Imogen laughed. “My sister Mariah has attended four balls since we have been here, and received an invitation to Lady Seymour’s afternoon gala for next week. She also talks a great deal about a dance that is taking the ballrooms by storm, one called the Andrew Carey.”
“I don’t believe I have heard of that one.”
“It was new around the time of my come out. But now it seems to be having a resurgence in popularity. I’ve witnessed it done, but have not done it myself.”
Daphne’s eyes lit with what Imogen was beginning to recognize as mischievous purpose. “Would you teach me? If I am to be in London next Season, I wish to know all of the most popular dances ahead of time.”
“Certainly,” Imogen said with warmth.
“But surely we cannot learn the dance without a proper amount of couples.” Daphne looked to her mother. “We should invite the Sanderses, and cousin Mottram and his family as well. And Lord and Lady Sumner, of course.”
Lady Willbridge lowered her teacup. “What exactly are you hatching in that mind of yours, Daphne?” she asked with amusement.
“Nothing extravagant. Perhaps a small dinner party and casual dancing after.”
Caleb spoke up from across the room. “Absolutely not. Imogen does not like crowds or strangers.”
Daphne stuck her chin out mulishly. “They are not strangers. Besides Imogen’s own sister, half coming would be related to us and the other half would be Vicar Sanders and his family. Hardly the scum of the earth. Even if they all accept, we shall have only seventeen people, surely nothing grandiose or objectionable.”
Imogen fought the urge to laugh at the sarcasm dripping from her voice. Caleb, on the other hand, only grew angrier. “Most of them are not known to Imogen, and thus strangers to her. I will not allow it.”
At once Imogen felt a frisson of ire travel down her spine. “On the contrary, my lord, I have no objections whatsoever. It sounds like a lovely evening.”
Daphne beamed. “There, you see? Imogen has no objections, and so it behooves you to agree.” She turned to her mother. “I shall send invitations out directly. If I warn Cook now of the extra guests for dinner, we can have them here as early as tomorrow evening!”
The girl bounded up and out of the room with her typical energy. Imogen stared after her with a small smile. That is, until she realized what she had agreed to. Daphne wanted her to teach the dance steps to everyone present. She would be getting up in front of strangers and instructing them. A queer sickness settled in her stomach.
She was just about to run after Daphne, to tell her to forget the entire thing, when she happened to glance over at Caleb. He was staring at her again, but with a hint of wry admiration in his eyes. Pressing her lips together, she settled back into her seat. She could no more lose face in front of him after that display than she could waltz at Almack’s in nothing but her shift. She would grin and bear it…even if it killed her.
• • •
“Imogen! I am so glad you have come, dearest.”
Frances embraced her, and Imogen found herself holding on a bit longer than necessary. The turmoil of the past days seemed to still. Here was reason. Here was why she had fought so hard against Caleb’s pull.
As Frances greeted their father, followed by Caleb and his family, Imogen greeted her sister’s husband. “Lord Sumner, thank you for having us.”
Frances’s husband smiled benignly at her. “Not at all. We are family, after all.”
Imogen kept her placid expression from slipping, but inwardly she rolled her eyes. He hardly ever showed himself during the visits her family made to his homes, and never deigned to visit his wife’s relations at all.
She knew what made the difference now, however. She watched as he moved toward Caleb. The earl’s fawning smile and over-eager attitude told her all. The man was highly ambitious. To have someone with the status of the Marquess of Willbridge visit his home was a coup, indeed.
But enough. It was not him she had come to see, after all.
“Won’t you all have a seat?” Frances said, motioning to a circle of highly fashionable, highly uncomfortable seats. No doubt Lord Sumner’s choice. The man made certain every aspect of his residences, from the wall coverings to the silverware—even to his wife—showcased his status in the very best light.
“I must thank you for allowing us to accompany Imogen and Lord Tarryton on their visit,” Lady Willbridge said to Frances. “It is most kind of you. I do hope we are not encroaching on your private family time.”
“Not in the least, my lady,” Frances said.
“No, indeed,” her husband chimed in. “We are happy to have you. Please know that your family is always welcome here.” He glanced from Caleb to Imogen. She could practically hear him wondering what this peculiar visit by his sister-in-law meant in the grand scheme of things. And how he could benefit from it.
Lady Willbridge nodded politely to Lord Sumner, her expression serene, before she returned her attention to his wife. “It has been such a pleasure having your father and sister visit with us. It was so generous of your mother to spare them while the Season is in full swing. She must have her hands full with your younger sister’s schedule.”
“Oh, have no fear on that score,” Frances replied. “Our mother would put any military general to shame. She quite delights in that sort of thing.”
Not a person present could fail to hear the hint of coldness in Frances’s words. Imogen ached for her sister. Frances, she knew, had never forgiven their mother for her ruthless maneuverings during her own Season.
