To Imogen’s surprise, Caleb’s mouth compressed and the corners of his eyes tightened. “Yes, my mother is here, along with my two younger sisters. However, I thought you would be more comfortable meeting them after you had a chance to rest a bit from the journey. You will see them before dinner.”
“I would like to meet them now,” she said quietly.
Caleb frowned. “After we get you settled. You must be tired.”
“No, we should meet them now. It would not be polite to delay.” Her voice held an undercurrent of steel that seemed to give Caleb pause.
“Very well,” he said slowly. He offered his arm to Imogen and she took it. He then bowed to Lord Tarryton.
“My lord, if you are amenable, I will show you to Lady Willbridge.”
Lord Tarryton smiled broadly. “Of course, of course. Lead on, dear boy.”
As they started off, Caleb was strangely subdued beside her. One would almost think he had no wish for her to meet his mother. But she was nervous enough without having to worry about that as well.
It seemed the house was built around the open courtyard she had viewed upon first entering. Caleb brought them off to the left and through a limestone arch to a highly polished oak staircase. They travelled up a floor and through several richly appointed rooms before reaching the small drawing room. The butler was there before them, opening the door and bowing as they entered.
“Thank you, Billsby,” Caleb murmured, and guided Imogen in.
A dainty woman sitting on a pale green settee looked up from her embroidery in surprise when they entered. From Caleb’s initial insistence on delaying her meeting his mother, Imogen was taken aback at the positively frail-looking creature before them. She had expected a harridan, a woman who terrorized all in her midst. Instead, the woman looked more nervous than she herself did. As they approached the marchioness, Imogen saw her look to her son with a longing that was almost painful to behold.
She had Caleb’s coloring, though there was a generous sprinkling of gray dusting her copper hair. Her face was softer, more heart-shaped, and lined around her mouth and eyes.
“Mother,” Caleb said, stopping before her, “may I present Lord Tarryton and his daughter, Miss Imogen Duncan. Imogen, my mother, the Marchioness of Willbridge.”
Imogen curtsied, her knees shaking. As she rose she was surprised to see the marchioness had risen as well and stood before her.
“My dear,” she said gently. There was the same tension in her face as her son, but her smile was kind and genuine as she looked at Imogen. “I am so glad to meet you, that you have deigned to visit us.”
Imogen was taken aback at the strange turn of phrase. She searched the woman’s face for any sarcasm or insincerity but found only an uncertain friendliness.
“Thank you, my lady,” she replied, smiling tentatively. “I am honored to be here.”
“And Lord Tarryton,” the woman said, turning to her father, “I have heard you are a learned man. I do hope you make extensive use of our library during your stay. I believe you will find much to please you. I have been told it is the finest collection of books in Northamptonshire.”
Her father’s eyes positively lit up, and suddenly Imogen knew the draw this visit had for him, how Caleb had used her father’s passion for books to guarantee their presence.
“Thank you, my lady,” her father replied, “I look forward to it.”
The marchioness turned then, and for the first time Imogen noticed the two young women seated off to the side. One, a subdued-looking young woman in a slate colored gown with Caleb’s copper hair, had her face resolutely turned to the side. The other, obviously the younger of the two, had curling strawberry blond hair and a fetching lime green gown. She was staring at the newcomers with avid interest.
“And may I present my daughters?” the marchioness went on. “This is Emily,” she said, motioning to the more sober of the two. “And this is my youngest, Daphne.”
Imogen curtsied once more. Lady Emily stayed seated, and somehow, without looking directly at Imogen, managed to incline her head in her direction. The younger, however, sprung from her seat and took hold of Imogen’s hands. Her eyes were a brilliant green that almost matched the hue of her gown and filled to the brim with excitement.
“Miss Duncan, I am so thrilled you are here. You have come straight from London?”
“Y-yes,” Imogen stuttered. Lady Daphne was all bounding enthusiasm and energy, a daunting force indeed.
“Please come and sit here by me.” Without waiting for an answer, the girl pulled Imogen to the couch her sister occupied.
“Daphne,” Caleb said in a warning voice.
“It is quite all right, my lord,” Imogen said, not wanting to be the cause of further strife between them.
“Yes, Caleb,” Daphne chimed in. “Calm yourself. Imogen and I will be the very best of friends. I may call you Imogen, mayn’t I? And you must call me Daphne. None of this ‘Lady Daphne’ business, if you please. We mustn’t stand on ceremony here, after all.”
Imogen drew breath to reply, but the girl launched on and Imogen closed her mouth with a snap.
