Imogen stared at him and his words sank in. She had always been on the outer edges of that world. The daughter of a second son, the wife of a third. Far enough to not reap the greatest benefits of title. Close enough to see the damage. To see how those men with title had been allowed to harm others, to lie, to cheat, to get away with anything they wished and have it covered up.
Of course that was what would happen here.
“But…” She was almost unable to form words when her throat was closing up at such a rapid pace. “Is there any way to address this? To make it right again for those women? For…for me?”
The entire room was staring at her. But no one responded, and their hesitation gave the response their voices wouldn’t.
She nodded. She couldn’t stop nodding, like her head was on a hinge, and backed toward the door. “I-I need a moment,” she gasped out, and then ran from the room.
Only it was hopeless. There was nowhere to run to. And the future she’d had the tiniest hopes for seemed to vanish before her eyes, leaving only destruction and terror in its wake.
* * *
Oscar had carefully crafted his life so that he no longer had to feel helpless as he had as a boy. But as he watched Imogen stumble from the room, all color gone from her cheeks, her eyes filled with tears and her hands shaking, all those powerless feelings had flooded back.
“God’s teeth, that poor woman,” Will muttered, and crossed to the settee to place a hand on Joanna’s shoulder.
Oscar glanced at them together and shook his head. That was a topic for another day. Right now he had to focus on Imogen. Imogen was all that mattered to him.
“Well, follow her,” his mother said. “It’s all you want to do, I can see it.”
He nodded and looked at the door where Imogen had departed. “I am.”
But he didn’t move. He just stood there because he felt utterly toothless. Completely ineffective. He wanted to save this woman. To protect her in every way. But aside from offering her shelter, what else could he do?
His mother got up and came to his side. She touched his arm, and he looked at her.
“Oscar,” she said, using his first name as she so rarely did. Only Imogen did it regularly. Hearing it from someone else’s lips jolted him.
“What can I do, Mama?” he asked. “What can I possibly do? We all know that men with titles will always win. I’ve watched them do it all my life.”
“And yet you’ve never stepped down from a fight,” she said softly. “Because of that, those menhaven’talways won. You’ve climbed over top of their barriers and made a life for yourself that your father would have denied you,triedto deny you. Sometimes we only win by inches, love. But inches add up over time. Don’t lose hope. Grab onto it with both hands and then go out to that woman and offer it to her as a lifeline. She needs it. She needsyou.”
He looked down at her and felt the truth of that. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders, but one he wished to carry. For Imogen he would carry the world.
He nodded and said nothing else, but departed the room and moved down the hall. He had a feeling she had gone out onto the terrace to get some air. After all the time he’d observed her in his home, he knew she often went outside to clear her head. It was why she spent so much time tidying his hopeless garden.
He went to the parlor where he could access the terrace and stepped outside. There she was, haloed by moonlight, staring up at the stars. He stared because he couldn’t help himself. She was so lovely standing there. If he hadn’t known her, he would have said she was a beautiful woman enjoying the night and nothing else.
But he did know her. So he saw her rolled shoulders, the tremble of her hand at her side, the way her breath was slightly labored as he came closer. Her pain seemed to come off of her in waves, her fear a companion standing at her shoulder.
“Imogen,” he said.
She pivoted, and there were tracks of tears on her face as she stared at him. She was silent for what felt like a lifetime, and then she stepped forward into his arms. He held her as she leaned against him, supporting her weight, if he could do nothing else. He smoothed her hair gently, over and over, memorizing the silky texture as it grazed his palm.
At last she looked up at him. “It’s all ruined, it’s all over.”
“No,” he whispered, but he knew it was quite possibly a lie he told to make them both feel better in this impossible position.
She knew it too. She shook her head slowly. “I’ll never be able to go back to how things were, will I?” He hesitated, and the silence answered her question just as it had in the parlor a few moments before. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and gripped his jacket tighter.
“We’ll find a way,” he promised.
She laughed, but there was no humor to the sound, only pain. “What way? How do I exist if this man and his…minions can destroy me with impunity? Do I change my name? Do I leave London? Do I leave the country entirely?”
“No!” he snapped, too quick, but the suggestion had hit him so hard in the chest he almost couldn’t breathe with the thought of it. “No,” he repeated, this time more gently as he held her tighter. “We’ll work it out, I swear it to you, Imogen.”
She lifted her face again, and her amber eyes sought his in the moonlight. She sighed. “You can’t swear it, Oscar, because you can’t work it out. You can’t fix this.”
