Putting on Airs (12 page)

     
In spite of the trip's length, Imogene remained awake throughout, anxious for her return home.  Fortunately, those she shared the ride with did not expect any conversation from her, although listening to their own helped keep her idle mind occupied. 

     
Upon arriving at the house, she found no one to greet, but went directly to her father's quarters.  She knocked first and announced her presence, and her father bid her enter.  She tried not to look alarmed when she saw how pale her father looked, his skin moist with fever, but smiled and took hold of his hand.

     
"If you wanted me home, you only needed to write," she joked feebly.

     
He laughed, though it came out rather as a slight cough.  His voice strained to ask, "How was Penzance, then?"

     
"It was wonderful, father.  Without doubt, we must go next year."

     
Mr. Cartwright pulled a shaky smile.  "How is the sea?"

     
"Unbelievable," Imogene replied.  "It rocked me to sleep every night."

     
Mr. Cartwright nodded, his eyes closing.

     
"I am sure you would like to rest now.  I will leave you be."

     
As he fell back into sleep, Imogene kissed his hand, and the three left the room so he could sleep undisturbed.  After a brief search of the house, she found Emmeline in the study with Thomas, and so sat by her sister and took her hands.

     
"So tell me," Imogene began.  "What is it?  How bad is it?"

     
"Influenza," Emmeline said.  "It got much worse yesterday, and it has not gotten better yet.  He has not been able to eat anything since the first day.  Was I right to call you back?"

     
"Yes, of course.  Even if it turned out to be nothing, I would rather be here than not.  I hate not knowing what goes on around here."

     
"Were you enjoying Penzance?"

     
Imogene sighed with a slight smile.  "Yes, but it was somewhat of a good time to get away.  It was all so...festive...that it was rather tiring me out."

     
"Oh..."  Emmeline leaned in closer to whisper.  "I should warn you, that mother has been thinking that since you would be here, she would invite Mr. Cole—Mr. Henry Cole—to see you."

     
"She cannot mean it!"  Though even as she said it, she knew her mother's disposition.  "Thomas, I hope you do not mind that I beg of you and your wife to spend much of your time here with me, so I am not left alone."

     
Thomas awkwardly replied, "Yes, sister.  At least, I will try."

     
Imogene smiled genuinely since first arriving.  "I rather like hearing you call me sister.  I like the thought of having such a good brother as you."

     
As though on cue, Anthony entered the room.  He seemed in a nervous state.  At first, he remained near the door.  Then he migrated to the fireplace for a moment, then he sat on a chair near his sisters.  They all quietly stared at him, waiting for him to speak.  He rarely, if ever, spent time with any of them, and so they all expected that he wanted something.

     
"How was Penzance?" he asked Imogene.

     
"Good..." she replied, her voice rising expectantly at the end.

     
"Good.  You found it amusing, then?"

     
"Yes..."

     
"And Clarice?  Did she find it amusing?"

     
Imogene now knew the source of his coming.  "Yes, she did."

     
"Did she...Has she ever...said anything about me?"

     
Imogene pressed her lips together to hold all remarks in as she shook her head.

     
"Oh..." he said dismissively.  "Well, you know, I did not really expect that she would.  You know, it is good she does not talk about me anymore.  Has she grown taller?"

     
Imogene shook her head again.

     
"She looked different when I last saw her.  I thought she looked different."  He cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, at ease.  "Ms. Cole wrote me the other day to be in her brother's play about a mole."

     
"You mean Moliere?"

     
"Yes.  She said that she would like me to join."

     
"Really?"

     
"Of course.  Well, she said as long as I do not drink any wine while I am there."  He forced a laugh.  "It was a joke, you know; she is in good humor with me now, so we can joke again.  She is very..."  Unable to complete his thought, he suddenly said, "Yes, I thought Ms. Archer looked different somehow."

     
With that, he abruptly left.

     
With a chuckle, Imogene took Thomas's hand and said, "As I was saying, you are a very good, normal brother."

Imogene looked in on her father every day, insisting to the servants that she take his meals up to him.  His meals consisted only of dry toast and orange juice, and he would only eat a very small portion of each for her sake.  She knew not whether he was able to keep the food down, and he never discussed it.  To the best of her ability, she would read aloud from
Henry IV: Part Two
until he fell back asleep.  The doctor came by every day to bleed Mr. Cartwright, which Imogene could not abide being around for, and so Anthony was obliged to be with his father for those moments.  Emmeline only had the emotional constitution to visit her father once a day, with Thomas holding her hand all the while.  Imogene was not certain how often her mother visited, as she made certain to cross her path as infrequently as possible.

     
A week after Imogene's return home, Mrs. Cartwright was good to the promise she had made, as related by Emmeline.  Imogene was just finishing up reading a scene to her father when a servant announced the arrival of Mr. Cole, who was waiting for her in the drawing room.  Imogene reluctantly closed her book, and with a suppressed whimper, followed the servant to the drawing room.  On the way, she asked to have Mr. and Mrs. Butler brought down also, but the servant informed her that they had gone to town with Mrs. Cartwright and Mr. Anthony.

     
When she arrived in the drawing room, Mr. Cole stood rigid, staring out the window.  Imogene wondered if she could sneak out without his knowing, but decided to get it over with, and gently cleared her throat to get his attention.  He turned around, his face firm with determination.

     
"Good afternoon, Ms. Cartwright," he said, his voice a method of business.

     
"Good afternoon, Mr. Cole," Imogene said, going through the motions.  "Would you care to sit down?"  In spite of her resolve to let things play out, she stalled: "Perhaps you would like to..."

