And to hell with the strange surges of desire he felt for her. He could control them if it meant keeping her in his life.
• • •
It was a heady thing to fight for something so very important to her. Imogen had assumed initially that the wonderful fire it had sparked within her would fade with the day. But no, all through that warm afternoon, while she and Lord Willbridge joined Mariah and Mr. Ignatius Knowles in exploring the elegant, ruined lines of the old monastery, she had felt it continue to burn bright.
Later that evening, as Imogen was preparing for dinner, that daring spilled over into the Battle of the Spectacles.
Imogen sat at the dressing table in her room, smoothing the last bit of stubborn hair into place. She glanced over to the small clock on the mantle and realized it was time to fetch Mariah. Giving herself one last critical look in the mirror, she went to remove her spectacles. But at the last minute her hand stilled. Clenching her fingers tight, she rose and strode purposely to the door.
Mariah was just exiting her room as Imogen stepped out into the hall. Her steps faltered when she spotted her sister in her spectacles and she gave her a long appraising look.
“Well, it’s about time.” She smiled brightly and grasped Imogen’s hand firmly in her own. Emboldened by the small act of support, Imogen squared her shoulders and directed their steps toward their parents’ room. She hesitated but a moment before knocking.
“Enter,” came her mother’s strident voice.
Both their parents were within and looked up when she opened the door.
“Girls,” their father greeted them absently, “you both look splendid.” He returned to the book in his hand before the words were out of his mouth.
Their mother was less welcoming. “Why are you not heading down to the drawing room? And Imogen, remove those horrid things at once.”
Mariah squeezed her hand reassuringly. Imogen’s heart pounded like mad in her chest, her tongue dry as dirt. But she knew that if she didn’t beard the lion now she would never be able to.
“No, Mama,” she said quietly. “I’ll be wearing my spectacles down.”
Her mother blinked. Even their father lowered his book and looked up.
Lady Tarryton’s lips thinned. “You will not.”
“I require them to see.”
Her mother waved one hand in the air. “Enough. I’ll not be having this discussion with you now. We’re expected below.”
Imogen took a step forward, letting her fingers drift from her sister’s. “We need to have this discussion, Mama. We’ve been putting it off for far too long.”
“There is nothing to discuss. You won’t be wearing them.”
“I will,” Imogen said firmly.
“Why do you choose now to vex me?”
“I’m not doing this to vex you, Mama.”
“Please,” her mother scoffed, turning to the cheval mirror in the corner and adjusting her glittering ruby necklace.
“I can assure you, it won’t harm our family name a bit. Besides,” Imogen continued, “it gives me a headache to be without them.”
When her mother made no hint of having heard her eldest, Mariah spoke up in the tense silence. “Let her wear them, Mama.”
Lady Tarryton looked at her younger daughter in the glass. “Has the world gone mad?” she asked no one in particular.
And then, to everyone’s everlasting surprise, Lord Tarryton spoke.
“Dash it all, Harriett, let the girl wear the blasted things. They aren’t doing anyone any harm.”
Imogen’s mother drew herself up straighter and raised her chin a fraction. “So this is it, then. You are all against me. Fine,” she spat in Imogen’s direction, her eyes shards of ice, “wear them. But if this affects Mariah’s chances, it will be on all your heads.”
Lord Tarryton sighed. Then, rising, he went to Imogen. He gave her a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Well then, that’s settled.”
