Of Moths and Butterflies (28 page)

HE LADIES, UPON
arriving at Hamley Lane, were formally announced and shown into a very bright and superfluously decorated sitting room, where Mrs. Barton awaited them and where they were soon joined by Sir Edmund and his nephew. It was an agonising hour. The two young people sat silent, hardly acknowledging each other. Imogen occupied herself by taking in the room, examining, piece by mass-produced piece, its sham elegance. Mr. Hamilton’s attention was averted too, though he seemed genuinely preoccupied, not just pretending to be as was Imogen.

The conversation, as led by Mrs. Barton, commenced on the most trivial of topics—the weather, politics, the economy—before turning gradually to more and more worrisome ones. They touched upon the ingratitude of the rising generation and the increasing neglect of duty—a subject of great interest, especially as the aunt and uncle had such examples to offer in their own dependents. They even discussed the late Drake Everard and their respective losses in consequence of his demise. And then, as they inevitably must, they came to the subject of the mysterious Gina Shaw, an uncommonly humorous topic—at least the aunt and uncle thought it so, especially in consideration of Imogen’s foolish attempt to pass herself off as some lowly servant. She had fooled no one, was the declaration, and now she had been restored safe and sound to home, even if she hadn’t yet learned to be properly grateful.

With tea over, Imogen grew increasingly anxious for the visit to reach its conclusion. And though the conversation began to lull, the typical pre-departure small talk did not present itself. As the hour began to linger into two, her misgivings increased. In time, a question about the house was posed, which inspired from Mrs. Barton an offer to show her guests around, and to explain, as they went, the improvements she expected soon to undertake. Imogen’s disappointment was great, and perhaps it showed, though it seemed to her odd that her aunt should misinterpret it as she did.

“You look tired, my dear,” Muriel said, to her. “Perhaps you ought to stay behind. Mr. Hamilton will keep you company, I’m sure.”

Imogen could not answer, and indeed Muriel gave her little opportunity. Before she could think to offer a reply, they were gone, and she and Mr. Hamilton were alone. She turned to him, having not the slightest idea what she might say. He smiled in the gentle way he did, though there yet remained some nervous tension. She wished very much at that moment to be away.

“There is a park nearby, Miss Everard. Would you care to walk?”

Relieved to get away from the house, even if it was with him, or perhaps because of it, she answered. “Yes, certainly.”

“You are not too tired?”

“No. I’m not tired at all, Mr. Hamilton.”

Pleased by this, he smiled, and together they left the house.

“Are you well?” he asked her when they had gone a little way in silence.

“Yes, I suppose so. Thank you.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “And you?”

“At the moment I’m very well.”

A reluctant smile was her answer as she kept her attention on the pavement before them. Another long silence followed before Archer endeavoured to break it.

“You are well, you say. But not happy?”

“That’s a very bold question.”

“I’m feeling bold, I’m afraid. Will you answer the question?”

She looked at him a moment, and then: “Perhaps I am a little tired, Mr. Hamilton. May I take your arm?”

Happily he offered it. He might have done so before but for the feeling that she did not want him too near. In this way they walked in silence until they neared the park entrance. Time was so short. To waste even a minute of it…

“Miss Everard… I should speak honestly. I lured you from the house for a purpose.”

She stopped and separated herself from him. “Mr. Hamilton, this won’t do.”

“Won’t it? You may be opposed to my speeches but I do not think you are opposed to me.”

She did not answer but turned away and walked on. He followed.

“I must speak or I may never have the chance. Mr. Barrett has offered himself to you. You have not yet accepted him?”

“I have not yet told him so, but I mean to, yes.”

“I am soon to be married myself.”

To his immense satisfaction he saw her pale.

“The matter is beyond me, Miss Everard. You know, I think, of my uncle’s expectations. He has at last taken them in hand, and if I do not act for my own happiness, well… Will you let me speak? You needn’t answer. Just listen.”

She glanced at him once more and so offered her silent permission.

“Can I tell you the impression you left on me that first day I saw you?”

Again she did not answer, but focused her gaze determinedly ahead. She was listening.

“I saw you at first in the meadow. And I followed. I couldn’t help it. It was beyond me. I followed you to the church, where I entered, for the first time in years, and I watched. And in the filtered light of an autumn morning I saw you, struggling to be free against some imagined constraint.”

“Not imagined.”

“Very well. If you say so, I must take your word for it. But then at the Abbey—”

“You saw me quite changed. You saw me for what I was, you know. Not like this. But as I ought to have been.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I warned you.”

