by Raine Miller
“Why this?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to try. You know of my secret passion. I am a watcher. I like to look and see many things, and this was one of them. But mostly I just want to watch you at simple times. I even watch you when you sleep. I do know I will never tire of it. I know that to be true. I will forever want to look at you.”
She grew still, her eyes filling with tears. One spilled down her cheek.
He brushed it away with his thumb. “Tears of love and joy—my truest standard of success.”
They stayed quiet for a time, sensing the powerful bond between them.
“I must say, chérie, you were quite transformed through the experience. You began it as the captive, but ended it most definitely the captor, and I know you know it. You are quite the fighter, facing your fears bravely because you are so valiant.”
“Can a woman be valiant?”
“You certainly are. Mon amoureux vaillant…my valiant lover.”
He squeezed her side in a ticklish move that had her shrieking and laughing and trying to wriggle away.
The happy sounds of laughter and joy, absent for so long from Gavandon had finally returned, and it felt as if the ancient place rejoiced in their happiness, blooming anew.
Later, as she slept beside him, he pondered her earlier distress at believing he would wish to sleep apart. Imogene had no idea of the real truth and he had not shared it. He did not want to appear to be so needful. It was very hard not to reveal the almost unbearable necessity to be close with her and he didn’t wish to be suffocating. The simple truth was that it would be near impossible for him to sleep anywhere, but at her side. He adored sleeping with her. The sound of her breathing, the scent of her, her warmth against him, filled his brain and soothed his ravaged heart like a balm. Knowing she was right next to him, and that he could reach out and find her soft, warm body, and that she would be there all throughout the night, was tranquilizing.
Graham craved her, couldn’t live without her, didn’t want to imagine it, and he would not.
THE next morning Imogene woke late and alone in the master’s chamber. Stretching and peering around the enormous room, she was able to see things clearly in the morning light. The painting was huge. It hung opposite the bed so as to be the first thing to view when you opened your eyes each morning.
It was of her.
Her in the Kent countryside, standing at the entrance to Kenilbrooke. Terra was there, perfectly depicted. Her hair as it was that day, blue riding habit, carrying the lamb in her arms. The entire scene recreated as it had happened.
How does he manage these things? Will I stumble upon one surprise to the next for our whole lives together? I don’t know if I can bear it…
Imogene found her nightdress and donned it, exited his room and entered her own. She attended to personal needs first, braiding her hair into one long braid, and dressing into a green brocade robe before wandering into their sitting room. The first thing she looked for was a note.
There was no note.
Pouring herself a cup of tea from the breakfast tray, she took it with her and marched right back into Graham’s chamber to look at the portrait again.
She studied it thoroughly while sipping her tea, trying to compel its secrets, but couldn’t for the life of her understand how on earth Graham had managed this painting commissioned.
“I see you have found it this morning; you did not notice it last night,” he whispered into her ear from behind.
Imogene sputtered into her tea and nearly dropped the cup. “That would be a fair statement, sir, as I could not have possibly given my attention to anything in this room last night apart from you…and the bedsport.”
She looked him over thoroughly. Noting he was dressed for the day, waistcoat and cravat in place, hair neatly tied back.
“Always correct in your assessments, chérie. I did quite monopolize your concentration last night, I know, but it was memorable, was it not?”
She nodded once and took another sip of her tea.
“There is some business that needs attending to in here before we can start our day.”
“Is that so?”
He took her tea cup away and set it on a table. Then he pulled a winter rose in blush pink from his pocket and tucked it above her ear.
“First, good morning.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” He kissed her left ear. “I adore you.” He kissed her right ear. “You look beautiful.” He kissed her lips and held her chin up to him ever so gently. “There, business done now. Did you have something you wished to ask me?” A wicked grin graced his face.
“Oh, my God, Graham! How do you manage this kind of thing? I am beginning to think you delve in the occult. The constant plotting and planning, doesn’t it exhaust you? Because it exhausts me.”
“No, not at all. I find it very invigorating.” He reached for her. “Now do you understand why I want to sleep in this room?”
“Yes.” She touched his cheek. “But how did you manage it?”
“I have a friend, an artist who conspires with me.”
“You do? And have I met this person?”
“You have not met him.” Graham shook his head. “He is a more mercurial sort. Not someone who would display himself with the staff for the new mistress’s arrival.”
“He is here at Gavandon then? Who is he?”
“Tristan Mallerton, an old friend. We met many years ago at school, at Harrow. I went on to Cambridge. He went on to Paris, painted and lived large. I joined him there for a short time before—”
Graham stopped abruptly, a look of wistfulness coming into his expression.
“Before?” she asked.
“Mallerton has lived the life I might have lived under different circumstances. He returned to England just before the time I inherited. While he was poor, I was not. I had need of a painter at my disposal, so I offered to be his patron and he accepted my offer. Now he has a home and money enough to keep him supplied in paint and canvas and other wants, and the exposure to people of wealth who will probably eventually steal him away from me one day. He is about the place. You will meet him soon I am sure. I hope you like him for I want him to paint portraits of you.”
