Page 120 of What a Duchess Wants

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“Oh, you mustn’t thank me. I am your sister.” She squeezed her hand before rising and glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantle. “I shall allow you some rest. Will you join me for dinner? It is in an hour.”

“Yes, I will.” Imogen smiled; feeling better than she had throughout the day.

Onceshe was alone, she removed her shoes and climbed onto the bed.

* * *

Colin’s lips curved into a smile when Lanburn Hall came into view. Leaning forward; he spurred his horse to cover the remaining distance.

They had elected to ride ahead of the carriage halfway through their journey so they would arrive sooner. Michael was most eager to dine with his wife, while Colin was determined to be away from London and his overbearing father.

“A guinea for the winner?” he called to Michael over his shoulder.

“No! You may have a guinea to waste on a race, but I do not!” Michael declined and Colin suspected his wife was responsible.

“I've never known you to be stingy, Michael. Come, race me!.”

“I shall race you in due course but not this evening.”

Colin rode past him toward the grand structure that was more home to him than Penningbrick had ever been. He had made countless fond memories here. Michael gained the lead;dismounting as soon as he slowed his horse in front of the manor and hurrying up the marble steps to the door.

“I suppose you have more motivation to win the race than I do,” Colin remarked, joining him at the door which was being held open by the butler.

“That was not a race, Colin,” Michael said as he led the way into the front hall.

“Very well.” He chuckled; recalling that his cousin was the romantic of the two of them. While Colin would play in the fields, he would sit beneath a tree and pen sonnets.

A fair young woman emerged from one of the rooms. Michael walked down the hall to meet her and immediately drew her into his arms. Colin thought she was his wife and smiled, pleased that his cousin had found happiness and love.

“Forgive me, Colin,” Michael said at length, “and allow me to introduce my dear wife, Emily.” He turned to her. “This is my cousin, Colin Smith.”

Colin’s smile broadened, for he had just been introduced as he was, not as society saw him – a marquess that is.

Emily curtsied. “Michael told much about you, my lord. My deepest condolences.”

“Thank you, my lady and I insist you address me simply as Colin.”

“I shall do that on your promise to address me as Emily. You are too dear to us for formality to be upheld.” When she correctly interpreted his puzzled expression, she added, “Michael spoke of you very often. He even read your letters to me.” She was quite an amusing woman.

Colin met Michael’s eyes with a raised brow and he was quick to defend himself. “Oh, not all of them.”

Colin allowed a low chuckle. He had no secrets after all.

“Dinner was just announced,” Emily said, then in a lower voice added, “Imogen arrived an hour ago. She is asleep, and I did not want to wake her.”

“I wanted to ask of her but got distracted,” Michael responded. "How is she?"

Not wishing to listen to their conversation, Colin stepped away to give the butler his hat and greatcoat.

“You knew she was visiting?” Emily asked and Colin could not help but listen intently.

“Yes, I called upon your parents’ house before I left town. I was told that she was on her way here.”

“Do you know about…”

“Yes,” Michael sighed. “Bagshire shall meet me if it worsens.” From the little he had overheard, Colin gathered there was something happening in the family. He pretended not to have heard anything when Michael cleared his throat and asked, “You will join us for dinner, won’t you, Colin?”

“I have never fancied eating alone.”


Tags: Roselyn Francis Historical