Page 61 of With Love in Sight
“My thanks,” Mrs. Larstow said. “Can I entice you inside? I’ve made fresh muffins just this morning.”
“Alas, no,” was Caleb’s reply. “I’m afraid we have to pass, though it is a tempting invitation.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Mrs. Larstow said jovially. They took their leave, and she waved them off before turning back to the house.
Imogen was thoughtful as they continued down the main street of the small village. Everyone they came across was full of greetings and goodwill, and she could not help but wonder at this man at her side. It seemed he came home only rarely, and yet the people here truly and honestly respected him. The houses and roads were in good repair, the tenants happy, the children healthy. He knew everyone by name, and they all were comfortable, even friendly with him. It was obvious he cared a great deal for the people under his care.
Which made the discontent and tension with his own family all the more pronounced. And all over the accidental death of his brother? No matter how hard she thought on the matter it made no sense at all.
Chapter 25
After Imogen had chosen a length of creamy lace for Mariah, as well as several small presents for her younger siblings, she and the rest of the party made their way to the local inn. It was a large two-story building bustling with activity and made from the same ochre stone as the rest of the homes and shops in the village. Caleb maneuvered the women past a restless team of horses and a lad unloading a coach and into the cheerfully whitewashed and immaculate interior of the establishment.
“Lord Willbridge,” came a booming voice. Imogen jumped, spinning to face a large man striding toward them. He grinned and held out a beefy hand to Caleb, who shook it heartily. “I see you are here right as promised. I’ve got that hamper you requested all set to go. I’ll have young Evan bring it out.” The man turned and bellowed instructions through an open door. A moment later a thin boy bustled out, nearly bowing under the weight of a heavily laden basket.
“I thank you, Donald. I look forward to your wife’s delectable cooking more than you know. Nothing in London compares.” Caleb plucked the hamper from the lad’s hands, peering down at him in amazement. “Why, Evan Samson, have you lost another tooth?”
“Aye, milord,” the boy chirped proudly with a gap-toothed grin. “This makes five now.”
Caleb ruffled the boy’s hair. “Best watch out. Soon you won’t have any teeth left to chew with.” He threw the boy a coin with a smile. Evan caught it with a practiced move before scurrying off, his cheerful “Thanks” trailing behind him.
Caleb chuckled. “Donald, that boy of yours is growing up much too fast.”
“Don’t I know it.” The innkeeper turned to peer down at Imogen. “Now, Lady Daphne and the Misses Sanders I know. But who might this young lass be?”
Imogen nearly choked. Young lass? The innkeeper had to be no more than thirty if he was a day, certainly only a few years her senior. Either he was in need of spectacles himself or was a consummate charmer.
Caleb drew her forward. “Imogen, this is Mr. Samson, proprietor of the Regal Swan, the finest inn in Northamptonshire. He and I grew up together, terrorizing the local populace, and so you must excuse his forward manner. Donald, may I present Miss Duncan? She is visiting from London for a short time.”
Mr. Samson took up her hand in his, pressing it warmly. “I’m pleased more than you know to be meeting you, Miss Duncan. Let us hope you’re here to reform this hardened rake.”
Imogen blushed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It seemed everyone in town saw her presence at Willowhaven as good as an announcement in the papers declaring her engagement to Caleb. And he, blast him, did nothing to dissuade his tenants from speculating to their hearts’ content.
Like now. He chuckled, holding out his arm to her. She took it reluctantly. “Excuse us, Donald, but the ladies must be famished after an afternoon shopping. I shall see you later, my friend.”
He guided them out past the busy commotion that filled the front courtyard and around to the back of the inn. There a gently sloping grass-covered hill ended in a small pond. It was a quiet spot, neatly shielded from the large building by the several mature trees that framed it. He laid out a spacious blanket under the obliging shade of an immense oak, and all four women sank gratefully onto it, adjusting their skirts. They dug into the basket with relish, and before long every crumb of meat pie, cheese, bread, and bright red berries was gone.
“Our thanks, Lord Willbridge,” Miss Sanders remarked, sighing happily. “This was a wonderful afternoon. I declare, Mrs. Samson is a fabulous cook.”
“And now,” Daphne announced, standing up and shaking out her skirts, “we must be off. I cannot wait to see Miss Russell—er, Mrs. Fuller. It has been an age. Rebecca, Hannah, shall we? Caleb, Imogen, we shall be back within the hour.”
Without waiting for a response, Daphne ushered her two friends away.
Imogen watched them go, the glow she had begun to feel in such an idyllic setting fading away. She nervously smoothed her skirts. Beside her, Caleb leaned back on his elbows, and she could feel his eyes on her.
They had had such an easy friendship before, and now she could not be in his presence without feeling self-conscious and tongue-tied. She felt a small spurt of anger. His friendship had been one of the most important things in her life. But after what had happened between them, and given her feelings for him, it felt as if it were ruined beyond repair.
And if he could not find it in him to love her in return, she would be forced to break with him for good.
She sniffled, trying to control the sudden burning behind her eyes.
“Imogen, what is it?” Caleb reached out and took up one of her hands.
She shook her head. “Nothing at all.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course.” She gave a feeble tug on her hand, but he held it fast. He stared at it, suddenly intent. Before she knew what he was about, he reached out with his free hand and undid the small buttons at her wrist.
