Page 39 of With Love in Sight
There was a moment of quiet in the room before Lady Tarryton shook her head impatiently. “You must be mistaken, Ernest. Surely he said Mariah. You misheard.”
“No,” Lord Tarryton replied calmly. “He was quite specific. He wants Imogen.”
The room went completely still before exploding into action.
Mariah, that most wonderful sister, squealed loudly enough to attract every dog in the capital. Her arms went about Imogen with surprising force, knocking the breath from her body—if Imogen hadn’t already lost it in a large exhale of shock.
Her mother swiveled her head between her husband and her two daughters, her mouth working silently. Finally she managed, “But…Mariah…”
Lord Tarryton rose and went to his wife. “Harriett, did the boy ever show a bit of interest in Mariah?”
“Of course he did—”
“No, he did not,” he interrupted. “He wants Imogen. You shall have to pin your hopes for Mariah elsewhere.”
He turned from his stunned wife to his daughters. “Imogen,” he said, “I leave the matter up to you. Do you accept Lord Willbridge’s offer?”
Imogen looked at his face, feeling a modicum of strength from the kindness there. Refusing to meet her mother’s eyes, she swallowed hard. “No, Papa,” she whispered.
He nodded. “He told me you would say as much.”
“What!” Her mother finally came to life. “You refuse him?”
Imogen could only nod.
“Have you gone mad?”
Lord Tarryton held up his hands. “Calm down now, Harriett.”
She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “Calm down? He is a marquess, Ernest. A marquess! She is lucky to get an offer at all at her age, and from a marquess, no less. A man of Lord Willbridge’s youth, position, and wealth could get any girl for a wife, and he has offered for our obtuse daughter, who would not know good fortune were it to slap her in the face.”
“Imogen has the right to accept or refuse any man, no matter his social status or fortune,” Lord Tarryton said quietly. Imogen had not loved her father quite so much as she did in that moment.
Her mother sputtered and raged. They all let her, until finally she lost steam and stood there looking defeated.
“Now,” her father said once the room went blessedly silent, “If Imogen was to decline, Lord Willbridge informed me that she and I are invited to his country house for a fortnight.”
“No,” Imogen said. “I won’t go.”
Once again her father nodded. “He thought you would say that as well. He said to inform you that he has already sent word ahead to his family, and will be here with his carriages tomorrow morning despite your wishes.”
Imogen stared at him. “And you agreed to this?” she asked in disbelief.
He went to stand in front of her and took up her cold hands in his. “I brought you up to be more fair than that, my girl. Give the lad a chance. If at the end of our visit you still won’t have him, I shall support your decision.”
If he had threatened or bargained with her she might have been able to stand her ground. But his quiet and sensible reasoning obliterated her defenses. “Fine,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” her mother said. “If you are to leave tomorrow you must get packed at once. I’ll send Mariah’s maid with you; she can share Paula with me for now. You cannot visit the Marchioness of Willbridge looking like…well…” She flapped her hand vaguely in Imogen’s direction. “It really is too bad he did not give us more time. I could have had your dresses altered to look a bit more…ahem…” She trailed off, then shooed Imogen from the room.
Mariah followed in her wake. “Imogen,” she whispered, “did Lord Willbridge ask you to marry him at the Knowles’s house party?”
Imogen blushed and kept her head down as she hurried to her room. “Yes,” she replied tightly.
“And you turned him down?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Imogen?”