“Interesting, but how could he have painted this one? I have never met him and we, you and I, have only known each other for a few months. Paintings like this take time and sittings. How could he have possibly painted my likeness so perfectly?”
“Oh, he was busy to be sure. I had him working on it immediately after you accepted my proposal. I described the Kent scenery and sketched it out for him. I sent off for the Opie portrait from Drakenhurst as soon as we were engaged. He used the camera obscura to get the image of your face from it, and transferred it to this portrait. Terra arrived here some weeks ago, other horses stood in at first; he filled her in once she got here. You gave me your hair, which was so perfect. I was able to describe colours the way they should be, and your hair and figure, and was able to lay out the canvas for him. I think it skillfully done. He has captured the moment for me, the first moment I spied you and was pierced through the heart with Cupid’s Arrow. I can remember with clarity the moment. There was pain in my heart when I first saw you. But instead of it killing me, I was awakened.” His eyes had grown very dark green, drawing her in, as he retold the moment when he first saw her.
Could it be possible for any man to love her as Graham did, she wondered. Why was she so blessed in love?
I need him again.
Imogene reached for his shirt buttons to open it, but found that first she must deal with his knotted cravat. “I find these to be most devilishly inconvenient,” she hissed, struggling with the offending length of fabric. Finally pulling it free, she opened his waistcoat and then his shirt wide to expose his heart. She then pressed her lips to the place where she could feel it pounding inside his chest.
The moment her lips touched him, Graham gathered her up and took her back to bed where he loved her ra
venously. The carefully orchestrated control of their encounter from the previous night was nowhere to be found in this one.
AT breakfast Imogene was thoughtful as she sat across from him. She’d admitted she was still in shock at finding the portrait of her carrying the lamb. It made him happy to surprise her so he imagined she would have to get used to it.
“So many secrets. How many secrets do you have, Graham?”
“I don’t have any secrets from you.”
Liar. You know that you lie.
She gave him a hard look. “When you were a little boy, did the parson not tell you that all liars will go to hell?”
He laughed at that, amazed again at her skills of perception in reading him. “I am sure he did, but I do not count them as secrets or lies. Rather, they are surprises, gifts, arranged with love for you.”
Graham simply smiled at his wife and changed the topic of their conversation. He’d decided that he would not allow any ugliness to invade upon his happiness of bringing Imogene to Gavandon. He would deal with those problems later.
“You know, these robes or wrappers you have are very beautiful. I especially like this green one you’re wearing today. It is very elegant. You quite remind me of a wrapped package with the bow just here. The image is so…so emotive. Quite perfect.” He continued to enjoy his view of her for a moment until she narrowed her eyes.
“I know what you are doing right now.” She held one finger up. “I know exactly what you are thinking and it is shocking.”
He laughed again. “Please tell me, chérie. I want to know if you are learning to read my mind.”
“Fine. You are thinking that you wish to arrange a portrait of me, in dishabille…wearing one of these robes, and looking—looking like you have just loved me. Don’t you dare try to deny it. I could see right into your mind just now as if I had a mirror. And before you ask, you must know it is out of the question. I could not possibly sit for such a thing, even with your friend.”
“Your mental power is razor sharp, chérie, and I confess you have routed me out. So, I will have to work very hard to convince you then?” He gave her his best hopeful expression.
“For now I think I shall keep the idea of it stashed away, my darling. A bargaining chip for me. A wife would be prudent to gather a few.” She winked at him. “Maybe we could do a trade. I would not mind having a Professor Adonis portrait of you.” Her eyes opened wide and she clapped a hand up to her mouth. “I cannot believe I’ve just said that to you. You see how you have quite corrupted me?”
His heart was happy.
“It is so wonderful to have you here, finally. You definitely liven this old place up, and a little corruption would probably do some good for all of us.”
“Hester told me last night that this is a kind house.” Imogene got up from her chair and came to sit on his lap. She put her hand to his cheek. “I am happy to be here, and you must know, that for me it is not the place. It is that I am with you, and we are together.”
Graham nodded his affirmation to her wise words and kissed her. “What would you like to do today, chérie? I am completely at your service.”
“I should like to see my sister.”
WHEN Philippa Brancroft received the note from the messenger that Imogene and Lord Rothvale would call upon them later in the day, she quickly dashed off two notes of her own. One was a reply to the Rothvales anticipating their arrival, and the other to her husband at his surgery to get himself home by the arranged time.
She was finally to see her sister again after months of being separated. Philippa rubbed her belly and spoke to her unborn baby, “Today you will meet your aunty.”
They lived at Harwell House in the cathedral town of Wellick. Her husband, Dr. John Brancroft, did not see patients in his house as some physicians did, rather, he ran a surgery for that purpose and it was not far from home. There was a hospital at Wellick, very new and modern, having been built less than a decade earlier. It was a teaching hospital as well, and her husband, one of its founding fellows. So, he divided his time between the surgery and instructing students at the hospital. John saw the more affluent patients directly in their homes.
