Page 7 of With Love in Sight
And Imogen was the most out-of-place branch there was.
It would do no good to think along this vein. Her mother loved her, in her own way. Imogen would just have to be content with that.
But now that Lady Tarryton’s attention was elsewhere, Imogen could think about Lord Willbridge’s presence. He had obviously come for Mariah; his surprise at seeing her here was proof enough.
It had been so very nice, though, to be acknowledged. As much as she hated conversing with strangers, she had found it wonderful to be seen not with pity, but as an equal. Without meaning to, her aching eyes swept about the room. Unerringly she found him, his copper hair a bright spot in a sea of pale blondes and dark browns. Was he looking her way? In the next moment he held his teacup up in her direction, a salute.
Her face going hot, she quickly looked down to her lap, her heart setting up a quick beat of anticipation. But for what? It was not as if he would ever court her. And friendship was certainly out. Men of Lord Willbridge’s status in society did not seek out unmarried women for that sort of thing, even if they could.
No, nothing would come of this. It was just a small detour; soon she would be back on her straight, uninteresting path in life. She focused on her embroidery, jabbing the needle into the fabric with unnecessary force, ignoring the whisper of despair her heart gave.
Chapter 3
She was a spinster.
Caleb sat watching Imogen as she bent industriously over her embroidery, alone in her corner but for her mother. It had shocked him to see her in the hallway. What were the chances of him finding the one person he had been thinking about so diligently since last night? Then to find she was a daughter of the house, Viscount Tarryton’s daughter, sister to the Incomparable Miss Mariah Duncan? He had been stunned that the Fates could be so kind to him, then delighted in finally having located her. So much so that he had not fully recognized her situation.
But then they had entered the drawing room and she had escaped him, scurrying to the corner to sit with her mother. And even from his position across the room he could see her mother snap at her, saw the stiff cast to Imogen’s shoulders as she fumbled for her embroidery, and the calm that settled over her face as she attempted to work quietly, a calm that did not fool him one bit.
Now he could take the time to observe her situation. And he was dumbfounded by what he saw.
She held the most pitied position a woman of her station could hold. The unmarried maiden sister, watching her younger siblings courted and married off before her. Forever expected to waste her life in service to her aging parents. Always a burden on others, hoping for her family’s charity to ensure her future comfort.
Why was she not married? In the full light of day he could see even more so the quiet prettiness he had noticed the night before, detracted from by her severe hairstyle and gown. The latter was itself an unattractive yellow that gave a sickly cast to her skin. But the bones in her face were fine and delicate, and there was a fullness to her figure that could be alluring were it shown to more advantage. He had felt the lushness of her curves himself the previous evening. He could attest to their existence, though he would not have been able to guess at them had he first seen her thus.
But the thing that stood out the most to him, now that he was close enough to see in good light, were her eyes. Though they were tight in the corners, as if strained, they had a thick, curling fringe of lashes, and their color was the clear turquoise of a calm sea. Her hair was a lovely light brown. He wondered fleetingly how she would look with a few curls to frame her face, to soften the austerity of the style.
But he realized to his shame that if she had not stumbled upon him alone last night, thereby giving him a glimpse of the person beneath, he would have passed her over just as the other gentlemen in the room were doing. The way she held herself, how she seemed to quietly blend into the furniture, made her nigh invisible, especially with her beautiful sister glittering from the center of the room like a star.
He pulled his eyes from Imogen forcibly as her mother leaned in to harangue her once more, his jaw clenching in frustration. Would that he could do something. But no, it was not his place.
A short time later, his companions rose to take their leave. He rose along with them and went to make his farewell of the lovely Miss Mariah, stood before Imogen and her mother to make his bows. But when they turned to the door he found he could not leave just yet. He had seen too much of Imogen’s soul bared the evening before to pass her over so quickly now. Damn and blast, but he would not treat her as all the others did. She deserved far better than that.
• • •
“Miss Duncan.”
Lord Willbridge’s voice was soft and achingly lovely with that deep, rich tone. But Imogen had been so aware of him—and trying so very hard to pretend she wasn’t affected by his presence in the slightest—that she yelped and jumped in her seat, her embroidery clattering to the floor.
He immediately bent to retrieve it for her. But he paused as he went to hand it over. The strangest look passed over his face then, as if he were in pain.
“That is, er, a very interesting design, Miss Duncan,” he choked out.
Frowning, Imogen looked down at her embroidery as she accepted it from him. It was a sad mishmash of colors, which in no way followed the design she had carefully pounced out onto the delicate fabric.
Her hand flying to her mouth, she fought back a horrified gasp. Face flaming hot, she quickly shoved the offending piece behind a cushion.
“I am not typically so abysmal at such things,” she managed.
“Of course,” he murmured complacently. Immediately she read the implication in his voice, that he would allow her to say such things but knew better.
She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. “You do not believe me.”
The amused twinkle in his own pewter eyes promptly made her see her error. He was teasing her. All the tension, mortification, and pique drained from her.
“I assure you,” he said, “I have no doubt as to your prodigious skills.”
Amusement tugged at the corners of her lips. And then a little devil perched on her shoulder, and she found herself saying to him what she never would to another human being: “As I have a great many, you may just be surprised.”
