The larger family celebrated in its usual way with exclamations of delight and general hugs and kisses.
“But Tilly,” Imogen said, suddenly stricken as she hugged her friend, “what will happen to you?”
“Well,” Tilly told her with a smile, “I do like Meredith very well indeed, even though I hoped not so long ago that perhaps it was you who would be my sister-in-law. You have brighter prospects, however, and Andrew is happier than I have ever seen him. I believe Meredith likes me too. But I am not without hopes of my own, Imogen. My aunt Armitage wants me to go to London for the Season to keep her company now that all her daughters have flown the nest. She claims to have a whole regiment—her word—of eligible gentlemen awaiting my inspection. Perhaps I will be spoiled for choice if I go, and I believe I will. Go, that is.” Her eyes twinkled.
Tilly was twenty-eight years old. She had a trim figure and an open, pleasing face, even if it was not ravishingly pretty. She also had a pleasant disposition and a tendency to see the humor in most situations.
And then Mrs. Hayes hugged Imogen.
“Well,” she said, “I could not be more delighted by the announcement. Meredith lost her husband even before Geoffrey was born and before she turned twenty. She deserves happiness. But I must confess that I could be as happy with another such announcement. I suppose Percy has developed cold feet, the provoking man. But give him time. They will warm up, and it seems to me they are well on their way to doing so.”
She laughed merrily as she turned to offer her congratulations to Mr. Wenzel.
And then, with supper over at last and everyone returned to the ballroom, Percy came to solicit Imogen’s hand for what was to be an energetic set of country dances. He did not lead her onto the floor, however.
“Go and fetch your cloak,” he said. “Please?”
She hesitated. She did not want to be alone with him. She did not even want to dance with him. She had been telling herself all day that there was just today to live through and tomorrow and then she would be on her way to Penderris. She would find out somehow before the end of the month if he was still here and make other plans for herself if he was.
Just today and tomorrow.
She went to fetch her cloak and gloves. She pulled on a bonnet even though it was likely to ruin her hairdo.
They strolled out across the lawn in the direction of the cliffs, not touching, not talking. The sky was clear and bright with moonlight and starlight. The sound of music and voices and laughter spilled from the house even though the ballroom was at the back. The sounds merely accentuated the quietness of the outdoors and the silence between them.
“You have become marble again,” he said. “Smiling marble.”
“I am grateful for all you had the courage to do,” she told him. “Not just for me but for everyone here and in the neighborhood. And I am happy for you that so many of your family and friends and neighbors have come to celebrate with you tonight. It has been a lovely ball. It will be remembered for a long time.”
He said that word again—quite distinctly and unapologetically. He came to an abrupt halt, and Imogen stopped a couple of paces ahead of him.
“I do not want your gratitude, Imogen,” he said. “I want your love.”
“I am fond of you,” she said.
He spoke that word yet again.
“You see,” he said, “I have been spoiled all my life. I have always been given just what I want. I become petulant when I do not get it. It is time I changed, is it not? And I will change. But why should I change on this? Help me. Look me in the eye and tell me you do not love me. But tell the truth. Only the truth. Tell me, Imogen, and I will go away and never return. You have my solemn promise on it.”
She drew a slow breath and sighed it out. “I cannot marry you, Percy,” she said.
“That is not what I asked you,” he told her. “Tell me you do not love me.”
“Love has nothing to do with it,” she said.
“Should that not be everything?” he asked her. “Love has everything to do with it.”
She said nothing.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Help me to understand. There is a gap, a huge yawning hole in the story you told me. It is a hole filled with horror and part of me does not want to know. But I must know if I am to understand. I will not be able to live with this unless I understand. Tell me.”
And so she did.