She ought to be happy, Imogen told herself as she dressed for the ball. Everyone had been exuberant yesterday when Percy returned from the village with his news. There had been cheers and laughter and even champagne. All the ladies and female cousins as well as Tilly, who had been visiting at the time, had hugged Imogen and even kissed her. Two of the uncles had hugged her too.
And so had Percy.
She did not believe he had intended to do so, but his mother had just been hugging her and had turned to lay a hand on his arm. And somehow his arms came about Imogen and hers about him and they had held each other more tightly and for a little longer than they ought. He had not kissed her, but he had raised his head and gazed deeply into her eyes for a few moments before releasing her.
Everyone around them had been beaming. His mother had had her hands clasped to her bosom and tears in her eyes. Imogen had moved away to bend over Cousin Adelaide’s chair and smile at her and kiss her cheek. Then she had patted the head of Bruce, who had exerted himself sufficiently to lumber to his feet and come sniffing at her skirts.
Everyone, without exception, had advised her for her own safety not to move back to the dower house until after she returned from Penderris Hall at the end of the month. She had, though, released Mrs. Hayes’s maid last night to sleep in her own room again.
But the maid had returned this evening, on the strict instructions of Mrs. Hayes, to dress Imogen’s hair for the ball. Smooth and elegant would simply not do, it seemed. There had to be at least some swirls and curls and a few wavy wisps to trail along her neck and over her temples.
She was wearing a high-waisted, low-bosomed gown of ivory satin overlaid with a tunic of dull gold netting, which she had bought in London a couple of years ago and worn only twice there. It had always seemed too grand for the country. But tonight was a special occasion. The house was almost unrecognizable what with all the gleaming surfaces and sparkling chandeliers and the banks of spring flowers everywhere. And, flat as Imogen’s spirits were, she must rise to the occasion. It was Percy’s thirtieth birthday party, for which an impressive number of his family and friends had traveled long distances and at which all the neighbors from a wider radius than just Porthmare and its environs were to assemble to welcome the Earl of Hardford home at last.
She looked well enough, she thought as the maid clasped her pearls about her neck and she looked at herself in the pier glass. The colors were a bit muted, perhaps, but with the addition of a smile . . .
She smiled.
“Thank you, Marie,” she said. “You have done wonders.”
“It is easy to do wonders with you, my lady,” the maid said, curtsying before she withdrew.
Imogen celebrated with deliberate intent for the whole long evening—almost the whole of it. She smiled and danced with a different partner each time. She danced the first waltz with Mr. Alton, the second with an elegant gentleman she scarcely recognized since he lived twenty miles away and they agreed it must be two years since they last met. And at supper, for which meal she sat with Viscount Marwood and Mr. Welby and Beth, a betrothal announcement was made. It took everyone by surprise, except perhaps those most nearly concerned. Mrs. Meredith Wilkes, Mr. Wenzel announced, looking decidedly red in the face, had just made him the happiest of men.
After a two-week courtship! But Meredith, also blushing, looked as if she was the happiest of women.
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.