The Earl, the Lady and the Song of Love by Fanny Finch

Chapter 8

A few days later, Imogen was sitting by her window when she saw a familiar carriage arrive.

 

Not wasting a second, she jumped to her feet, almost skipping all the way down to the front door. She arrived just in time to see her aunt enter.

 

“Aunt Rachel!” she exclaimed. “It is you!”

 

Her aunt turned to her then and as she did, she broke into a bright smile.

 

“Oh, my days! Just the person I was hoping to see. Come, child. Come, come. Look how big you have gotten! How long has it been since we last saw each other?”

 

Disregarding every thought of etiquette, Imogen broke into a run, crossing what little distance was left between them. She landed in her aunt’s warm embrace and held on tightly.

 

“Too long,” she muttered, eye shut. “Far too long.”

 

Aunt Rachel chuckled. “It does seem that way, does it not? Ahh . . . it is wonderful to see you again, Imogen. I read all your letters.”

 

The embrace ended and Imogen pulled away. “I wrote you one every fortnight. I hope they were not too many. You did ask me to write often.”

 

“That I did, and I received them all with joy. I looked forward to each one, you can be most certain I did. I am sorry I could not write back as often. I hope you understand.”

 

Imogen nodded. She did.

 

Her aunt had been away in Scotland for the past year. Imogen did not truly know the details, but she understood it was for matters concerning the crown.

 

“Have you returned for good, aunty?”

 

“Ah . . . We shall see about that now, will we not? One thing I am sure of, though, is that I shall be here all the season.” She paused as she looked around. “Now, where is that brother and nephew of mine? Shall they wait until I shout the roofs off before they come to greet me?”

 

Imogen chuckled. “They stepped out at first light.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Business matters, I hear.”

 

“I see. They are always at it, those two. It is why your father is such a successful merchant. He takes his affairs very seriously. Just like our father before him, just as I am certain Lewis would be too. It is just as well,” she said as she took off her gloves, handing them to the servant by her side.

 

“Seeing as we have the entire day to ourselves, shall we do some catching up? Just like old times. I have very much missed gossiping with you over Daria’s wonderful tea.”

 

Again, Imogen found herself giggling. She truly was happy to see Aunt Rachel. The both of them were very fond of each other. They shared a bond that was likened to that between mother and daughter.

 

When Imogen had lost her mother all those years ago, Aunt Rachel too had been there, like a rock. Because of her, Imogen had not felt the lack of a mother figure in her life—not really.

 

“Are you certain it is not only Daria’s tea that you miss?” she teased.

 

Aunt Rachel smiled like one would when they knew they had been found out. “Oh well, more than one thing can be true at the same time. I did miss Daria’s tea. I also missed gossiping with you, but most importantly, I missed you,” she sighed as she palmed Imogen’s cheeks with a soft tenderness. “Very much so.”

 

Imogen rubbed her cheek against her aunt’s palm, reveling in the feel of it. “I missed you too aunty, I am so happy that you are back in London again.”

 

Aunt Rachel withdrew her hand then.

 

With eyes twinkling, she said, “If you are, do serve me some of that tea, will you?”

 

“Right away!” Imogen turned to the servant beside them. “Wendy, get the biggest pot Daria has, I want you to fill it all up with tea. Do not forget to bring some biscuits as well. We shall be on the balcony looking over the gardens.”

 

Wendy nodded, curtsied and was on her way the next moment.

 

“Come, Aunty, there is much to discuss, and the weather has been so agreeable lately.” Imogen, tucking her hand around her aunt’s arms.

 

“So, I have heard,” Aunt Rachel replied as they started to walk. “Ah . . . I do miss London. One can hardly tell it is Spring in the Highlands. It is either too hot or too cold from the rains.”

 

They soon reached the balcony and as they did, they settled into their chairs.

 

Raising her face to the sky, Aunt Rachel closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Imogen simply watched, smiling.

