“She’s surprisingly good at that,” Julia scowled. “We all believed the worst of Melanie when the truth is quite different.”
Melanie leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Julia’s forehead. “I’ll call for tea.”
She turned to go and made it as far as the steps down to the kitchen before Imogen caught up with her. “Thank you for not revealing the truth.”
“It is not my place.”
“Who told you?”
“No one.” She shook her head. “When I read your stories, I always hear you. I’ll have tea sent up and ask Valentine to deliver the trunk unless you’d rather not have them.”
“No, I want them.” As she turned away, Imogen called out again. “Did you embroider any with yellow roses?”
“Of course not. You hate yellow and swore once you’d never allow the color on your children.”
Imogen frowned at her then shook her head. “Thank you very much. They are beautiful.”
Her spirits lifted a little. She might never be entirely forgiven, but she had made a start. It was enough. “You’re very welcome.”
“Melanie,” Imogen said quickly. “Make sure you come back with the tea.”
Fourteen
“I don’t know what to think,” Imogen exclaimed for the third time.
Walter had been home only a few minutes after making the rounds of his properties. He was weary and hungry and aching to see one person in particular.
That person was not his sister. But she was the topic of their conversation.
“It sounds to me as if you never lost Melanie’s regard.” He met his sister’s gaze, and then sat. Imogen would want to speak of this for a while. The shock of receiving such a large gift from Melanie this morning clearly hadn’t dimmed during the intervening hours. He had to hand it to her; Melanie was certainly full of surprises. She might not want children of her own, but she was excessively generous to have made so much for someone else who did.
Imogen sat forward. “Abigail tells me that she sent a similar-sized trunk to London two months ago, and there is supposed to be another tucked under her bed for Julia too.”
He blinked. “Is there one for herself?”
“I don’t know. She never ever discusses her own hopes with me in the room.”
More than likely there was not anything for herself, and he was still disappointed in that. Her decision was probably made some time ago. “If memory serves, she has often sat in her parlor with a scrap of white linen in her lap. I never paid much attention to what she was doing.”
“None of us did. I don’t know what to do.” Imogen stood and paced the room. “All this time I thought she’d forgotten me and she goes and does something nice.”
Imogen bit out the word “nice” like it was an insurmountable inconvenience.
“You sound churlish about it.” He sighed deeply. “Would you rather she changed back to the way she was before Valentine raced Julia?”
“No.” Imogen sank into her chair again. “But she is different again since then too. Quieter, less opinionated. She defers to Julia, for heaven’s sake!”
“Why should you complain about that?” He shook his head. “By your own telling, Mellie has spent hours and hours to provide you with clothing for your unborn child. What you have there is a sign of great love. For all of you.”
“She knows I’m Brahms.”
He grunted. He’d suspected but never had gotten round to confirming it. Few knew his sister was the author K.L. Brahms. It was supposed to be a well-guarded secret. He winced. “At dinner with the Mertons one night, one of your books was discussed, particularly Findings from a Castaway and the custard incident. She never let on then. What did she say about your writing?”
“Nothing untoward, and in fact she managed to change the subject so completely that Julia and Abigail
remain in the dark even now. She must have assumed they knew about my secret writing life. We spoke later in private and she said she recognized my voice in the stories she read.”
That could be quite awkward later. “I wonder if she knows you based the difficulties the heroine of The Temple of Truth faced on her experience with Percy McWilliam a few summers ago. It’s a unique man who would propose twice in three years.”