He couldn’t understand it. When had Imogen and Emily become familiar with one another? He had seen no sign of friendship develop between them in the week they had been there.
An uncomfortable weight seemed to have formed in his chest. Pushing away from the table, he rose and strode from the room. Imogen was innately kind; her attempts to befriend his sister surprised him not one bit. He had seen her distress at Emily’s aloof attitude to her, her confusion at the reserve she had found. But he had not thought much of it at the time. Emily was naturally reticent with strangers, after all.
Now, however, there was something forming between the two. And he hadn’t a clue how to deal with it.
His steps slowed as he neared the closed door of the music room. He could just make out their light chatter, the gentle sound of a melody being tested out on the keys of the pianoforte. There was a bout of quiet laughter before the music started up in earnest.
He stared for a time at the door, listening. As their voices joined together in song, he frowned and strode further down the hall. Why did this bother him so much? He should be glad Imogen was finding a friend in Emily. He had seen a bond develop between Imogen and Daphne, seen how she respected and cared for his mother. Wouldn’t it be in his best interest then to have her become attached to the final person in the house? It would connect her even more firmly to them, make it harder for her to refuse him when it was time once again to ask her to marry him.
But what if Emily talked of his part in Jonathan’s death? She was one of the few who had been there, who would be able to tell the whole ugly truth. How would Imogen feel about him then, knowing he was responsible?
Agitated, he headed toward the stables. He should not have brought Imogen here. But blast it all, he had not been able to see another way to get her to accept him.
He glanced back quickly at the house. Now it seemed there was every chance he could lose her forever.
Chapter 24
After an enjoyable morning singing followed by a walk in the gardens with her new friend, Imogen took leave of Emily and retired to her room to rest and read. But she could not concentrate on the words. Instead her mind was full of energy after the changes in the past day. How strange and wonderful to finally have made a connection with the other girl, especially as Imogen was now considering marrying Caleb.
Emily was wonderfully sweet. She was not at all like her siblings, whom others instinctually gravitated toward. No, Imogen found the other woman was much like herself. The both of them were shy, had difficulty around strangers, and tried very hard to blend into the plasterwork. People such as they had a tendency to be eclipsed by those of a more outgoing nature. She was so glad, however, that she had been able to unearth the true person within.
A knock sounded at her door, breaking her from her thoughts. A maid entered, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Miss, Lady Sumner is here to see you. She’s in the small drawing room.”
“Thank you, I’ll be there momentarily.”
The treat of having her sister here for a visit was too good to miss even a moment of. She rushed through the house, her feet fairly flying. What would Frances say if Imogen were to tell her she was considering Caleb’s offer of marriage? They would be close enough to visit one another every day if they wished. Joy burst in her chest, and the sensation caused her to skid to a stop just outside the drawing room door.
Had she decided, then? Was she going to marry Caleb? She rather thought the answer was yes.
A grin spread over her face, relief pouring through her veins. She had to tell someone. Of course, Caleb should be the first to tell. But he was off to places unknown, and Frances was here. Surely he would not mind if she confided in her sister first.
Throwing open the door, she rushed in. “Frances, I am so glad you are here.”
Imogen went to her sister and embraced her. But as she pulled back she saw, even through her euphoria, that something was not right.
There was that misery again that she was so used to seeing in Frances’s eyes. But now it was etched even more deeply, almost a raw pain.
Frances’s voice was full of false bravado. “Nothing could stop me from coming to see my dear sister. Especially as she is so close.”
Imogen’s excitement vanished in an instant, and worry settled in her belly like a stone. She guided Frances to the sofa. “Sit with me for a bit and we can have a nice talk.”
Frances frowned. “I would like a nice, simple conversation with you above all things, dear. But I’m afraid my visit has a purpose, and I dare not delay in bringing it up.”
Alarmed, Imogen sat straighter in her seat. “What is it?”
“Mother wrote to me. She’s told me what you’ve done, that you’ve rejected Lord Willbridge.”
Imogen flushed. “Yes, I did reject him.”
“Why? I saw you together when you came to visit. You care for him, Imogen, deeply.”
“It doesn’t matter why.”
“Of course it matters why. Tell me, Imogen.”
“He doesn’t love me.” In the next moment she slashed her hand through the air. “But that is neither here nor there. I have decided that when he asks me again I will accept.”
Frances reached out and squeezed Imogen’s hand. Her eyes took on a feverish gleam. “No! You cannot do that. Have you learned nothing from me?”
