by Raine Miller
“Yes, I think so. I worry though of her exposure to him again, and of being reminded of her hurt. It is bound to happen eventually. Odeman has wreaked more disaster since you’ve been away. He ruined a girl in Kent, caused her death. She was from a good family, a distant relation of Mina’s. I tried to help, but there was little I could do. I still shudder to think that it could have been Elle.”
“Poor girl.” Graham sighed. “Poor you. I am so sorry, Jules, it must have brought back such dreadful memories. I cannot imagine having to bargain with that miscreant.” Careful…you may have to bite back those words. This latest concern has the full stink of Ralph Odeman all over it.
Jules said pensively, “It is amazing what you’ll do for the ones you love.”
“True…so true.” Graham had to agree.
THE following day the weather proved finer than the day before it. Another round of target shooting for the ladies, and a picnic luncheon was enjoyed on the lawn. “It was so engaging to hear your music last night,” Imogene remarked. “You both play and sing so well,” she complimented Elle and Mina. “It is one thing we are sorely lacking at Gavandon I fear. I never learnt to play or sing. And Graham does not sing as far as I know. He has never sung any songs to me in any case. He has read me beautiful poems—but no songs,” she said adoringly, placing her gaze upon him.
“Would you like for me to sing to you, chérie? I could make a concerted effort just for you,” Graham said cryptically. “I don’t know if you would like it though. What do you say, Jules? Should I sing for my wife?”
“Probably not. Listening to you croak out a tune might cause her to lose some of her affection for you, or at the very least, abandon the picnic.” Jules leaned toward Imogene. “He has no musical ability whatsoever. To that I can attest. In our school days Graham would always stand betwixt Hargreave and me during the hymn singing. After suffering the poisonous glares of the choir master, we finally convinced him to just move his mouth and keep quiet. Worked like a charm and there were no more problems after that.”
Imogene laughed out loud at the thought of Graham duping the choir master. She adored hearing about his boyhood and was grateful for these little windows into his past. “Oh, my darling, I promise I will not abandon you if you should suddenly feel the urge to break out in song. I will stand by you, on my honor. I feel I must defend you in any case as I have no more musical ability than you do.”
“But you make up for it in other ways. Isn’t that right, Imogene?” Jules asked.
“Oh, absolutely she does. Imogene rules the drawing room in after-dinner conversation, most assuredly,” Graham attested.
She was puzzled by their comments, thinking herself to be usually quiet and rather prone to listening more so than talking. She looked at them both questioningly.
Jules continued, “You know, charming and manipulating depraved but celebrated poets, be they blood relation or merely deigning to flattery.”
“What is that you’re saying, Julian?” Mina inquired, her curiosity piqued.
“Tell us what you mean,” Elle implored.
“Well, Graham was telling me that our poet celebrity, Lord Byron, descended upon them at Gavandon quite unexpectedly, claimed kinship with Imogene, and sat for his portrait,” Jules said.
They gasped and Imogene blushed, shaking her head as Graham regaled the ladies of the tale of Byron’s visit. “She had him eating out of her hand. It was a delight to watch the whole scene unfold. I am convinced she could charm the skin off a snake. It certainly was so with Byron, and he never even knew it.” Graham finished with an admiring look at Imogene.
“And the portrait? How did it turn out?” Mina asked.
“Magnificent. Mallerton is very gifted. He is painting Imogene’s portrait right now and it’s nearly done. Everyone has seen it but me.”
Jules interjected, “I should like Mina’s portrait painted. Do you think—?”
Graham cut him off abruptly. “Absolutely not, Jules. You cannot have Mallerton. I have far too many projects for him in progress right now. If I allow precedence and let him leave Gavandon, he might never return. No,” he said decidedly, “you must find your own artist, you cannot have mine.”
“So you won’t let him off the property even?”
“I might concede he can paint Mina, only if you come to stay with us at Gavandon. He can paint her there. That’s as fair a bargain as you will get on the matter, I promise you.”
