Page 18 of With Love in Sight
Murmurs travelled around the room. Not one of the ladies present would have declined this invitation, even had the party been extended to a full six weeks during the height of the Season. The Knowles’s short but eventful house party, with the masquerade ball that finished it off, was a much sought-after invitation, looked forward to yearly from all echelons of society. Many a young woman had been known to fall into a dead faint at not having received an invitation.
Lady Knowles smiled benignly at the faces around her. “Tonight we shall be rolling back the rug for some impromptu dancing. Sir Frederick has a pianist from Vienna coming to regale us with songs. Tomorrow there will be a picnic at some medieval ruins that are not far from here. For those who don’t wish for the walk, we shall have archery and such set up for your enjoyment here at the house.”
Imogen listened with half an ear as the woman rattled on. A ruin! Now here was something she could get excited about. Forcibly pushing aside any unpleasant thoughts about Lord Willbridge’s puzzling behavior, Imogen instead concentrated on the joys the following day would bring. And maybe, just maybe, her suspicion that he was purposely ignoring her would be proved wrong.
• • •
The drooping branches of the willow tree Imogen sat beneath acted as a kind of veil, partly shielding her from the partygoers who had risen from the blankets littering the lawn. The food had been enjoyed, and now they were tramping over the picturesque ruins of a medieval monastery, the moss-covered stone walls providing a lovely backdrop to the women’s brightly colored dresses and bonnets.
But as usual, it was all a blur to Imogen. Before they had all left for the short walk to the ruins, footmen with hampers and blankets at the ready, Imogen had tried once again to fight the Battle of the Spectacles. She had covertly placed them on her nose, hoping if she was nonchalant, her mother, who was agog at her surroundings though she claimed herself unaffected, would simply not notice. But not a moment later her mother dropped back beside her, her voice a harsh hiss in her ear.
“Imogen, take those off at once.” Her eyes, the same clear blue as Mariah’s, were glacial.
“I would like to wear them, Mama,” she said, clenching her hands in front of her.
“No, you will not. Why your father allowed you to get them is beyond me.”
“Well, they do help me see,” Imogen mumbled with some sarcasm. Her mother’s eyes widened.
“Truly, I cannot imagine what has gotten into you, Imogen,” she said. “I did not bring you up to be disobedient. Now do as I say and put those things away.”
Imogen finally did, but with great reluctance. Once Lady Tarryton saw the offending piece safely tucked away, she rejoined her friends.
And now Imogen was left with a muddied view of what had promised to be a lovely sight. Though, she thought wryly, perhaps she could see it as a romantic filter, with everything a dreamy mix of hues. She peered from her bower, squinting at the people as they paired off and explored. She finally spotted Mariah, picking her way over some fallen rubble, hanging onto the arm of Sir Frederick Knowles’s eldest son, Mr. Ignatius Knowles.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spotted Lord Willbridge’s copper hair, a beacon she had been painfully aware of throughout the day. He ducked under a stone arch and into a small but mostly intact portion of the building. From the looks of it he was quite alone, which surprised Imogen.
Her lips compressed. The man had been a veritable Lothario the night before. His strange coldness had not abated, but had in fact worsened as the night progressed. Once the men had returned from their port to the company of the ladies in the drawing room, he had not stopped flirting with all manner of polished, welcoming women. There was not a moment he did not have one within his scope. And when the dancing had started, so much more carefree than that of a London ballroom, he had swung about partner after partner. Imogen had watched from her corner beside her mother, berating herself for the twinge she felt every time he passed her by without a flicker of a glance.
His strange manner had been present throughout the morning as well. Just once he had looked her way. But his eyes had been unsmiling, his nod to her curt. And then he had turned, and she could almost feel her heart cracking.
With no warning, no build-up, he had begun to treat her as all the other men of the ton did. She could not believe that he was truly a bounder, that all this time he had been using her to alleviate boredom. He was not a cruel person. She felt it in her very bones. So why would he suddenly act in such a way?
A slow burn began in her belly. It was not an emotion she felt often, but she knew immediately what it was: anger. She was good and angry at him. Friends did not treat each other in such a manner. Though she had few enough of that species in her past, she knew it as certain as she knew her name.
Without thinking, Imogen rose. She glanced about for only a moment, her eyes straining to ascertain her mother was happily gossiping with her back to her before she pushed past the screen of drooping branches and swiftly headed in the direction she had last seen Lord Willbridge.
Chapter 8
It had been necessary for Caleb’s sanity that he make an escape from the crowd at the ruins. His stomach roiled at the memory of Imogen, looking like a pale specter, forgotten by everyone. Including himself, he thought with a pang of guilt. She had seemed so lost, sitting alone beneath the branches of the willow tree. He had longed to go to her, to bring a smile to those sad eyes.
But he must keep his distance. Perhaps, he thought as he made his way past a tumbled-down wall and through another of those great stone arches that littered the ruin, he should just return to London. He had seen the hurt in her eyes earlier when their gazes had accidentally clashed, had felt it clear to his toes. Yes, perhaps that would be best. For the both of them.
It seemed, however, no matter what he decided to do he was destined to hurt her. Either he remained friends with her and risked her reputation being unfairly damaged, or she would feel he’d betrayed their friendship by turning his back on her. He cursed, picking up a small rock and throwing it with force back through the arch he had just walked beneath.
“Ow!”
Caleb glanced up sharply at the feminine shriek that echoed through the small space. Just then Imogen came into view, one hand rubbing at a spot on her thigh. He could only stare open-mouthed as she stalked toward him.
“If I had known your feelings ran in that particular direction, I would not have followed you,” she grumbled, a frown creasing the space between her brows. She stopped several feet from him, and he was surprised to see not the cowed, hurt look that had been present on her face that morning but a tight-lipped anger.
“My apologies,” he stammered. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this new Imogen.
“Your apologies?” she said. Her voice was still soft, but now held a level of tightness that made him inwardly cringe. “Yes, I suppose I do deserve them, though perhaps for more than you meant.”
He eyed her warily. He had never seen this side to her, had never even thought she was capable of it. She always seemed so calm, so in control. Who knew that sweet Miss Imogen Duncan was capable of such a degree of anger?
“Why have you been ignoring me, Lord Willbridge?”
