Page 71 of With Love in Sight
He stumbled back, his hip ramming against the elegant, cold grave of an unknown ancestor before he turned and moved through the tombs to the gate. His feet felt as if they were encased in lead, his shoulders weighted with the burden of his sins.
As he left the two girls behind, he reminded himself he should have known, should not have allowed himself to hope. His past would never let him go.
• • •
Imogen watched in disbelief as Caleb lurched away from them, through the iron gate and into the trees, her heart aching. There was something that teased her just out of sight, something she knew was not quite right, a detail that would explain everything. She longed to go after him, to force him to explain. But Emily moaned in her arms, and she knew it would have to wait.
“Emily,” she said urgently as the girl’s weight settled more heavily in her arms. “You must get a hold of yourself.”
But she made no indication of having heard her. “All my fault,” she mumbled, her eyes closed, as if in pain. “I should have known, should have stopped him.”
“Emily,” Imogen barked, knowing she could not manage to get the girl home without some help from her. When Emily still made no sign of coming to her senses, Imogen released the arm that she had secured around her shoulder and slapped her. Hard.
Emily gasped, her eyes flying open, hurt and bewildered but cognizant of the world again.
“I need you to gain control of yourself until we reach home. Can you do that?”
Emily nodded, scrubbing at her wet cheeks. Soon they were heading out of the churchyard, past the parsonage and toward home.
By the time they arrived back at Willowhaven, Imogen was sweating from the exertion of half guiding, half supporting Emily as they stumbled along.
“Just a small while longer, dearest,” Imogen panted. “Let me get you to bed, and then you may become insensible to your heart’s content.”
Emily merely nodded, but she seemed to rally. They managed to get through the house and to Emily’s chamber, though not unseen. After Imogen tucked the girl under some blankets and left, closing the door softly behind her, the butler approached.
“Miss Duncan, I have heard reports that Lady Emily is unwell. Is anything amiss?”
“Lady Emily has had a fright and is overcome,” she replied. “Please have a maid come and sit with her while I fetch her ladyship.”
“Of course, miss,” the butler responded, the slight widening of his eyes the only indication of his alarm. He turned to go, but Imogen stopped him.
“Has Lord Willbridge returned?”
He looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe Lord Willbridge has risen for the day yet, miss,” he said before hurrying off.
Imogen stood in the now empty hall, at a loss. Caleb had obviously not yet returned, or the staff would have been aware that he was awake.
Shaking her head, she hurried off to find Lady Willbridge. She had Emily to care for first. Only then would she search for Caleb. He could not be far.
• • •
Later that evening, however, Imogen still had no idea where Caleb was. He had not returned to the house, though she had been made aware sometime in the late morning that he’d stopped off in the stables and had a horse saddled before riding off at great speed for parts unknown.
Imogen took another look out the window of the drawing room before resuming her pacing. Dinner was over an hour past, the sky dark and starless. She was frustrated and worried. And angry. How inconsiderate he was being. The least he could do was be present so she could rail at him.
“Imogen,” her father called to her from across the room, “you’ll worry yourself sick if you keep that up. Please, sit down and relax dear.”
“Your father is correct,” Lady Willbridge said, lowering her embroidery. Her face was pale, new lines of strain radiating from the corners of her eyes. “My son is a headstrong young man. He will return when he’s ready.”
Instead of doing as they bid, she asked in a distracted voice, “Do you suppose we should send grooms out to search for him? It is quite dark; if he went riding in this, his horse may have stepped in a hole and taken lame.”
At that Daphne rose and went to her. She linked her arm through Imogen’s, giving it a small squeeze. “Come and sit. Your worrying certainly isn’t going to bring him home any faster.”
“Lady Daphne has the right of it,” her father said. “Lady Emily is resting soundly, and Lord Willbridge is a grown man who has taken care of himself for years. He is certainly too smart to take dangerous chances on the road on such a moonless night. He’s likely staying with a friend and will return after daybreak.”
“Very well,” Imogen replied, reluctantly allowing Daphne to lead her back to the couch. She took up the glass of ratafia she had left there earlier, before her vigil at the window. The cloying taste washed over her tongue, but she welcomed it. A horrible dryness had settled in her mouth since her return with Emily that morning and she couldn’t seem to rid herself of it.
Caleb’s strong reaction to their presence at the cemetery only reinforced Imogen’s suspicions. Jonathan’s death was, indeed, the cause of the unrest here. It seemed, however, she had more questions than ever. What had happened when Jonathan had died? Why had Caleb attacked his sister because of it? She had tried to talk to Emily, but the girl had been given laudanum to help her rest and was beyond conversation at the moment.