“Is that an invitation, Cousin?”
“Of course. You are welcome to come anytime you wish. We are decided against a London Season this year. I’m just not ready. We may take in the seaside and go to Marlings in the late summer, though.”
“I love Marlings. I haven’t been there since Aunt Mary was alive.”
“Please feel free to join us if you’d like. There is plenty of room—the house is huge for all that it’s called a cottage.” Graham asked quietly, “Will you take in the Season? Are you heading to Town for any length of time?”
Jules shook his head in the negative. “We would only go for Elle’s coming out, but she does not wish a big pother.” He looked over at his sister pensively.
“And I am grateful in having a brother who takes my wishes into account and listens to me,” Elle replied. “I do not want a presentation at court. That practice is starting to fade anyway—it does not suit for me.”
The conversation lulled as each fell into quiet contemplation after Elle moved to take up her bow and resumed to target shooting.
“IMOGENE, over here,” Graham called. She approached where he knelt in the shadowy grass, the trees overhead blocking the light of mid-day. He parted the grass with his hand and showed her a clutch of pheasant eggs. They were the softest dove brown ranging from tan to nearly palest green.
“You found some,” she said as she leaned her chin on his shoulder from behind. “Oh, how lovely they are. Graham, you are amazing.” She counted quickly. “I count twelve eggs.”
“Help me gather them up. They are fragile.” He took out his handkerchief, unfolded it on the grass and placed six of the eggs in it to carry them. Imogene got out her handkerchief and did the same with the other six. “Come, let’s take them to Falcon. I want to say hello.” He leaned in to give her a kiss. “And introduce you. You’ll like him.”
Graham led her along the path, farther into the wood until they arrived at a timbered stone cottage. “This is it. I loved coming here as a boy. It seemed a magical place to me then, maybe still is.” He looked around wistfully before rapping on the door and then grinned as they waited.
“Coming, coming! Who’s that then?” a gruff voice grumbled from within.
“Egg gatherers here, Falcon,” Graham shouted.
The door opened and a grizzled face appeared in the doorway. The dark eyes registered surprise first and then recognition as a great smile cracked forth on the wizened features of the old gamekeeper. “Bless me!” He put his hand up to his heart. “Master Graham, ’tis really you?”
“Aye, it is me, Falcon, and I bring gifts.” He held up his handkerchief.
“What have you got for me then?” Falcon asked.
Graham carefully opened his handkerchief and showed the eggs. Imogene held hers out as well. Falcon peered to look. “Those are right perfect. Here, come in, would you?” He ushered them in and shuffled over to a shelf, returning with a basket lined in downy feathers. Falcon watched as Graham gently transferred first his eggs and then Imogene’s eggs into the basket. Falcon spoke with remembrance, “Not a one broke, just like when you were a boy. I’ll set them under the hens later.” He moved the basket back to its shelf. “What’s got you out to gather in eggs for me after all these years, Master Graham?” he asked pointedly.
“I wanted to say hello, and I’ve brought someone to meet you. Falcon, I am here with my wife. This is Imogene, Lady Rothvale. My cousin has told her how we used to hunt eggs for you and she asked if we might get the chance to do it again.” He indicated to Falcon.
“Imogene, may I present Mr. Falconer of Everfell.”
“My lady.” He bowed low for an elder gentleman. “You honor me.” Falcon looked to her admiringly, then back to Graham with a nod of acknowledgment.
“Mr. Falconer, how do you do?” She smiled gently at the old gamekeeper. “Thank you for arranging targets for our shooting yesterday. It was the first time in a long while, and it was good to fire a bow again.”
“Your devoted servant, my lady. Glad to be of service, and always happy to make things useful again. Will you sit to tea with me?” he extended sincerely.
Imogene did not hesitate. “We would be delighted to join you.”
He served them tea from stout mugs and sliced some cake. “The cake comes from the big house by way of Mrs. Lake,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Not to worry, my lady.”
