Of Moths and Butterflies

CHAPTER twenty-one





ERY EARLY THE next morning, much earlier than Imogen was used to waking, Mrs. Hartup came to get her. She was wanted in Sir Edmund’s study. As quickly as she could, she dressed and went down. Mrs. Hartup let her into the library and then stood guard at the door. The formality of it all seemed a bad omen.

Sir Edmund stood cold and statuesque beside his desk. “I returned last night from Town having heard some rather remarkable news.”

Imogen blinked the sleep from her eyes and felt she had somehow awoken from a dream into nightmare.

“My friend Drake Everard had a niece. Did you know her?”

“You’ve asked me the question before. This cannot be the news. Sir.”

“She is missing. That is the news. Were you aware of this?”

Her heart sank so hard and fast into her stomach that she nearly jolted, but she remained silent.

“It is believed she has run away. Do you have any idea why she would do such a thing?”

She had no answer to provide, but Sir Edmund, it seemed, was prepared to wait. “Because her uncle was unkind to her, perhaps?” she suggested at last.

“Was he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not so unkind, I think. The man amassed a fortune, it seems. And he left it all to her. What on earth would make a young woman run from the one thing that might protect her?”

Imogen did not answer.

He waited.

“Lunacy?” she suggested at last.

Sir Edmund laughed out loud, then sobered again quite suddenly. “I think you might just be right,” he said. “For there is no other means of comprehending it.”

He turned toward the door and nodded. As if in slow motion Imogen heard the groaning of the hinges and turned to find, standing within the door’s frame, her aunt.

“Imogen,” was Muriel’s manner of greeting her niece. Nothing more. No words of reprimand. No sentiments of remorse, or sorrow, or relief.

She looked past her aunt. In the hall lay the small trunk (another gift) which Claire had so recently returned to her room—only to be removed again from it. Beside it stood a footman who was this minute preparing to carry it to the carriage that waited outside.

Imogen took her cue and left the library, her aunt following closely behind.

“Sir Edmund,” Muriel said with the stiffest of bows, and followed her niece out of the house.

* * *

An hour later, Claire entered Sir Edmund’s library.

“Miss Shaw,” she said, with a look of accusing suspicion, “where is she?”

Sir Edmund didn’t answer.

“I’ve been to her room. Her things are gone.”

“Well, they would be. She’s left.”

“Left?”

“Yes. It seems her family has found her and has come this morning to reclaim her.”

“With your help?”

Sir Edmund went back to his work.

“Was there a reward? Is that what persuaded you to do it? Or was it simply to remove any risk her presence presented to your plans?”

Still, he did not answer, simply pretended she was not there. Or tried, but she would yammer on.

“Sir? I beg to know. Has she gone back to London?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t much care! And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave well enough alone!”

Claire left the room as a feeling of dread washed over her. Slowly she made her way upstairs, contemplating all the while what it was that had really been going on in this house these last months. What had been Sir Edmund’s interest in Gina Shaw? And were those interests truly at an end?



She found Archer in his book room. She knocked and entered, placing herself within the doorway, and stood there, waiting for the necessary words to come. They would not.

“What is it, Claire?” he asked her.

She hesitated only a moment more. “She’s gone,” she said more calmly than she felt.

“What are you saying? Who’s gone?” His brow suddenly creased. “Not…”

She nodded in answer.

“Where?” he asked slowly.

“Back to her family, I think.”

He dropped the book he had been reading on the table beside him. It landed too close to the edge, toppled and fell off. He took no to notice.

“I do not believe it was of her own accord. In fact I’m certain it was not.”

He looked slightly relieved for this. “Do you know where?”

“Archer, I’m not sure there’s any point. There is something going on here I don’t like. I think it would be best—”

“Do you know where!”

“London I believe, but…”

He was up and on his feet.

“Archer, it’s no use,” she said trying to stop him. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?”

“I think it’s best this way. Really I do.”

He tried to move past her again, but she would not budge, and with her hands on his chest, she stood her ground. She attempted to hold his gaze, but he would not look at her. He looked beyond her, beside her, all around the room. Lost.

“Unless you are prepared to walk out now, to abandon your uncle, your inheritance, everything you’ve ever known, you cannot go.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he demanded, looking at her at last.

“I do. You know I do. But that’s not your intention. I know it’s not.”

This seemed to stop him. For the moment at least. He looked at her, though reluctantly.

“You have to be sure of yourself. There is no going back. If you do and you come to regret, you will learn to blame her.”

“No.”

“I’ve seen it before. You do not know, after all, that she will accept you. Her family, Archer… I do not know her circumstances, but I fear they must be very low indeed. You’ll have to be prepared to shoulder that.”

His uncertainty was signally apparent. So was his disappointment.

“And you cannot bring her back here.”

Again he looked away.

“Don’t do it. Don’t bring her back to suffer that humiliation. To live where she had once been in service, to live as you have lived—controlled and cowering.”

“Claire!”

“Promise me, Archer.”

“Certainly you don’t mean to just let her go?” he asked of her. “You will find her?”

“I will do everything in my power, yes.”

“And when you do?”

“I can make you no promises.”

“Claire.”

“You have your future to think of. Then we shall see. But we are talking of trifles as far as I’m concerned. It is her and her alone I am thinking of. It’s possibly my fault her family has come for her now. If I had not planned to take her away… If I had not encouraged you… I think your uncle would not have interfered. Or at least not so soon.”

“He has done this?”

“He has plans for you, Archer. As you and I both know. If you mean to separate yourself, you’ll have to do it quickly. Quickly, but very carefully. He’s not one to be underestimated. He has a firm hold on you, and if he can, he’ll keep it that way.”

He seemed to consider this. It was the most she could hope for.

“Goodbye, Archer.” She turned from the room and left him, all alone and to his own thoughts.

Archer, defeated, threw himself back into his chair. His uncle had sent her back to her family? Had she left them willingly, then? What on earth could be so bad as to make a life of servitude a welcome alternative? But if she did not want to return… London. What were the odds of finding one woman in a city of nearly four million? To the devil with the odds! She would be found.