Page 79 of With Love in Sight
And it was all due to Imogen.
He frowned and pulled his mind back from where it had wandered. He could not think about her. It would drive him mad.
They stopped for a short time to rest their horses before heading back to the stables. As one they turned their mounts over to the grooms and began the short walk back to the house, but as they approached it he remembered that she was no longer there, with her calming presence and quiet smile. He thought of the long night ahead of him and clenched his jaw painfully, walking on.
Back in the house he turned to Emily. She had been a silent support throughout the day. Now she reached out with only the smallest hesitation and took his hand, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze.
“Thank you for today,” he said to her, returning the pressure of her hand, hoping she could see the deep gratitude that his paltry words could not convey.
She smiled and nodded before turning away, heading for the music room. He watched her go, and after a short while he could hear the delicate strains of the pianoforte through the closed door. He started for his study, not wanting to remember how Imogen had played for him that one night, her voice sweet and swelling with emotion, as if she were trying to convey something important to him.
He suddenly stopped, his hand on the study door. She had been trying to tell him something that night. He thought of the expression in her turquoise eyes as she had sung, the same emotion he had glimpsed more than once when she believed he wasn’t looking.
In an instant he knew, deep in his heart, just what she had been so desperately trying to say.
“She loves me?” he murmured in disbelief. His voice echoed about the hall, as if mocking him for his stupidity.
He sagged against the door. But no, how could that possibly be? She had refused him. Why would she do so if she loved him? Now that the thought had been brought into being, however, he could not let it go. He shook his head, unable to wrap his mind about this new information. With that disbelief came an energy that filled his tired body and had his feet taking him unseeing through the house. When he stopped and looked up, only to find himself outside Imogen’s bedroom door, it did not surprise him one bit.
He opened the door, letting it swing wide before he stepped over the threshold. As it felt with the rest of the house, the space was cold and empty without her in it. He let his eyes take in the room, looking on the dressing table she had used, the mirror she had gazed into. The bed she had slept in.
It was there he went, letting his fingers trail over the neat coverlet. Everything was in its place, the maids having erased all sign of her. Tension worked into his shoulders, making his body stiffen and his fingers curl in on themselves. It was several seconds before he realized what it was that was saturating his body with such fearsome force. Panic.
She was gone. Truly gone. She had loved him, and yet had left him. Why? He leaned over and pressed his fisted hands into the bed. His panic ripened, turning to anger. Why had she left him? They loved each other. Wasn’t that the very best reason for two people to marry?
In the next second he realized just what he had admitted to himself.
That could not possibly mean what he thought it did. Surely he loved her just as a friend. Not in the romantic sense. Not in that ridiculous way that sent young girls’ hearts fluttering and turned men into imbeciles. In that moment, however, he felt it, the realigning of the pieces of himself, and the pattern was suddenly clear. He did love her.
Dear God in heaven, he loved Imogen.
How had he not seen it? How had he been so blind to something so very important? But before the questions had even formed in his mind, he knew the answer. She had so quickly become a dear friend to him, though he didn’t deserve it. Over the last weeks he had been so afraid of losing that friendship that he had been oblivious to the true nature of his deepening feelings for her.
Would he have ever seen it if Imogen had not healed his family, if she had not released him from his guilt? If he had not felt worthy of having her for a friend, there was no way he would have ever accepted that what he felt for her was love. But he could see it now, in all its beauty and brilliance.
“I love Imogen,” he murmured in wonder.
But in the next moment he realized the futility of the realization. She had left him. She was gone and never wanted to see him again.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him. With a great sigh he turned about and sat on the bed. He’d had his chance at happiness and had lost it. He propped his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands. But no matter how he squeezed his eyes shut, no matter how he pressed his fingers into his scalp, he could not erase her from his mind. The recollections came and he gave in to them, like a floodgate collapsing under raging waters.
It was random at first, a jumble of memories, her sweet face at the center of them all. Soon, however, they began to rearrange themselves. Imogen the evening before, telling him that she needed more in marriage, the look of pleading in her eyes, his callous words that their union of friendship and passion was so ideal. The achingly sad look she had given him after her love song to him three nights ago. And then a flash of her first night at Willowhaven, when they had met in the library and he had told her he wasn’t the type to fall in love.
All that time, had she been begging him for even the possibility that he could love her? Had she been telling him in her own way that she felt more, and needed more from him? Caleb felt his agitation grow. He had been such a dunce. And now he had lost her forever.
He straightened, frowning. No, he could not believe that. There had to be a chance for them still. He would go to London, would make her see that he loved her, that they could make a go of it. A tentative hope bloomed in his chest. Yes, he would make her see, they belonged together.
In the next moment he was up and bounding from the room. “Billsby!” he called as he sprinted down the hall and through the Long Gallery. “Damn it man, where are you when I need you? I need to leave for London at once.”
He had just reached the main staircase when his mother emerged from the room adjacent. “And so you are finally leaving, my darling boy,” she said. “Granted, I do wish I had you to myself for a small while longer now that I have you back. But I can only be glad it is Imogen who captured your heart.”
Caleb stopped and stared at her. She was smiling broadly, none of the strain of the past years evident on her still lovely face. Their reconciliation had been quiet, natural, as if no time at all had passed, no heartache had come between them. As he stood there looking at her, he could not now imagine what could have made him think that she could ever lose her love for him.
His throat tightened with emotion. “How long have you known?”
She came closer, taking up his hand. “That you are in love with Imogen? From the first moment she set foot in that drawing room.”
He looked at her in bewilderment. “But even I didn’t know.”
