Would it be so wrong?
The thoughts and the mental debate teemed through Imogen’s mind even while she listened to her aunt’s animated chatter about the visitors that were expected, though she did not know how many were coming or even exactly when, and Cousin Percy did not know either. It was very unsettling. Aunt Lavinia went on to talk about the entertainments they must plan. It had been a veritable age, she said, since there was any evening entertainment at Hardford. Dear Brandon had not held with such things But now...
Imogen let her prattle happily on. And she was hugely relieved—and disappointed?—that the earl did not come home while she was there. He did not come back to the dower house either in four days, and Imogen paced, upstairs and down, unable to settle to any activity for longer than a few minutes at a time. She would have paced the cliff path and the beach too, but she was afraid of running into him. The farthest she went, except for that one visit to the hall, was the garden, where she found that the first snowdrop had bloomed.
He did not come, and she was safe from her own weakness and indecision. She did not have to decide if it would be wrong or not.
On the fifth day, Mrs. Primrose brought news with Imogen’s luncheon. A pageboy, sent from the hall with fresh eggs, had brought word of the arrival of two grand traveling carriages full of passengers and a few riders in addition and a great deal of baggage and noise and bustle. And then later in the afternoon the same pageboy returned with a hastily scrawled note in Aunt Lavinia’s hand inviting Imogen to dinner so that she might meet a number of long-lost cousins, though some of them were not strictly speaking relatives as they belonged to the maternal side of Cousin Percy’s family.
His mother had indeed not come alone, then.
Even while Imogen was thinking up excuses for not going, her eyes focused upon the last two sentences—Cousin Percy asked me particularly to write to you on his behalf, dearest Imogen, with apologies for not doing so himself. He is busy with his loved ones.
The invitation came from him, then, even if the apology was probably Aunt Lavinia’s invention. And it was only proper that he invite her, Imogen supposed reluctantly. She was, after all, the widow of his predecessor’s only son. And by the same token, it would be unpardonably rude of her not to put in an appearance.
She sighed and went to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Primrose that she need not prepare an evening meal.
***
It could have been worse, Percy thought as he dressed for dinner.Allhis relatives, both paternal and maternal, might have descended upon him—as they still might, of course. There could be a dozen packed carriages bowling along the highway at this very moment in the general direction of Hardford. One could not know for sure.
Aunt Edna, his father’s sister, had arrived late in the morning with Uncle Ted Eldridge. Their son, Cyril, had come with them, as had the three girls, Beth and the twins, Alma and Eva. They had been in London, kicking their heels according to Cyril, waiting for the Season to begin so that Beth could be fired off into society and onto the marriage mart. The prospect of passing some time by coming to see Percy in his proper milieu and to celebrate his thirtieth birthday, albeit belatedly, had appealed to them all, without exception.
Aunt Nora Herriott, his mother’s sister, had been equally enthusiastic over the invitation and had come with Uncle Ernest and their sons, Leonard and Gregory. They also had come from London and had met the Eldridges by chance at a toll booth and traveled with them thereafter.
One big, happy family come to jollificate with him, Percy thought as he considered the fall of his neckcloth with a critical eye and gave Watkins a nod of approval. Wasjollificatea verb? If it was not, then it ought to be, for it perfectly described what his family clearly had in mind for the next week or so. One shuddered at the very thought.
And it might not be just family. According to Cyril, Sidney Welby and Arnold Biggs, Viscount Marwood, were thinking of ambling down this way too and might already have begun ambling.
And then, in the middle of the afternoon, just when things had been calming down at the house, Percy’s mother had arrived in company with Uncle Roderick Galliard, her brother, and his widowed daughter, Cousin Meredith, and her young son, Geoffrey.
The arrival of the infant had eclipsed all else and had brought everyone and his dog—or, rather, everyone and the Hardford strays, which had, as usual, escaped from the second housekeeper’s room—converging upon the child to offer unsolicited hugs and kisses and squeals and exclamations and yips and barks and a growl from Prudence. Hewasadmittedly a pretty child with his mop of fair curls and big blue eyes. Percy had done his bit too by snatching up the boy and tossing him toward the ceiling to shrieks of glee from said infant, cheers of encouragement from the male cousins, and assorted squeals of fright and cries of alarm from the female cousins and aunts—while Meredith looked placidly on.
His mother had been filled with ecstasy on her arrival. Even Mrs. Ferby, whom she insisted upon calling Cousin Adelaide, had been unable to escape her hugging arms and delighted exclamations of bonhomie. To find some shared blood between those two would probably take the dedicated researcher all the way back to Adam and Eve, but to his mother, Mrs. F was family. His mother and Lady Lavinia were, in fact, a matched pair and had taken to each other like bees to pollen.
He was already dreaming of availing himself of the peace and sanity of the dower house, Percy thought grimly as he raised his chin for Watkins to position his diamond pin just so in his neckcloth. Thoughpeacewas probably not quite the right word. Lady Barclay did not much like him, and he was not sure he greatly liked her. Except that he had told her he wanted to be her lover but would settle for friendship. Andshehad toldhimthat friendship was possible though improbable and that she was not sure about the other.
So were they friends or were they not?Couldthey be?
Shouldthey be?
He could not for the life of him make any sense of it.
She was coming for dinner. At least, she had been invited and would probably come out of a sense of duty if for no other reason. Anyway, she could not hope to hide out in the dower house for long before it was discovered and invaded by his family, and she must have the sense to realize that. His mother had already learned of her existence and simply could notwaitto embrace her—notmeet, butembrace.
It was enough to make a grown man wince.
“No, no,” he said in response to the stricken look on his valet’s face. “You did not stick the pin in me, Watkins. Carry on.”
Lord, he hoped she would come. And he hoped she would not.
She came.
They were all gathered in the drawing room when Crutchley announced her—yes, he actually did, his chest puffed out, his voice projecting his words into the room, silencing the hubbub as everyone turned curious eyes his way. He was behaving like a majordomo at a grandtonball. Having all these visitors under his charge had gone to his head.
It must have been a bit daunting to walk alone into the room in a sort of silence, with every eye turned her way, but she did it with calm grace. Her near blond hair was smooth and shining, but it was styled quite simply, especially when one compared it with all the curled and crimped and ringleted heads of his aunts and cousins. Her dress was of dark green velvet, long-sleeved, only very slightly scoop-necked and falling in loose folds from beneath her bosom to her ankles. It was quite unadorned, and she wore no jewelry except tiny pearls in her earlobes and her wedding ring. She was not sparkling with bright smiles, though she was not scowling either.
She set every other woman in the room in the shade, including Beth, who was wearing some of her new London finery and whom he was certain was destined to become one of the acclaimed beauties of the upcoming Season.
