Now this afternoon, at last, they were relaxing. Mr. Wenzel and Tilly had arrived at the house soon after luncheon, full of concern over the news. The three Soames sisters arrived soon after with their brother to see if the young people cared to walk with them. Mr. Alden Alton came on their heels, escorting Elizabeth, who had come to be with Imogen since Sir Matthew had not been able to deliver any very comforting news at luncheon. And everyone in the house was bursting for air and exercise. At least, the younger element was. The older people seemed quite thankful to watch Imogen being borne away, safely surrounded by a large body of exuberant youngsters as well as Mr. Welby, Viscount Marwood, Mr. Cyril Eldridge, and Percy.
A number of possible destinations had been suggested, but almost inevitably they had ended up descending the path to the beach like a long, slow-moving snake and then frolicking on the sand. Parasols were raised above bonnets while their owners chatted and giggled and flirted. Tall hats were pressed more firmly upon heads though there was not much of a wind, and their owners looked ruefully down upon boots quickly losing their shine beneath a thin coating of sand. Hector, with so many people wanting to throw items for him to chase, ended up chasing his stunted tail.
And yet, Imogen noticed, the scene was not quite as carefree as it might have appeared to a stranger. She walked for a while with her two friends, one on either side of her, each with an arm linked through her own. But a number of the gentlemen, without making it at all obvious, formed a loose ring about her and directed frequent glances to the top of the cliffs.
Mr. Wenzel, Imogen was interested to note, after showing her all due concern up at the house, was walking arm in arm with Meredith, a little apart from everyone else.
And then, almost as though the move had been orchestrated, both Elizabeth and Tilly moved away to talk with other members of the group, everyone else moved back a little so that the circle about Imogen became larger, and she found herself walking beside Percy. He did not offer his arm, and she clasped her hands firmly behind her back. They seemed suddenly isolated in a little cocoon of near privacy.
“I miss you,” he said softly.
She ached for him as she lifted her face to the blue sky and watched a couple of seagulls chase each other overhead.
“Dicky was not ever going to come home, was he?” she said. “It must be a hugely lucrative business. Mr. Ratchett, if it is indeed he, must be enormously wealthy as well as powerful. Please find him, Percy, and destroy his power and release all the people who do his bidding out of fear.”
“I will,” he promised, though they both knew his chances of fulfilling that promise were slim at best.
“Imogen,” he said, “save every waltz at the ball for me. Please?”
She turned her head and looked at him briefly. It was almost her undoing.
“I cannot do that,” she said. “Perhaps not even one. All these people—all of them—believe us to be lovers, and the dreadful thing is that they are right. Or were right. I have been justly punished. You will be leaving here after the ball, when all your guests leave?”
“Probably,” he said, “even if only temporarily. I want to take you to safety. I want to take you to London.”
“I will be going to Penderris next week,” she reminded him. “I will be there for three weeks. I would guess that George will try to persuade me to stay longer and that each of the others will try to persuade me to go with him. They are good friends.”
“And I am your lover,” he said. “Go there first, if you will, but then come to London with me and marry me. I rather fancy a grand ton wedding at St. George’s on Hanover Square. Don’t you? And I never thought I would hear myself say that. Come with me and marry me, Imogen, and let me keep you safe for the rest of your life.”
Unhappiness assailed her like a great ball of lead in her stomach, weighing her down, freezing her so that she no longer saw the blue sky and the sun. The two gulls, playing a moment ago, were now crying mournfully.
“I cannot marry you, Percy,” she said.
“You do not love me?” he asked.
She closed her eyes briefly as he stopped to pat Hector on the head and then squinted up at the cliff top.
“I am very fond of you,” she said.
He spoke the same shocking word he had uttered when he saw her letter. This time he apologized.
“But I would rather you hated me,” he added. “There is passion in hatred. There is hope in it.”
“You do not need to marry me,” she said. “I have friends.”
“Damn your friends,” he said, and apologized again. “I suppose you are talking about those Survivor fellows rather than your neighbors here. I am beginning to dislike them intensely, you know, Imogen. Does any of them love you? There are a billion degrees of love, I know. But you know what I mean. Does any of them love you? The way I love you.”
Her mouth was dry. Her knees felt weak. The struggle to stop herself from weeping made her throat feel raw with aching.
“To use your own word,” she said, “we had sex together, Percy, and it was good. It ought not to have happened, but it did and it was good. It is over now, though. I am fond of you. I always will be. But it is over.”
“You do not know how you tempt me,” he said, “to unleash upon you the full arsenal of colorful vocabulary I normally reserve for male ears only and that only on rare occasions.”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “I believe I do know. But you will return to London and you will soon forget me.”