What was happening to her?She was like a debutante again; foolish and innocent.
“I trust your journey was good,” Michael said as he filled his cup with some chocolate.
“It was,” she replied abstractedly. She was hungry but Colin’s gaze was preventing her from reaching for the basket of toast before her.
“I was in London for a week, and I called upon Thorneton House yesterday before my return, where I was told that you were on your way here.”
Imogen gave Michael a questioning look, wondering if he was aware of the scandal. She did not think that her parents would say anything, however. “The journey was not… planned,” she said, picking up a slice of toast when Colin reached for the chocolate pot that Michael was handing to him.
“You will be happier here with us, I assure you,” Michael said.
She smiled at Michael, buttering her toast. Colin appeared to be occupied with his food, thankfully. She had just taken a bite when Emily spoke to Colin.
“Oh, Colin, do tell my sister about China.” She turned to Imogen; her blue eyes gleaming with excitement. “It is the most delightful place to be.”
“The most delightful?” Michael countered with a raised brow.
“Indeed it is,” she responded with a slight pout.
“According to Colin,” he asserted with a grin.
“Think what you wish — I know it is a magical place. Are you not curious, Imogen?”
“Of course, I am,” Imogen replied; setting her half-empty cup down. “What is it like, Lord Wingham?” Instead of a grimace, she noticed hesitation in his features, which he masked well as before. Perhaps she was looking for meaning where there was none, but she couldn't help but make observations.
“Imagine a world where you are surrounded by rich colors and spices. The spring season there boasts the most incredible of blossoms…” he trailed off and smiled again. She could see an amalgamation of wistfulness and awe in his eyes. “You should visit when you find the opportunity, Your Grace. My words would never do it justice.”
“I shall consider it,” she said softly; reaching for a brioche.
“And he claims that he is not a romantic,” Michael chuckled.
“I certainly am not,” Colin returned; joining in the humor.
After breakfast, the gentlemen rose and asked to be excused. “I am going to show Colin the new stallions,” explained Michael. “I hope you find much to amuse yourselves, my ladies.”
“Indeed we shall,” Emily replied.
Colin held Imogen’s gaze for a moment before following Michael out of the room. When she turned to Emily, she found her watching her curiously.Had she perhaps noticed Colin’s intense gazes at her?
“It must be difficult acclimating to not having Harris with you every day,” Emily said, much to Imogen’s surprise.
So since she had mastered the art of pretending, she said, "Everything is very different. I believe I havechanged a lot." She'd grown up in the six years she'd been married to him. She used to look at the world as if it were a field of flowers in the spring, but now she didso with caution. She spoke less and only smiled politely.
“Yes, you have, Imogen.” Emily’s hand came over hers. “I am sure Harris would want you to be happy.”
Her lips curved into a half-smile. “Certainly.” She did not wish to talk about her marriage. She glanced about the room to find something with which to change the course of the conversation. When her gaze fell upon a painting of roses on the wall, she knew what she must do. “Will you show me the rose garden you wrote to me of?”
Emily jumped to her feet in excitement, taking Imogen’s hand and pulling her up. “I painted the garden before it was made,” she declared. “I hope you love it as I do.”
Emily almost skipped as she pulled Imogen along the winding path that led to the gardens from the front of the manor. Her sister’s joy, and the fresh country air, reassured her that she had made the right decision in coming here.
The path led them through a rose archway and they emerged in the most enchanting garden Imogen had ever beheld.
She let out a gasp. “Emily, this is beautiful.”
Emily placed her hands on her hips, her expression filling with pride. “I planted some of the roses myself.” She walked to a small bush with pink buds eager to bloom. “These are some of my favorites.”
“How did Michael allow you to plant them yourself?” Imogen asked in wonder.