“It is delicious cake, Mr. Falconer. I cannot remember when I’ve had a more delightful tea, or shared it in such good company,” she remarked archly looking at both of them. She meant it too, every word.
The glow coming off Graham taught her he was happy here, visiting with his old friend and mentor. He seemed lifted of his burdens for the moment somehow, relaxed and content, and it filled her heart.
Graham spoke, “Oh, Imogene does not stand on ceremony, Falcon. She is a country girl, and appreciates the bounties of nature. My wife assures me she is most typical in this regard.” His green eyes betrayed the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“I’d not say she is typical, more like a rare bloom. You have chosen well, my lord,” Falcon replied. “Your mother, rest her saintly soul, would have approved. But you know she would have. I know that you know…” he trailed off, offering condolences silently to Graham for his great loss.
Feeling impelled to give them a moment alone, Imogene rose from her place and wandered over to a wall draped in tail feathers. Pheasant tails of the most glorious hues: rich and changeable, the brilliant quills shading from a deep red to violet, to green, and to bronze. “So many feathers. They are absolutely beautiful, Mr. Falconer.”
“Falcon, my lady—please just Falcon. I save the tails from the shootings. Mrs. Lake likes them for arrangements and adornment for the house at Christmastide especially. Now that Master is married, ’twill probably be more festive at Christmastide than before.” He reached up to pluck a magnificent tail from the wall with teals, greens, russets, and bronzes gleaming in glorious iridescence, and handed it to Imogene. “With my compliments, Lady Rothvale. ’Twould look fine on a hat perhaps, or to use as you wish.”
“Thank you, Falcon. I will cherish them as a remembrance of this lovely afternoon upon my first visit to Everfell,” Imogene said while looking into the luminous green eyes of her husband.
TWENTY
Then press into thy breast this pledge of love;
And know, though time may change and years may roll,
Each floweret gathered in my heart
It consecrates to thine.
Percy Bysshe Shelley ~ ‘To Harriet’ dedication for ‘Queen Mab’, 1813
COLIN arrived the next day, and he brought with him a surprise guest—Imogene’s dear cousin, Cariss Wilton. All of it arranged by Graham of course, with some of the logistics worked out months ago. Colin had agreed to fetch Cariss from Kent and then escort her safely to Warwickshire for the spring visit Imogene had dearly hoped for. Graham was gratified to give yet another gift to his wife, and delighted in witnessing the joy she felt at reuniting with her cousin. It was also good to have Colin back with them. Their brotherly bond went very deep and Graham realized how much he’d missed the companionship of his brother while he’d been away in Ireland.
Mina informed everyone that the night’s entertainment would be dance instruction in the Viennese Waltz. Since the gentlemen all had previous experience of actual practical knowledge, having done it in Europe on their tours, the task fell to them to teach the ladies the steps as there were to be three waltzes played at the ball.
All retired to the ballroom following dinner. Elle and Cariss agreed to take turns playing the music so each of them could have a chance to learn the dance steps. Jules demonstrated the proper position of the hands with Mina as a model, and slowly walked through the steps, which were quite simple really, with just a basic one-two-three rhythm.
Graham held out his hand to Imogene, “It’s all coming back to me, chérie. I know it has been a long while since I waltzed, but I believe I can muddle through.” He bowed. “Will you do me the honor, my lady?” At her agreement, he situated them into place, settling his right hand on her waist, her left hand on his shoulder, while clasping opposite hands together. “What do you think, chérie?”
“I think I shall enjoy dancing with you again,” she responded.
“But we have never danced the waltz before.”
“I know.” She frowned at him as if she didn’t care for being reminded of it.
“I will endeavor to enjoy this practice dance because I am pragmatic enough to realize I’ll probably get no more than a single dance with you in the entirety of the ball. I know I’ll be jealous the whole night,” he said resignedly.
“Oh well, my darling, I am already jealous that you have danced the waltz with scores of women before me.”
