For Imogen, despite the constant haranguing she got at home, had never been happier. Every night Lord Willbridge unfailingly sought her company out. No matter where they were, whether it be a ball or a card party or even Almack’s, he was there waiting for her, a smile on his face. They spent no more than the proper amount of time together, either in dancing or simply walking and conversing. But it was the loveliest time of her day, the part she looked forward to the most.
She could not understand the draw she had for a man of Lord Willbridge’s looks and status. But then, why should she have to understand his attentions to find happiness in them? Perhaps he was as lonely as she was. She supposed that even a man such as he could get lonely at times, could be tired of the constant stimulation and excess and want just a simple friendship with nothing else expected of it.
And now she was off to a weeklong house party, and he would be there. A small thrill worked up her spine. It unnerved her, for she feared it was not the typical excitement a person would feel for a friend. And it was growing more pronounced by the day. It could be a dangerous thing indeed, if she were not fully aware that he had no designs on her whatsoever.
She knew she must tell herself this daily, or she could easily lose her heart to the man. But, as always, it caused her a small twinge of pain beneath her breast. Which was silly, as she certainly had no intentions of falling in love with him.
An uneasiness crept within her. No, she thought, she most certainly was not falling for him. That would be foolishness indeed. She would not allow it. He was a friend and nothing more.
But deep inside her was the whisper of a thought: if her heart had a mind to, there was nothing her head could do to stop it.
To keep these thoughts at bay, she concentrated on what she had heard of the house that lay before them. The Tudor-era building had not been altered externally since it was first built. No hodge-podge of renovations from different times and eras: It would look much as it must have three hundred years ago. And the gardens were said to rival the house in beauty, stretching for acre upon acre.
Imogen gave a soft sigh. How she wished she would be able to see them properly. But her mother had already decreed her spectacles should disappear before their arrival and not come back until they were well on their way back to London. She adjusted them more comfortably against the bridge of her nose. Already she felt the familiar ache behind her eyes at the mere idea of being without them for such an extended period of time.
As if on cue, her mother’s sharp voice filled the carriage. “Imogen, for goodness’ sake, won’t you put those spectacles away?”
Imogen started from her musings and automatically reached up to remove the wire frame before she stilled. What if she left them on? What if she finally stood up to her mother and insisted on being able to wear them in public? For a moment her fingers trembled, anxiety over disobeying her mother warring with her deep desire to finally see the beauty in the world around her.
After a moment, the latter won out. She forcefully lowered her hand to her lap. “I’ve heard such lovely things about Pulteney Manor that I would like to be able to see it as we come up the drive,” she replied, her voice measured and calm.
Lady Tarryton blinked several times before compressing her lips to thin lines. “Very well. But be sure to put them away before the carriage stops. Really, Imogen, someone might see.”
Imogen swung her gaze out the window, swallowing a strange impulse to laugh. Someone might see? How ironic.
She had a flash of Lord Willbridge’s splendid managing of her mother at Lord Avery’s musicale. What would happen if she attempted such a thing? Imogen had always followed her mother’s edicts, as it made life easier for everyone involved. When her mother insisted that she refrain from wearing her spectacles in public, Imogen complied, though it gave her a dreadful headache. When her mother took charge of her fittings at the modiste’s, picking out colors and styles she deemed appropriate for someone of Imogen’s status in life, Imogen sat quietly by, knowing they would look appalling on her but believing it was not worth insisting on gowns more to her own taste. Because when Lady Tarryton was unhappy, the entire household felt it.
But now she saw that it did not necessarily make life better. Perhaps, just perhaps, the small things in life were important too, despite the temporary setbacks they caused. Mayhap it was time to do a little pushing back. Just because she was destined to live life at home, it did not need to be an unhappy life. After all, soon her siblings would grow up and marry, and she would be left alone with her parents. If she did not begin asserting herself before that happened, she would forever be miserable.
Fighting to wear her spectacles in public was ridiculous, in so many ways. But it was a start. And she knew her mother well; even something this small would be a battle in its own right. The Battle of the Spectacles. She laughed softly to herself. She supposed she could just wear them and be damned. But she loved her mother, and defying her went against every fiber of her being.
However, her drab world had recently been graced with a wonderful burst of color: she had the unprecedented novelty of a friend, one who sought her out and laughed with her and made her feel she was something more than a spinster with no future. Imogen noticed an increasing desire to view and enjoy the world about her, which was growing more difficult by the day without the use of her spectacles. She was tired of living a half life, of seeing everything in a constant blur.
At least this small skirmish had been won. Her eyes soaked in the surrounding area, noting the guardhouse at the beginning of the Knowles’s property, the long, tree-lined drive, the bright flashes of color from the wildflowers that lay low to the ground. It seemed to go on forever, and Imogen craned her neck, hoping to get a glimpse of the famed grandeur of the house.
Suddenly the trees opened up, and the house loomed in the distance, all red brick with stone dressings, the many mullioned windows glittering. A large clock tower soared above the central doorway, the gold fittings gleaming in the sun. Several liveried servants stood at the ready on the sweeping stone staircase. Rolling lawns stretched out on either side of the circular drive. And in the center a magnificent marble fountain in the shape of a sea serpent spewed water high into the air.
“Oh,” Imogen breathed. Mariah pressed close to her, the better to see the view as well.
“What a beautiful house,” she said. “How I long to go exploring.”
“Really,” Lady Tarryton cut in, “one would think you both were raised in a barn. Hillview Manor is nothing to sneeze at.”
“Of course not, Mama,” Mariah soothed. “But there is always something wonderful and exciting about someplace new.”
Imogen ignored the exchange, taking the time to absorb every bit of the scenery she could. Her eyes swept up over the three-story façade, studying the rows of windows. She wondered if Lord Willbridge was here already, if one of the rooms that soared above them was his, if he was watching their approach even now. That same thrill shot through her again at the thought of him, and the unbidden images scrolled through her mind of them meeting in the mornings over breakfast, joining in on outings, relaxing for games in the drawing room after dinner.
Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, sweeping out the pleasant pictures with a harsh dose of reality. “You have had your look. The carriage is about to stop—put away those spectacles now.”
Imogen reached up, reluctantly pulling them off and sliding them into her reticule. She leaned back in her seat with a soft sigh. No, she would not be seeing those images come to fruition. It was lovely to dream of having a life where such things were possible, of course, but she had her place, and that place did not include joining in on games and outings and the like. But as the carriage rocked to a halt and the door was thrown open, she wished for the first time that her situation were quite different.
• • •
The day was a fine one, though Caleb wished they had set out a bit earlier. Very well, much earlier. But thankfully it was not overly warm, even though it was now past noon and they still had a fair way to go. He felt a swelling in his chest, a great burst of happiness that could not be contained, and began to whistle a jaunty little tune. He was glad they had decided to travel on horseback, that they had sent their valets on ahead with the luggage, that his cousin Frederick had had the good sense to throw a house party so close to the beginning of the Season. All in all, it was a promising start.
A growl cut through his song. “Will you stop that infernal racket, man? It’s playing havoc with my head.”
Caleb grinned over at Tristan before finishing his song in a particularly high pitch. Tristan winced. “What has got you so blasted happy?”
