Page 56 of With Love in Sight
“A little. Just that he died quite young, and that you were injured in the same accident.”
Emily regarded Imogen in silence for a long moment.
“Yes,” she finally answered. “Yes, that is true.”
“I imagine it would be difficult to get over losing a sibling in such a way,” Imogen said softly.
Emily turned back to the painting. “It is not something you can get over.”
Imogen regarded the portrait with a respectful silence. Another burst of lightning, this time not quite as bright. The rumble of thunder that followed was slow in coming and muted with distance. Rain began to hit the long windows with more force.
“Would you like to talk about him?” Imogen asked gently.
She glanced over at Emily in time to see her close her eyes, a look of such painful longing on her face that Imogen felt inclined to look away again from the sheer private nature of it.
Emily’s voice was a mere whisper. “He was amazing. So brave, so funny, so clever. He never turned me away when I insisted on following after him, never grew cross with me or refused my company. When he went off to school I felt I’d lost a part of myself. Every time he drove away for the new term, I couldn’t breathe for a week after. He was my very best friend.”
“He sounds an incredible brother,” Imogen said softly.
“He was. Oh yes, he truly was.” She opened her eyes and turned to Imogen. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. When I was young I was mischievous, and daring, and lively. My brother brought those things out in me, you see. He made me strong.”
“I suppose,” Imogen said carefully, kindly, “that those things are still inside you. They would not have manifested at all if you were not capable of them from the start. You can still draw strength from your brother, though he may only be with you in spirit, and find that part of yourself again if you so wish it.”
Emily’s expression seemed to lighten at that. Her mouth tugged up a fraction, and she turned back to look at Jonathan once more. Imogen watched her for a moment, the sudden bond she felt with this sad girl surprising her. It sounded as though Jonathan had brought out different qualities in Emily than anyone else had, ones that had perhaps made her more daring and outgoing. What, then, was the difference between this girl and herself? In Caleb’s friendship she had found the strength to try new things, to stand up for herself and find her voice. Even having the willpower to refuse him was a direct result of that. So what would happen to her if she decided to reject his offer of marriage? Would she, too, lose that part of herself, allow it to shrivel until it had all but vanished?
She stared at the flame of her candle, which danced in the faint breeze from her breath. The bright golden glow of it was so fragile. The slightest effort on her part would have it gone, snuffed out forever. Her newfound strength, too, could easily be extinguished if she allowed it.
She cupped her hand around the flame, protecting it. It glowed orange on her skin, the heat seeping into her, warming her chilled fingers. Yes, Caleb had brought out the best in her. But perhaps her best had already been within her, slumbering, waiting for the spark to waken it. The trick was to never let the flame go out.
• • •
After Imogen had returned to her bedroom, she had been unable to sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw Jonathan’s innocent face as Emily must have seen it last, bloodied and still, all of the life gone. Imogen attempted to imagine what she must have gone through in that horrific moment, tried to imagine herself in a similar situation with one of her siblings. She couldn’t do it. Her mind recoiled from it with a violence that shocked her. The thoughts haunted her even after she finally fell into a fitful sleep, disturbing her dreams so much that she was glad to awake the following morning and escape them.
She had an understanding of Emily now, one that made her feel connected to her in a small way. She had the distinct feeling that the girl had a difficult time opening herself up to others, especially an outsider such as Imogen, and felt touched that she had chosen to share even a small bit with her. Perhaps, though, it had just been the vulnerability of the moment. And so, uncertain of her reception by Caleb’s sister in the bright light of day, she entered the breakfast room with trepidation.
Emily was already seated at the table with a small plate of food and the Times before her. At Imogen’s entrance she looked up from the paper. Imogen tried for a smile and was relieved when Emily returned it.
“Lady Emily,” Imogen said, moving to the sideboard. “I do hope you slept well after the storm last night.”
“I did, thank you.” She laid the paper aside, the reserve from before all but gone. “And please, call me Emily.”
“Emily,” Imogen repeated happily, pausing in spooning eggs onto her plate. “And you must call me Imogen.”
“I’m afraid I do not sleep well in storms. But last night I admit I dropped right off upon returning to my bed.” She sipped at her chocolate.
“That’s a relief to hear,” Imogen responded, taking a seat at the table with her plate. “You played beautifully last night, if I may say so. You have a natural talent.”
“Thank you. I admit it is one of my joys in life. Do you play?”
“I do, though I have not had occasion to practice for some time.”
“I should love to hear you,” Emily said before turning back to her food. After a moment, the hand holding her fork stilled and she looked at Imogen as if about to ask her something. Imogen tilted her head expectantly.
“Do you also sing?” the girl asked haltingly.
Imogen made a face. “Some.”
Emily laughed a bit, but it did not relieve the look of uncertainty that had taken root. “You do not seem as if you enjoy it.”
