The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

“It won’t happen again,” she insisted, stepping back from him.

“You’re afraid,” he pronounced, certain of that even if he did not understand why. “You will not even consider it. You will not let yourself believe that you and I might—”

“There is no us. I don’t know what game you’re playing at—”

“I’m playing no game.”

“Then you’re a fool to think this might be anything . . . genuine.” A small puff of outraged breath escaped her. “A year from now I won’t cross your thoughts. You will be married to your rich wife and not here, not walking the streets of this village as though you are one of us.”

He glared at her, anger stirring inside him. “If I don’t belong here, where do I belong then? Not among the ton. I’m not a noblesse any longer. So you mean to say I don’t even belong here in Shropshire? Shall I relocate to the bloody moon then? Perhaps there I will better fit in?”

She looked taken aback. Her hands flexed around her reticule. Shaking her head, she opened and closed her mouth several times.

“Oh! Miss Bates! Hello, there. Perhaps you can help us.” A lady hurried down the lane, towing her gawky daughter along with her. As much as he had learned of Shropshire and its inhabitants over the last year, the identity of this woman eluded him. Not Imogen, however.

“Ah, good day, Mrs. Merrit. Miss Merrit.” She nodded to each of them.

“I was just discussing the matter of lace gloves or linen for an outdoor picnic with my daughter. Can you weigh in on the matter? What do you think?” The lady looked down her narrow nose at Perry and then looped her arm with Imogen, tugging her away with a disdainful sniff, indifferent to the fact that Perry and Imogen had been in the midst of a discussion. A discussion that was decidedly unfinished.

The snub felt deliberate. No doubt the lady knew of the stories circulating about Perry and thought to save the vicar’s daughter from the likes of him.

He remained where he was, watching helplessly as Imogen retreated from him down the lane.

He’d caught a glimpse of her relieved face before she turned away. She was undeniably glad to have been rescued just as their conversation was getting intense. She’d practically jumped into Mrs. Merrit’s arms.

She thought it was over.

She thought they were done.

He stared after her for a long moment before turning away.

She would be wrong.





Chapter Eighteen




Fortunately for Imogen she had thus far avoided her houseguests. Mostly.

She successfully occupied herself with tasks during the daytime and only had to endure Winnie and Edgar through the obligatory dinners. It wasn’t too difficult a feat, and the benefit was twofold.

Not only did staying busy spare her from her cousins, but it kept her from moping around, overwhelmed with thoughts of Perry Butler. Imogen had not seen him in two days, and she hoped that meant he had given up on whatever strangeness had seized him the other day.

He had intimated that there was something between them. Then he had gone so far as to say that the notion frightened her. Ludicrous. They were no romance in the making. Indeed not. She would not be so foolish as to believe in that bit of fancy.

Casting aside such thoughts, she fixed her gaze on her cousin across the table. Winnie was in the middle of a story about one of her friend’s daughters who eloped with an Italian painter.

At least these evening dinners weren’t too miserable. Winifred monopolized the conversation, as she was wont to do, and never seemed aware of how little Imogen spoke.

Usually Imogen was able to eat and excuse herself shortly after dessert with no raised eyebrows.

In the mornings, she made a point to be gone before they rose for breakfast. Thankfully they were late risers.

According to Winnie’s letter, they would only be staying two nights before resuming their way north, but it was starting to feel quite the prolonged stopover. Two nights had come and gone and they were still here. Imogen began to wonder: When would they depart?

Imogen knew the question had to be put forth. She had not anticipated they would stay this long. She needed to know there was an end in sight. Gathering her nerve, she asked, “How much longer do you intend to stay here, Winnie?”

She directed all comments to her cousin. She could not bring herself to speak directly to Edgar. Thankfully no one seemed to notice the snub. Oh, Edgar likely noticed, but Imogen did not care what he thought.

“Oh.” Winifred lifted her napkin from her lap and patted her lips daintily. “Well, it’s just been so lovely here.” Her gaze darted to her husband. “Have I not been saying how lovely it’s been visiting with Uncle Winston and Imogen, Edgar?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded as he chewed, lifting a forkful of cabbage and peas to his mouth. “Indeed. Indeed.”

“It’s going to be a struggle to tear ourselves away.”

A non-answer if Imogen ever heard one . . . and that was perhaps the most concerning point of all. They seemed unable or unwilling to tell her when this visit might come to an end.

Mrs. Garry gathered Papa’s empty plate, sending Imogen a meaningful and rather desperate look that seemed to say, please tell me these people aren’t going to be here forever.

Imogen knew they added considerable work to the household. It was just Cook and Mrs. Garry tending to the house with occasional help from Molly and Mrs. Garry’s nephew when he wasn’t attending school.