“Hardly scores of them,” he insisted, “and I remember nothing of any of those women.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed.
“What? You don’t believe me, chérie? I don’t lie.” He pulled her a little closer—possessively—as he led her through the lilting steps.
“Yes, well we’ve had this conversation before,” she said the words with scorn. “Your interpretation is more of keeping things from me, rather than lying, I suppose.” She continued on relentlessly. “So even if you had waltzed with scores of women you would just keep silent about it and I could not know the truth, no matter what you’d said.”
Graham registered shock for an instant before narrowing his eyes. “You wound me. What have I done to deserve your contempt here tonight?”
She cast her eyes down. “Nothing. You have done nothing to deserve my derision. I beg your pardon, darling. I—I am out of sorts, and not good company right now. Quite frankly I am weary. It has been a full day.”
He nodded to her in acknowledgement; hurt still lingering from her sharp words.
After a few more minutes of awkward dancing she spoke again. “I think I’ve got an understanding of the steps now. If I may, I’ll beg goodnight early.” At her declaration he stopped them and moved to lead her out of the room. “No, please, Graham, do not end your evening because of me. Stay. Stay and teach Elle or Cariss the steps so they will know them for the ball. I’m just going to tuck in early. I am tired.” She put her hand on his arm and was insistent.
“All right then. As you wish, chérie.” He leaned in to kiss her goodnight. But she turned her head at the last second, causing his lips to land inelegantly on her jaw. Surprise opened his eyes at her rejection, and he stood there stupidly for a moment as she fled the room. A stab of pain hit him in the chest. He had not felt like this since their misunderstanding about the solitary riding. His every urge was to chase after her and demand to know what was bothering her. But, no, he would not. She did not want him right now, that fact was more than apparent when she insisted he stay and teach the steps to Elle and Cariss, so she must be needing her privacy.
The men separated from the ladies after the dancing practice exhausted itself.
Thank bloody hellfire.
Graham’s mood was no longer light. Brooding and nursing Imogene’s rebuff with a stiff whiskey, he sought the companionship of his brother and his cousin. They played billiards, discussed the current military campaigns abroad, and of course politics. Graham also shared a troubling concern with them that had recently come to light.
He told them of his solicitor’s most recent letter and what it most likely meant coupled with the disappearance of Agnes and her child. The men discussed the plans already in play and Graha
m accepted their offers of further support. He knew the time was coming that might force his hand to share with Imogene his responsibility for them—and his relationship.
He didn’t want to even entertain the idea of telling her now. The worry about how she’d react to the news was not a pleasant notion, especially based on how she’s just been with him—showing jealousy over phantom women he’d danced the waltz with years ago and soundly forgotten. How in the hell would she take to news of his connection to Agnes? Not well, he predicted, and yet, he clung to the hope that somehow he could escape the eventuality of his wife having to know about Agnes at all. Would the spectres from his past mistakes haunt him until his dying day?
Just the thought of it sent him over to the decanter of whiskey so he could top off his glass.
The drink continued to flow through the earnest chatter, and when their party broke up much later all three were deep into their cups. Even so, they arranged to ride out together the next day to look over an estate that had come up for sale. Jules wanted their opinions as to its suitability, having put about the idea that the Hargreaves might like to relocate to Warwickshire.
Stumbling up to their room, Graham was good and drunk. The effects of the drink notwithstanding, he was leery of Imogene and still confused by her unease and rejection of him earlier. He figured she would be asleep, and not wishing to bother her further, tried to be quiet as he put himself into the bed next to her.
In her state of sleep Imogene sensed his presence and rolled over to settle her body facing his, her head coming to rest just below his chin. Graham breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair and knew he was helplessly and undoubtedly lost. His resolution to leave her alone evaporated the moment she nestled her body into his. You should not… was the last rational thought to register in his muddled brain before he reached for her.
IMOGENE was roused from her sleep by caressing hands and roaming lips making free with her curves. “Graham?” she mumbled.