Page 37 of With Love in Sight
Chapter 16
“I have never been so insulted in my life,” Lady Tarryton huffed over dinner at their London townhouse that evening. “For Lord Willbridge to not even acknowledge your presence at that ball, Mariah, and you looking so becoming in your costume.”
Mariah glanced quickly at her sister, worry knitting her brow. Imogen caught the action and attempted a look of unconcerned calm. She could sense from Mariah’s manner that her younger sister had been only too aware of her depressed spirits since their departure from Pulteney Manor. Imogen knew she was curious, that she not only worried about her sudden seemingly declining health, but also about the apparent tension that had cropped up with Caleb that final morning. Mariah had attempted to question her about it upon their return, but Imogen had managed to shrug noncommittally and escape to the privacy of her room, claiming a need to rest from the journey. She knew, however, that she could not put her sister off for long.
“Mama,” Mariah said soothingly, “there was no reason to suppose Lord Willbridge should ask me to dance.”
“Of course there was,” their mother scoffed, rolling her eyes heavenward. “What is more important than courting his prospective bride?” She sniffed. “Well, I, for one, will no longer mention his name. And none of you are to mention it, either. If he does not know the gem he could have had in our darling Mariah, then I have no more use for the man.”
Imogen kept her eyes on her plate and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She knew if she were to reach for her fork, her hand would tremble violently. She could sense something coming, like a teakettle at a rolling boil, about to spill over.
In the next moment it did.
“And you,” her mother hissed at her, “you had to wear those spectacles, had to pull your little act of rebellion. I am certain Lord Willbridge would have proposed but for that.”
A moment of shocked silence left everyone else in the room frozen. Finally, her husband found his voice. “Harriett, you must be joking.”
“Of course I’m not. Do I appear to be joking?”
Imogen glanced up then. Her mother’s mouth was pinched into a thin line, her eyes tight and hard. No, Imogen thought, she certainly did not. She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter well up inside her but swallowed it down. Ah yes, her spectacles, instruments of doom.
“Harriett,” her father said, his voice reflecting decades of practiced patience, “of course Imogen’s spectacles did not scare away Lord Willbridge’s suit. The boy didn’t have designs on Mariah in the first place.” He looked at his younger daughter, an apologetic smile on his face. “Not anything against you, my dear.”
Mariah was quick to jump in. “Of course, Papa. I am fully aware Lord Willbridge never considered me for a bride. And I am glad of it, for I never desired him as a husband.”
“Never desired him as a husband!” Her mother’s voice carried through the room in a shriek. “Lord Willbridge is a marquess. I think you must agree that available men of his status are in short supply.” She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I warned you all. I told you that it would be a mistake, that Imogen being seen as a bluestocking would taint our family name. But you would not listen to me. Now we will be lucky if we can nab a baron for you.”
And that had been that. By some miracle it seemed her mother had finally given up all hopes for Caleb to come up to scratch, for in the days following that tirade she made no mention of him. Not so much Mariah. Several times she had cornered Imogen and demanded to know what had happened between Caleb and herself. Finally Imogen could stand it no more.
“Please,” she had begged, holding up her hand to ward off her sister on the afternoon of the second day, “leave it alone, Mariah.”
Mariah had stopped in her tracks, a look of hurt and worry flashing across her lovely face. Imogen felt a bone-deep regret. But she could not confide in her. Not only was the truth something she should not burden an innocent with, but she feared saying it aloud would well and truly break her.
Mariah must have seen something in her face, for she reached out and clasped her hand warmly. “I am sorry, dearest,” she said quietly. “Only know that should you require a confidante, I will be here for you.”
Imogen had attempted to smile in gratitude. But she knew in her heart that, though this was the most important matter in her life, she was utterly alone in it.
Determined to put Caleb from her mind, Imogen threw herself into the schedule her mother had mapped out for them in the search for a husband for her youngest, chaperoning Mariah on outings, attending evening revelries and the like. She expected to see him everywhere she turned, but there was no sign of him.
But as busy as she kept her days, her nights were another matter entirely. With nothing to do but contemplate the ceiling above her head, memories of him assailed her. Even in sleep he invaded her thoughts, filling her dreams with all the desperate desires she kept buried deep otherwise. More than once she awoke, hot and gasping. The dreams were so vivid that she expected to turn her head on the pillow and find him next to her, reaching for her.
It was then the tears came, the only time she was so vulnerable that she could not keep the pain at bay. She clutched the pillow to her face to muffle her sobs, knowing that if Mariah heard there would be no hiding the truth from her. She could only hope that as time went by the memories would fade and she would be able to sleep easy. But in her heart she feared that would never be the case.
On the third morning Imogen accompanied her sister in a walk to the park. The day had turned out to be a fine one and Mariah nattered on about anything and everything. Everything, that was, except Caleb. Imogen was grateful for the reprieve. For, though her mother had determined never to mention his name again, her increasingly dour attitude and caustic comments on spectacles and lost chances brought Caleb to mind more often than not. But they could not put off the inevitable for long, and so, at the end of an hour, it was with a small sigh of resignation that the two girls turned for home.
On their return they found their mother waiting for them in the entrance hall, fairly buzzing with excited energy.
“Thank goodness you are come!” she exclaimed when she saw them. “Mariah, go freshen yourself immediately, and make haste.”
“Mama, what is it?” Mariah hurried forward and took up her mother’s hands as Imogen removed her outerwear and handed it to the butler.
“You are being offered for this very minute. He is with your father in his study. Oh, Mariah, you will outshine even your sister Frances in status.” Lady Tarryton looked as if she would burst out of her bodice, her chest was so puffed up with pride.
Mariah looked over at Imogen in confusion before turning back to their mother. “But who is with Papa?”
“Lord Willbridge. I knew that man would come up to scratch eventually. I just knew it. Oh, my darling girl, you’ve landed a marquess. A marquess!”
Mariah gaped in horror and her eyes swiveled frantically to Imogen and back again. “But Mama…”
