She eased her way down another step, aware that her brother would splutter and bluster should he discover her outside and alone like this. But he was fast asleep in his bed, muttering to himself in his dreams. Until recently she’d no idea Walter had such interesting ones. The repeated mention of a particular lady of their acquaintance had been an eye opener, if such an expression could ever be used by a blind woman.
She sighed heavily. Once, she would have meddled or at least discussed the depths of Walter’s feelings to ascertain what she might do to help. But without her vision to guide her questions, she didn’t dare involve herself. She might embarrass him or make him angry. Imogen couldn’t afford to lose his support. Until she had her own future settled, she was utterly dependent on him. She relied on him to keep her informed of any news and provide companionship.
Tomorrow she would apologize and perhaps he would regale her with the latest escapades of their friends. Surely something important had happened today. There was always some to-do to laugh over together.
She eased her bottom onto the top step and pressed her hands together on her lap as she breathed in the crisp warm night. Imogen had always enjoyed the dark as a child. She had never feared what couldn’t be seen in the shadows and had slipped from her back door to Abigail Watson’s garden gate more times than she could count without concern of being discovered.
These days, Imogen didn’t like her chances of making the trip alone without misadventure. It was one thing to not see into the dark night but quite another not to see the dark night at all. She missed quite a lot that went on about her and she was just a bit apprehensive about that. Abigail had once told her she was brave but that was a long time ago. An eternity it seemed.
As she sat in silence, she became aware of footsteps drawing closer. She fumbled up a stair, thudding into the closed door behind her back. The footsteps stopped. A sigh reached her. Male. Deep tones that made her senses tingle. More footsteps sounded until whoever it was stood directly before her at the foot of the stairs. Her pulse pounded so loud she could barely hear her own breath. “Who’s there?”
“Hello, Imogen.”
She startled, her limbs trembling at the shock of hearing Peter Watson’s voice again. Sir Peter Watson. He couldn’t have come. She would have heard someone speak of it. Walter surely would have told her if he’d known her former betrothed was living next door again and so would the Perkins’. Her brother wouldn’t be so cruel as to keep the news to himself. Or was that why he’d asked after her happiness? Did he fear telling her that Peter was visiting Brighton briefly?
She forced herself to her feet on the step and dipped into a barely passable curtsy in the direction she thought he stood. “Sir Peter.”
He sighed loudly again. “Forgive me for disturbing you. I was unable to sleep and saw you sitting there in the dark. I thought I should at least say hello. How are you?” A softly uttered curse left him. “I mean, um, its good to see you again.”
Imogen smiled a little sadly. She couldn’t really say the same because she couldn’t see how he’d changed in the past year. Peter had always been a handsome man, proud in his appearance and neat to a fault. She hadn’t minded that streak of vanity in the least. With the funds to secure a London tailor and boot maker, she could only imagine he was turned out splendidly. “It’s nice to hear your voice again.”
“Please sit down, Imogen.”
She imagined him gesturing to the steps beneath her and suppressed a smile. During their engagement he’d been unfailingly polite, never once taking liberties or flirting. That lack of deeper feeling had made it easier to let him go. His heart hadn’t been involved in their engagement and it would have been unfair to keep him to their arrangement. She hoped someone special had turned his head while he’d been away. He deserved to be happy.
Imogen eased onto the step cautiously, eager not to fall on her face and embarrass herself before the man she might have married if circumstances had been different. “And how did you leave your sister? Is Abigail still leading Hawke
a merry chase?”
“She’s so happy it makes one’s stomach churn. They both are.”
The amusement behind the complaint made her chuckle. “They are definitely in love then.”
Peter moved, brushing against her legs as he sat one step lower than her. She inhaled the scent of sandalwood, brandy, and a lingering scent of lilac she wasn’t used to, discovering in the process she did not care for the combination in the least. Had he married and brought a wife with him to Brighton? She should be happy but the idea gave her little peace tonight. Not when her own future seemed so bleak.
“I spent the last months sharing the London townhouse with them,” he advised. “Quite unsettling the way they carry on still. It’s good to be home again and unpacked.”
She frowned. Abigail had mentioned none of that in her weekly letters. In fact, now she thought over her correspondence, Abigail had barely mentioned Peter at all. “You’re not going to live in London or at your estate?”
“That’s right,” he grumbled. “Why does everyone seem surprised I prefer Brighton to London or Hereford?”
“Well, you are a landowner now, or so I recall you telling me you would be.” As her eyesight had failed, Imogen was left to her memories and imagination more and more for a source of entertainment. Picturing Peter, a man who never cared for muddy boots, striding through cultivated fields had proved an amusing remedy when her spirits were low.
Another deep sigh and his boots scraped on the steps. “Your brother didn’t tell you I’d come home today, did he?”
“No.” She wrinkled her nose. It itched. Now that Peter was sitting at close range, the scent of lilac was growing annoying. “He didn’t tell me anything at all tonight. I did think him quieter than usual.”
“Humph,” he grumbled. “I sold the property. Took one look at it and ran back to London. It sold for a tidy sum.”
What had he been thinking? He had a position, an estate that would have proven an asset to his family’s future. Maybe he sold it to appease his wife. Did he love her so much that he acted irrationally? The idea unsettled her more than it should but she pushed her concerns for his home life aside. “So you have fewer responsibilities.”
He bumped against her legs briefly. “I’m sure you would have realized long before I did I’m definitely not suited to land management. The dashed property was so far away from the ocean I couldn’t possibly stand to be there above a few days. Even London is too far away from the sea. I leased the townhouse to Hawke and my sister and was very happy to leave all that nonsense behind.”
Despite her concerns about the choices he’d made, she smiled at the image he’d just painted. She’d honestly thought Peter would have preferred London. The capital was always busy. He could have spent many a night gambling away his fortune in one hell or another. With luck, his wife loved him enough to prevent him indulging in excess in that vice. The right woman should make him happy. But Imogen did wish she sprinkled less perfume near Peter. Her eyes watered and she dabbed at them. “What will you do with your time now?”
Peter sniffed and then fabric rustled, a heavy thump sounded some distance away and the scent of lilac vanished. “Hmm, would you believe I returned to berate my favorite author for her tardiness in producing a new book?”
Imogen gulped and closed her eyes. Had Peter not been told she’d lost her sight? She had hoped Abigail or Hawke would have mentioned it in passing and spared her the difficulty should they ever meet again. “There’s no hope I can write anymore.”