 

“It does feel wonderful to be back home. Too wonderful! Oh, Imogen, I have come to realize through all my travels that there is not any place quite like a home. No matter how far you stray, you must always find a reason to come back. Remember this.”

 

Imogen nodded as she kept those words in her heart. It was just one of the many things she missed about her aunt, her beautiful words of wisdom.

 

“Your Father wrote often as well, as did Lewis,” Aunt Rachel spoke again as she opened her eyes, dropping her face. “Although, not as often as you. They kept me abreast of all that was happening. It made me feel as though I was here, sharing in the important moments. I am thankful for that.”

 

She turned to Imogen. “Have you been well?”

 

Imogen saw enough in those familiar brown eyes to know what her aunty was asking.

 

Had she been well? She supposed she had, as well as she could be, given the circumstances.

 

Once again, she nodded. “I can say that I have been. And Uncle Peter? Do not tell me that you left him alone up there in Scotland.”

 

It was her aunt’s turn to chuckle. “As if he would ever let me go anywhere without him. No, we returned to London together. Although, he is presently on a visit to the grand palace. I expect him back in a few days.”

 

“May the heavens grant him safe travels,” Imogen said simply.

 

“Amen,” her aunt responded, smiling.

 

Whatever business her aunt and uncle did for the crown, they never told. Imogen knew not to ask anymore. Uncle Peter was sixty-third in line to the throne, and as a royal, worked very hard to keep England’s peace.

 

Aunt Rachel joined him in that work when she became his wife. As far as Imogen was concerned, it was the true definition of nobility.

 

Just then, Wendy arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits.

 

Aunt Rachel inhaled deeply once again, savoring the sweet aroma. “It smells delicious. Thank you, dear one. Thank Daria for me too, will you? I shall be by the kitchen to say hello in a few.”

 

Wendy nodded as she sunk in a curtsy then turned to leave and they were all alone again. Imogen got to pouring their cups. When finished, she handed Aunt Rachel hers.

 

“Thank you, dear one.”

 

Imogen watched as Aunt Rachel took her first sip. It was a long one. She sighed as she swallowed another sip. “If there is one thing they certainly do not have in Scotland, it is tea like Daria’s.”

 

There was silence as they finished the first filling. By the time Imogen poured their cups again, Aunt Rachel was ready to continue the conversation.

 

“Your father told me of the boy, this Lord Exeter.”

 

There was a small trembling in Imogen’s heart as she heard his name, but she quickly chased it away.

 

“He is hardly a boy,” she murmured in response.

 

Her aunt didn’t miss a beat. “He certainly is no man, acting the way he did! And Alicia . . .” she shook her head. “I always knew there was something not quite right about that child, but I never thought she would do such a thing. It must have been a shock to you.”

 

Imogen bobbed her head. “That it was.”

 

Aunt Rachel softened once again. “Poor thing, to be betrayed so . . . I have been worried about you, Imogen. I waited for you to tell me yourself, but you refused to make mention of it in your letters.”

 

“I did not want you to worry. If I had realized father had already told you . . .”

 

Aunt Rachel shook her head. “As you know, just like your father, I was blessed with two children. Eugene is married and so is Rosalyn. Yet, I still worry about them. I will always worry about you too, my dearest little one.”

 

There was a pause as she stroked Imogen’s cheeks.

 

“Tell me my dear, what shall I do? Shall I have them banished? Never to return to England?”

 

Imogen’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”

 

“Oh well, anything is possible when you have ties to the crown.”

 

Imogen’s lips curved in a wide smile. The mischievous twinkle in those brown eyes gave and twitching lip corners gave her aunt away.

 

“You are teasing.”

 

“It could be true if you wish it so . . .”

 

Still smiling, Imogen shook her head. “No, I do not wish to see them gone. Let them remain. I want them to see me happy and thriving.”

 

Aunt Rachel gave her two pats on the shoulder excitedly. “Good girl! That is the spirit!” She sobered just as suddenly.

 

“You must have been so hurt, but I see smiles are starting to return to your eyes. Your father feared they were gone for good. I told him my Imogen was too strong to let those people take something so beautiful, so profound, away from her. I see I was right.”

