Suddenly her father was at her elbow. How had she had not heard him reenter the room? He eyed her in some concern.
“Are you ready to retire with the others, my dear?”
She forced a smile. “Of course, Papa.” She placed her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her from the room, though her mind was still with Caleb.
• • •
Imogen, for all her quiet ways, had never known such a loud quiet as when Daphne left her and Caleb alone on the dirt road leading to the village to fetch the Misses Sanders at the vicarage the following morning.
She had thought that a good night’s sleep would return him to his usual cheerful self. But he seemed even more pensive than he had the evening before. He kept casting her hooded sidelong glances that more than once had her stumbling along the well-maintained road.
Imogen struggled for a topic to draw him out. Conversation had never been her forte, and that, combined with this strange awkwardness that had unexpectedly sprouted up between them, had her even more tongue-tied than usual.
“I do like the Misses Sanders,” she finally said with false brightness. “They are both sweet girls.”
“Indeed.”
She cast about yet again. “Have you known them long?”
“All their lives.”
“Ah, that accounts for Daphne’s closeness with them.”
He merely nodded.
Her lips compressed in frustration. “And Emily?”
He paused, giving her an inscrutable look. “What about Emily?”
“Is she friends with them?”
“I’ve no idea,” he replied.
But she is your sister, she wanted to shout.
Just then, however, Daphne returned, followed by the Misses Sanders. The three girls chattered like magpies, dispelling the peculiar atmosphere. Imogen concentrated on their conversation, determined to enjoy such a glorious day. The sun was warm, the sky a clear azure. They reached Ketterby after a short while, and Imogen forgot Caleb’s strange reaction, instead finding herself utterly enchanted by the picturesque scene.
They entered the main road of the town via a wide stone bridge that spanned the River Spratt. Small cottages lined the road, all made of ochre-colored stone, their roofs recently thatched. One ruddy-faced woman tended the garden at the front of her property behind a low stone wall, several freshly scrubbed children playing and screeching at her heels.
“Mrs. Larstow,” Caleb called, making his way to her gate. “I see young Thomas is fully recovered from his injury?”
Mrs. Larstow smiled in delight and walked over, dropping a curtsy. “Lord Willbridge, what a treat this is. Aye, my Thomas, as you can see, is back to his typical self. The arm doesn’t bother him a bit now it’s healed right and proper.” She smiled at the other women and greeted them as well.
Caleb put his hand at Imogen’s elbow. “And may I present Miss Duncan. She is visiting with us, along with her father Viscount Tarryton, from London. Imogen, this is Mrs. Larstow and her children Thomas, Julia, and Susan. Mrs. Larstow’s sister, Miss Randall, was governess to my sisters.”
The speculation in Mrs. Larstow’s eyes was enough to make Imogen blush as she greeted the woman.
“And how is Miss Randall?” Daphne asked with real warmth. “Ah! I am sorry, she is Mrs. Fuller now.”
Mrs. Larstow chuckled. “Aye, she’s doing wonderfully. Just returned from visiting her husband’s family up north. You may be able to find her home if you’ve a mind to later.”
“Oh, that would be splendid! Caleb, perhaps Rebecca, Hannah, and I may do so after luncheon.”
“Of course,” he said, his eyes settling on Imogen with intensity. “You can be certain that Imogen and I will be fine for a short while on our own.”
Imogen blushed furiously and looked away, trying to gather her scattered wits, hoping no one saw her distress. Thankfully, Miss Rebecca Sanders chose that moment to pull a jar from her basket, holding it out to Mrs. Larstow and thus gaining the woman’s sharp-eyed attention.
“For Mr. Larstow, compliments of my mother.” Miss Sanders said. “A liniment for his back. It should help to ease the strain he suffered considerably.”