She was thrilled at the prospect of reuniting with Imogene. They had last been together at their father’s funeral. At the time, Philippa had desperately wanted to bring Imogene to Wellick to live with her and John. But Aunt Wilton had resisted the idea, feeling Imogene would rebound faster if she were in a more lively environment, full of young people and activities. She had proved correct in the end. The more robust home-life of Wilton Court had served Imogene well. It had been the better choice. It had brought her sister to her husband, Lord Rothvale, and for that, she could never feel anything but grateful to their aunt.
AS they pulled down the drive Imogene spied Hiram out working near the fountain and she was reminded of their introduction the day before. “Graham, did you introduce him to me as Hiram Everley? It sounded as if that was the name you said.”
“Yes. Their surname is Everley.”
Imogene looked at him inquiringly. She tilted her head a little asking the question without words.
He looked reflective as he explained. “When their papers of emancipation were prepared, a surname had to be chosen. As slaves they had none. No name of their own, nor any rights to a name, either. They wished to take my surname for their own. I tried to dissuade them to choose another name but Hiram was determined. They were very grateful for the sponsorship, and I know they wanted to pay their respects to me, and taking my name was a way in which they could do it. Hiram, Antonia, Ben, and his sister, Eva, were all emancipated from Antigua. The baby was born here at Gavandon. A free soul.” He smiled at her.
“And the baby, what is he called?” Imogene asked ever so softly.
He lowered his eyes humbly before answering. “They call him Graham.”
“They honor you, and in a way of value to them. You are so good—so benevolent. To give them such a life as they have here, and freeing them from a hideous existence.” Imogene looked at her husband in awe. There was much to him that she did not know. But she knew with certainty that the man she had married was not the typical English aristocrat. There was substance in him. He was a gentleman who had been born to privilege but was not content to simply sit back and squander it. He would do things—good and worthy things, and her heart caught at the thought.
“Graham, are you involved with it? The abolitionist movement?”
“Yes. Well, I was, before I left for Ireland. It was the subject of my maiden speech in Parliament.”
“How was it received?”
“Well enough, I suppose. I am in good company, as there are many that share my view. I think it will not be long now, before we have total success on the matter. Within ten years to be sure.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Did you ever meet my father? He was involved with the abolitionist movement as well.”
“I think I must have, chérie, but I’m sorry I don’t clearly recollect. It was a very hectic time in my life. My father had just passed and I had taken up my seat. I was five and twenty and trying very hard to meet my obligations here at Gavandon and in government. And not doing well with any of it. It is all a blur, that time for me.” He paused and looked down at his hands. “I’ll have to return to Parliament and face my responsibilities—soon I’ll have to go back.” He lifted his eyes to her. “I wish that I had known him, chérie, he was respected and served honorably.”
“I wish he could have known you…known how good you are…known you would be my husband.”
He placed both of his hands crossed, over his heart in thanks of her praise.
“You look so gratified and happy right now,” he said. “It makes me happy to see you so. Tell me about you sister. What is she like?”
“Well, you have seen her portrait so you will recognize her. I have been told we resemble each other my whole life. It will be interesting to see what you think. She is three years my elder. There is
a twelve year age difference between her and John. But it suits them just fine. Well, you know John. He has thoughtful demeanour in a brooding sort of way, but not when he looks at her. Her youth and sweetness complement the serious scientist in him. She has entranced him completely. Her colouring is a bit darker and her hair is a deeper blonde than mine. We have similar figures but I am slightly taller by an inch or so. And that is where the similarities end.”
“What are you not telling me then?” he teased.
Imogene shrugged slowly. “She is wise and even-keeled. She is ever so patient and self-controlled. She is accomplished at the piano forte and wickedly skilled at handwork that I could never, ever do. Philippa is a perfectly gracious, charming woman. The consummate gentlewoman—always a lady. When you meet her you’ll see what I mean.”
“Do I detect a sense of inadequacy next to your sister, chérie?” he inquired.
“Yes! You absolutely, positively do. But no matter, I adore her anyway for all her perfectness.”
“So, are you saying she rides expertly well? Can she make a target at fifty paces dead on? Does she rescue helpless creatures lost on the rocks? Is she wickedly competitive at games and the bravest woman I have ever known?” He paused in his questions and looked at her with solemnity. “Well, I would not want to be ungentlemanly and take anything away from your sister’s obvious virtues as I am sure she is lovely and all you say she is, but know this, chérie, no lady could ever outshine you at perfectness in my eyes.”
Imogene smiled at him gratefully and blew him a kiss. “I knew there was a good reason for marrying you.”
Philippa and John greeted them on the steps when they arrived. Imogene took great pride in introducing Graham to her sister, but seeing Philippa full into her pregnancy brought a mix of emotions for Imogene. She was very happy at the thought of a precious little one to love, but very sad at the thought that their mamma would never know this baby or any Imogene herself might bear someday. Observing Philippa also caused her to ponder her own pregnancy. Could she be, already? It was possible she guessed for the amount of times she and Graham had been intimate, but her body felt just the same inside. Would she be able to tell? Did a woman know if she was expecting by how she felt? Imogene resolved to get some private time with Philippa today so she could ask her about it. Who better than her own sister and the wife of a doctor?