     
"I have some things which need to be said, and I ask that you sit and hear them."

     
The determination in his voice almost frightened her, and forced her to sit in silence.  She watched him pace in quick, pronounced steps.

     
"Your mother had brought to my attention that you are ready for marriage, and as I am of good fortunes and connections, and you yourself are respectable, our alliance would be beneficial to both sides."

     
Imogene wondered if he was speaking of marriage or a trade treaty.  He ceased his pacing to approach her and regard her sincerely.

     
"I understand the importance of a young lady making a good match so as to secure her well being, and as it is my belief that I can provide you with such security, and as my family is rather fond of you, it is advisable that we marry."  When Imogene made no reply, he added, "Do you consent?"

     
For a moment, Imogene sat in fear of the man, as he seemed fiercely set on the idea, and so much so, that she could not account for it.  "I...I thank you, Mr. Cole...Your proposal is no small compliment to me...however, I cannot consent to it."

     
His only change was a slight furrow of his brow.  "Your mother assured me of its legitimacy."

     
"I have no doubt of that, sir, but..."  A scoff escaped her.  "I cannot think that you would truly prefer me to be your wife."  He did not respond.  "And...to be perfectly honest, sir..."  She tried to maintain appropriate composure.  "I cannot meet your caliber, and though I do not doubt that you are an eligible man, you could not quite meet my caliber."

     
He started slightly, his head suddenly drawn to the fireplace.  He seemed about to say something, but only turned his eyes back to her, his furrow deeper.

     
Imogene continued to press the end.  "You cannot tell me with sincerity, sir, that you genuinely care for me to any degree."

     
Yet his determination seemed unbroken.  "Would it not be enough that I would care for your comfort?  Would it not be enough for you to receive comfort?"

     
She could hardly remain suppressed now.  "It might be enough, were I able to feel comfort in your presence, but every time I am near you, I feel nothing but unease.  If even my eyes accidentally wander to yours from across the room, I feel like an intruder."  She felt her hands shake, so clasped them tightly together.  "Quite frankly, sir, I feel in fear of my very life even now."  Though truthfully, it was said with rather more anger than fear.

     
As soon as she wondered whether his brow could plunge any deeper, his eyes grew almost frantic, and he mumbled, "Forgive me; I will remove such fear right now," and barely got all the words out before he was out of the room, and soon after, out of the house.

     
Imogene released her tensed breath, and let her hands freely tremor.  "It is over now," she told herself.  "At least it is over now."

     
However, Imogene once again underestimated her mother, who upon hearing of the refusal, would not stop scolding her for a full ten minutes before leaving time for her daughter to speak up.

     
"He never wanted to marry me, mother, I assure you," Imogene insisted.  Then, with sarcasm, she added, "If it would pacify you, you might as well complete the humiliation and pawn me off to his brother Phillip."  Though as she finished the statement, she rather hoped to hear her mother consent.

     
"I would, were Phillip a choice."

     
"If you think I am good enough for Henry, then why not his brother?"

     
"His brother is engaged to Ms. Butler, though that is of little matter, as I am beginning to wonder if you are good for anyone at all!"

     
Imogene forgot how to breathe for a moment.  "Jane?  And Phillip?  But she never said anything to me; why would she not have written...?"

     
"She was waiting until your return," Thomas confessed.  "She wanted to tell you in person.  But...with your father's illness...she thought it would not be quite so important.  She is postponing everything to make you maid of honor."

     
Imogene inhaled some air back into her lungs, and breathed out the best smile she could.  "That is so sweet of her to think of me.  Of course I would be...I would like to visit her.  I..."  She was again forgetting how to breathe.  "I will take a walk out to see her now.  After all, I have not been out on a walk since I arrived here; I would rather like some fresh air."

     
Without hearing any replies, she found the quickest way out of the house, yearning for the clear air and the warm sunshine to calm the feeling that she would fly completely apart.  As such, she never even went in the direction of Jane's home, but rather parked herself in the gazebo for an hour.  She then spent the whole remainder of the day in her father's room, reading aloud when he was awake, and reading silently when he was asleep, immersing herself instead into problems that did not exist in her life.

Jane had learned of her friend's return home, and as Mr. Cartwright was recovering rather well from his influenza, she thought to visit the Cartwrights and to tell Imogene everything.  Though Imogene typically looked to her dear friend whenever she felt the need to escape, it was the first time that Jane was just the person she felt the need to escape from.  Nonetheless, she made herself readily available in the parlor.  Too nervous to even pretend to work on needlepoint or dressing a hat, she stood staring out the window until her friend's arrival.

     
"Ms. Butler, ma'am," the servant announced, then left the two women to talk.

     
Imogene felt immediately guilty of her jealousy, as she never in her life recalled her friend looking so bright and happy.  She smiled more genuinely than she had thought herself capable, and embraced her friend with a kiss.

     
"Congratulations, Jane," she said.  "I am really so happy for you."

     
"It is still coming to me in waves, I confess," Jane said.  "I had not any inclination that he cared for me so very much.  Admittedly, I had long felt that way for him, but somehow felt ridiculous about mentioning it to you."

     
"It was never your way to chatter so about any man," Imogene said as she motioned for her friend to sit with her.  "How did it happen?"

     
"We were reading
The Misanthrope
.  He wanted my help in casting it.  We took turns reading parts, and for a moment while I was reading, I noticed he was staring at me in a very particular way.  And...then..."

     
"Jane, that is wonderful."

     
"And now you are home, and your father is doing so well, I want very much for your family to be at the wedding, and in particular, for you to be my maid of honor."