 

Imogen’s eyes watered. She had been crying a lot, but this time it was good tears, happy tears.

 

“Oh, aunty . . .”

 

“I know, my dear. I know.”

 

Imogen wrapped her arms around her aunt again. The embrace was like salve for her wounded heart. It brought relief, it brought healing.

 

As they pulled away, she caught Aunt Rachel dabbing at the corner of her eyes.

 

“Are you crying?” Imogen asked, filled with awe.

 

“Me? Oh, not at all. Something got in my eyes, is all.”

 

“I see,” Imogen replied. She did not buy it one bit.

 

Silence reigned again as they finished their second filling. It was a comfortable, peaceful kind of quiet.

 

“Tell me everything,” Aunt Rachel demanded, breaking the spell, when Imogen handed her cup filled for the third time.

 

Imogen took a deep breath. Anyone else and she would have refused to revisit the memories, but Aunt Rachel was not anyone else, so she told her everything. The entire truth, from the very first night the baron had walked up to her at the debutante ball, to that afternoon when Alicia had walked out on her after saying those callous words.

 

When she finished, she released a deep sigh and drank the contents of her cup in one go.

 

“It is even much worse than I thought and yet here you are, rising above it all. Your strength amazes me, Imogen. You must know that I am proud. Very much so.”

 

They were just the words Imogen needed to hear.

 

“Thank you, Aunty.”

 

Aunt Rachel nodded. “It is in times like this that I wish I had some form of experience. I would know the right words to say then. Alas, I do not. Your Father chose Peter for me. I never had to trouble my head with courtships and the like.”

 

Imogen had never heard that story before. “He did?” she asked, eyes widened in intrigue.

 

“Yes. Of course, with my permission. Peter was a friend and your Father believed we would be a good match. He asked me if I would consider marrying the Duke of Belshire, and I told him I would like some time to get to know him for myself. So, we were introduced and then we began to court.”

 

“You fell in love with him . . .”

 

Aunt Rachel shook her head. “Not right away. He was kind, and he was noble. I knew he spoke the truth when he swore he would care for, respect, and cherish me. For me, that was more than good enough. So, two months passed, and he asked me to be his wife.” She grinned, no doubt at the memory.

 

“I said yes. It was the best decision I ever made. There are not many men like my Peter left. It is why I have enjoyed joy and peace in my marriage that many only dream of. It is why I also ended up falling hopelessly in love with him.”

 

Imogen smiled, her heart warming with the evident fondness in her aunt’s voice as she spoke of her husband.

 

She had seen her aunt and Uncle Peter together, many times. The love they shared was as clear as the skies on a warm summer day. It was the kind of love she had wished to share with the man who would be her husband.

 

She still winced when she remembered she had believed that man would be Lord Exeter.

 

“Were you not afraid? Knowing you were not marrying for love?”

 

Aunt Rachel lifted her shoulder in a small shrug. “I might have been if I had always wanted to. However, it was never a dream for me. I only ever wanted a good man. I got that and even more.”

 

Imogen nodded. Perhaps, she should do the same. After all, she had decided to give up on notions of love. If she found a good man—if Father helps me find a good man—she supposed that would be more than enough for her as well.

 

“Ah! Now I know what you should do. It is a wonderful thing that you are already forgetting that dreadful man! All that is left now, is to find you a man who is noble indeed. Kind and gentle at heart like my Peter, like your father . . . like Lewis. Then, you two can live happily ever after.”

 

Imogen flashed her aunt a brilliant smile. “You know what, Aunt Rachel? I was just thinking the same.”

 

Aunt Rachel instantly mirrored her smile, beaming from ear to ear. “Oh well, you know what they say about great minds and thinking alike,” she ended with a wink.

 

Both women broke into giggles. As they recovered, they went on to have a lovely afternoon.

 

It was the loveliest Imogen had enjoyed in a while, and after the last few weeks she was all the more grateful for it.

 

Very much so.