Page 80 of With Love in Sight
“Some things are obvious to a parent.” His mother gave him a satisfied smile and squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Now, as much as I’d love for you to stay, I think you’d better leave with all due haste. And when you finally secure that wonderful girl, you come straight back here. I’ve a mind to know both my son and new daughter better.”
The hope that had begun to bloom in him blossomed then to vibrant life. Grinning, he took his mother in his arms and planted a kiss on her cheek. Spinning about, he sped down the stairs, leaving the marchioness smiling after him.
Chapter 33
Imogen was glad she had given herself free rein to cry her heart out the night before their departure from Willowhaven. During the long carriage ride to London, when she’d had nothing to do but sit and think, she had been blessedly drained.
Her father only once attempted to ask what had happened. “Dearest,” he said once they were under way, “did you and Lord Willbridge fight? This leave-taking of ours seems too sudden. I feel something is not right here.”
“No, Papa,” she answered in a dull monotone, “we did not fight.”
He sighed and settled back in his seat. “I don’t understand it. I can see you care for him, my girl. Why won’t you have him? Did he change his mind? Has he done something despicable?”
She felt weary to her very bones. She trained her eyes on the passing scenery, the long avenue of trees they had entered through on that first day. It seemed so long ago now. Another lifetime entirely.
“No, nothing like that. I refused him, is all.”
“But you love him!” her father finally exploded.
She turned to him, too numb to feel surprise, though it was the most agitated she had ever seen him. Having lived with her mother for nearly thirty years, he had perfected the art of outward calm, and rarely lost his composure.
“Papa,” she said slowly, “you promised you would abide by my decision at the end of our trip. Please keep that promise to me, I beg you.”
He must have heard the slight catch in her voice at the end. “As you wish, my dear,” he replied gently. After giving her one last solemn look, he took up his book and buried himself in the pages.
The rest of their journey was spent in near total silence. Now it was late afternoon of the following day and they were just pulling up to their London townhouse. Her father took up her hand before the door to the carriage opened.
“I just want you to know, dearest, that I shall support you. Always. Don’t take your mother’s words to heart. She may be harsh, but she does love you.”
Imogen looked deep into her father’s gentle eyes and felt the first stirrings of tears since their departure. There was nothing in his expression but utter love.
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered just as the door was flung open. They were handed down to the pavement and made their way up the townhouse steps.
The butler stood there to greet them and divest them of their outer garments. “My lord, Miss Duncan, I trust you had a pleasant trip.”
“Thank you, Gillian. Are Lady Tarryton and Miss Mariah at home?” Lord Tarryton murmured, his eyes sweeping about the hall. Imogen could sense his worry for her as a palpable thing and felt what was left of her heart give a twist.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler answered. “They have just returned and said to inform you they will be down momentarily.”
Before the words were out of Gillian’s mouth a vision in sage green came tearing down the stairs. She launched herself at Imogen, nearly knocking her from her feet. As Mariah’s slender arms came about her, Imogen felt a terrible crumbling of the barricades she had erected. A small sob escaped her before she could stop it, and she hugged her sister back fiercely.
“Oh, Imogen,” Mariah murmured mournfully, stroking her back, having gained every bit of knowledge she needed at Imogen’s reaction.
Suddenly a strident voice carried across the hall. “Well, you’re back, and a day earlier than I had figured. I trust you bring me joyful news?”
Imogen squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her sister’s shoulder. Mariah hugged her tighter.
“Not now, Harriett,” she heard her father mutter quietly.
“But what is this?” Lady Tarryton continued. “You can’t mean to tell me she refused him again?” Her voice rose as she spoke, until it was nearly a shriek.
“Give her some time,” her father said, his voice growing tense. “Can’t you see Imogen is overwrought?”
“Overwrought?” her mother screeched. “She should be overwrought! Refusing a marquess, and twice? The girl is mad. I am ashamed to call her my daughter. I want nothing more to do with her. I disown her.”
At that pronouncement, a shocked hush fell over those assembled in the hall. Imogen let the words clang about in her head for a time, soaking them in. Her tears subsided, a calm settling about her, a strange surge of steel travelling down her spine. She straightened, pulling away from Mariah, and turned to face her mother.
Lady Tarryton’s mouth hung open like a trout’s. She looked at her eldest with wide eyes. Apparently she had shocked herself as much as everyone else. Even at her worst she had never made such a horrible proclamation. But a moment later she pulled herself up to her full height and regarded the room with her typical haughty stare.