He shook his head in confusion, to clear the fog she seemed determined to cast over him. “Can I tell you what I saw? I saw a woman in servant’s garb, behaving with a grace and dignity that stood in sharpest contrast to whatever twist of misfortune had placed her in such regrettable circumstances. I saw a beautiful creature who, by mistake had fluttered into an otherwise forlorn place where moth and dust corrupt.”

“Not by mistake.”

“Just as well. For I knew then, as I know now, that, were you to remain, it would be a far better place. As it might be again.”

“You are asking me to return?”

“But as no servant, Miss Everard. As someone to be served and respected. As my wife.”

Her breath came harder and her gaze faltered and fell.

“Miss Everard, this cannot be a surprise to you. I’ve made my intentions known. Your objections so far are ones I feel I can overcome, if you’ll just give me the chance.”

She looked away and he watched her as her eyes darted from one indiscriminate spot to another. She was not seeing, only thinking.

“Are you really so torn? Barrett is your best friend, but he is not your only friend. You mustn’t forget that. And while I understand how very appealing his offer may sound, you sacrifice yourself. I know you do. I believe you know it, too.”

Her eyes flashed to meet his. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

“Do you love him?’

“Of course I love him.”

“Like a woman should love the man she intends to marry?”

He had knocked the breath from her with this and she turned away, her heart thumping madly. She wished she could run. Run and hide and be invisible. Why must he persist? Did he not know she could not bear it? Or perhaps he did know. Perhaps he counted on that very fact.

“You have no advantage over him in that respect,” she said, determined to face him with resolve, but she found, as she looked up at him once more, that she had not the courage to meet his gaze.

“Possibly not, but he at least has been given the opportunity to prove himself. Which opportunity I have so far been denied.”

“And if you were granted it?” she found herself saying.

“I’m trying to do it now.”

“But it takes time, Mr. Hamilton, and as you say, you do not have it.”

“Do you?”

She dared a glance and found his look too penetrating, too earnest. “I don’t need it.”

“I disagree. I think you’re settling, Miss Everard. I think you are considering Mr. Barrett as the safest of your choices. You have given him permission to be less than he ought to be, and in return he makes no demands upon your heart.”

His audacity galled her and she found she at last had the necessary courage. She turned to him. “Do you blame me?”

“Not at all, but should you regret it… No chance so precious should ever be wasted.”

She closed her eyes and looked away.

“You have declared, insisted even, that you are unworthy of my regard, beneath it. I mean to convince you it is not so. At least I cannot consider it so.”

“You don’t understand. You can’t.”

“Don’t say that. Stop saying that. I am trying. No one has ever tried harder to understand a woman than I have tried, am trying, to understand you.”

She felt her resolve weaken once more.

“You feel, somehow, that I should despise you. That I will learn to. I’m telling you it’s not possible.”

“You speak in ignorance.”

“I speak from my heart, Miss Everard. Do you refuse to listen still?”

“Hearts change,” she said breathily.

“Your heart might just as easily change in your darling cousin’s care. And I know his will because he’s that great a fool. You know it too, I can see it.”

She looked away. He placed himself once more within her view.

“I won’t change,” he said. “You have my word.”

“You can’t make that promise.”

“I just did.”

She turned again from him and walked on. She needed a moment to think. He seemed willing, for the present, to give it to her.

At last she sighed and he went on.

“Miss Everard… Imogen,” he said, and her breath caught with the sound of her name. “I’m begging you to consider. I’ve asked you before but I think you have not taken me seriously. Will you do it now?”

They entered a little bower of trees and shrubs—mistletoe and holly. And there they stopped. His gaze was on her, she could feel it, but hers she kept on the ground.

“Will you?”

“I think,” she began but stopped. What to say? What to say?

“Yes?”

She bit her lip, and releasing it, felt it redden and swell. His eyes were firmly set on them and for half a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. Her gaze dropped once more to the ground.

“Miss Everard?” he said. It was little more than a whisper—a plea.

“I need time.”

“There is no time,” he said and the desperation in his voice frightened her.

“We must be allowed something. I need time to consider. You need time.”

“I don’t need it. I’ve considered. It’s all I’ve thought of since I met you. What once seemed impossible is now a hope attainable. All I need is for you to say yes.”

She waited for the words to come, the necessary objection that she must offer, but there was nothing. Only birds chirping and the sound of horses and carriages to remind her that there was a world outside this park, and that, one way or another, she must return to it.

Unrelenting, he went on. “What more can I say? I want to make you happy. I want the chance to try, and I think I can, if you’ll only let me. Will you? Please?”