing aside the covers on her bed and rushing to her sister.

“You have changed so much,” Mariah breathed. “I never thought you would stand up to Mama as you did.”

Imogen winced. Though she felt empowered, though it had been the right thing to do, she felt a twinge of guilt. Having been brought up to obey, she doubted it would ever be comfortable for her to go against her parents’ wishes. “Was she very upset?” she asked, pulling Mariah over to the bed and settling onto it with her.

A twinkle entered Mariah’s cerulean blue eyes. “Very. She slumped right to the floor. Papa had to revive her with smelling salts. And when she came to and began thrashing about, moaning and carrying on, he just left her there.” She giggled. “When Mama saw she had no audience she got right up, gave a sniff, and called for the carriage to take her shopping.”

Imogen clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “You are jesting, surely.”

“On my honor, it’s the truth.” She chuckled. “Oh, Imogen, you were fantastic. If nothing else, Lord Willbridge has done wonders for your self-worth.” Mariah suddenly gasped, her eyes filling with regret. “Oh, I am so sorry, dearest.”

The shock of hearing Caleb’s title hit Imogen like a kick to the stomach. She patted Mariah’s hand, hating the misery on her sister’s face, though her heart felt as if it were breaking anew. “Why should you be sorry?” she whispered. “It’s true. He did give me a strength I never knew I had. Or, at least, he helped me to realize the strength that was already in me.”

“But why did you refuse him, Imogen? I can tell you love him.”

Imogen laughed without humor. “Dear me, everyone seems to have been able to guess at my feelings for him. It’s amazing that the man himself never realized. Though I should be grateful, considering his decided lack of that particular sentiment.” Her voice had turned bitter, and she took a deep breath to calm the ugly emotions clamoring inside her.

Mariah looked at her in confusion. “But I don’t understand. Lord Willbridge cares for you very much.”

“Yes,” Imogen replied, suddenly beyond weary, “as a friend and no more.”

“But even if that were true—which I do not believe it is—shouldn’t you give it a chance, to see if something stronger could develop?”

“Mariah, you have seen what has happened to Frances.”

At the mention of their sister, Mariah’s face fell. “But that is a different matter entirely.”

“Is it? She loves her husband, desperately. And he does not love her. You have seen what that has done to her. She used to be so very jolly, always happy, always laughing. But I cannot remember the last time I saw her smile. I cannot live that life, Mariah. It would kill me. You know it would.”

Even Mariah could not fight such logic, she saw. The younger girl’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Imogen buried her grief and forced an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, dearest, but I really do need to get some sleep if I’m to leave on the morrow.”

Mariah roused a bit at that and looked as if she were about to argue the matter, but at the last moment she pressed her lips together and nodded. As she leaned in to embrace her sister, however, she whispered, “You are wrong about his feelings for you, you know. I only hope you see it before it’s too late.”