Imogen glanced down at the gown she wore. Very pretty, yes. And still the left-behind dress of a dead woman who haunted Oscar. Drove his every decision, including the one never to let Imogen near. She almost hated the pretty outfit.
“And this is our dear friend, Will White,” Joanna said as she parted from Imogen. She’d been so distracted, she hadn’t noticed another man come into the room behind Joanna. He was tall, though not quite so tall as Oscar, who he was standing beside at the sideboard. He was very handsome, with gray hair, a defined jawline and bright blue eyes that flitted over Imogen before darting to Joanna. He smiled slightly at her and their connection became palpable, if only briefly.
“Will is my partner in the club,” Oscar explained as Mr. White crossed to Imogen and shook her hand in greeting.
“A pleasure.”
“And he was once my protector,” Joanna added, never one to shy away from awkward subjects. “And he remains my dearest and truest friend.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Imogen said.
He shrugged. “The two of them have never been the kind to mince words. Any friend of Joanna or Fitzhugh is a friend of mine. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance after hearing so much about you.”
Imogen blinked toward Oscar. “So much about me?”
“I mentioned you to Will after our first meeting,” Oscar explained softly. “And I would assume he also heard about you from my mother.” He glanced at Mr. White again. “You did go with her to Donville Masquerade and wherever else she was seeking her contacts?”
Mr. White opened his mouth to answer, but Joanna held up a hand. “There is plenty of time to discuss that after supper. By the way our poor Imogen is gripping her drink like a lifeline, I can see she would rather have a break from such dark topics. Am I wrong?”
Imogen stared at her white knuckles. She hadn’t even realized how tightly she clung to her drink. Leave it to Joanna, master of finding all the answers, to see it.
She glanced toward Oscar. She was still so…turned upside down by everything that had happened between them at the museum and since. To now be asked to focus on news about her desperate future did feel like too much.
“A respite might be nice,” Imogen admitted softly. “It’s been a long day.” Oscar flinched slightly, so she rushed to continue, “To be able to pretend things are normal for a while would be good. To pretend that this is just a supper amongst…amongst friends.”
“Then it will be that,” Joanna assured her as she slipped an arm through hers. “You will have the very best meal tonight, dear girl. My cook has made roasted pheasant in Will’s favorite presentation. We all bend over backward to please him whenever he comes around, so it should be delightful.”
Joanna led her from the room, and Imogen couldn’t be sorry she’d done so. It allowed her not to look at Oscar. Not that she couldn’t feel his stare on her. Not that she couldn’t feel the weight of the future already pressing down. The one that would answer life versus death…and the one that would ultimately take her from his side, one way or another.
* * *
Joanna had not been wrong: the pheasant was perfect. As was the company. When Imogen mentioned Carlton’s Museum, Will White had become animated about his love of the natural history exhibits. The bright conversation that followed had allowed Imogen exactly what she’d said she wanted.
For an hour, she felt normal. Like this supper was just with friends. And with a man she…well, she could say she cared for Oscar, couldn’t she? That wasn’t breaking the rules between them. A person could care for a friend. Or for a man who had saved that same person. Caring was apositivething, not a negative.
She only wished she were more certain of that. One thing shewascertain of, however, was that Joanna Fitzhugh and Will White werefarmore than friends. She caught them looking at each other across the table. There was a lightness when they said each other’s names. And the palpable connection that moved between them was something she recognized. Something she felt when she glanced at Oscar and thought about all the wicked things he could do if they were alone.
Even now, as the foursome moved down the hall back to the parlor after supper, she couldn’t help but notice how Joanna rested her hand on White’s inner elbow. How her fingers clenched gently as he leaned down to say something private to her.
“Imogen?”
She jerked her head toward Oscar. He walked beside her, but didn’t hold her arm or offer his. “Hmmm?”
“You looked a little lost,” he said. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I was just thinking how well they look together. And how happy they seem to make each other.”
Oscar glanced ahead to where his mother and White were entering the parlor. His brow wrinkled, as if he hadn’t noticed their closeness before. He shook his head toward Imogen. “My mother was very lucky to keep him as a friend after their affiliation.”
She stopped and lowered her voice. “But they are more than friends now.”
He stared at her, looked toward the parlor and then stared back at her again. “No, you’re mistaken. My mother is a flirt with every handsome man. It’s part of her charm, her nature. Will is a friend to her, nothing more.”
Imogen tilted her head. She saw a kind of desperation in his eyes before he covered it. “Do you not wish them to be together?”
He blinked. “N-no. Of course not. Will is the best of men. He treated me like his own though I was not. When they ended their relationship, it was heartbreaking to me as a nine-year-old. But he continued to treat me well even after it ended. And her. Still, if they were together again, I would know. I would see.”
There was that hint of desperation again, this time in his voice. He covered it by running a hand through his hair. “Come, they’re waiting.”
