Tess felt so shocked that it was as if she couldn’t form words properly. “Of course. May I return with some refreshments?”
Imogen didn’t look up. “If I wish for anything to eat, Annabel will summon the butler.”
A moment later Tess was in the hallway, blinking at the wall and trying to remember whether she’d said something that might have offended her sister.
Rafe came down the stairs. “What’s the matter, Tess?” he asked.
She looked at him, trying desperately not to cry. “Imogen…she didn’t want me to be with her.”
He led her away, into Lady Clarice’s library. “She’s grieving,” he said. “Grief strikes everyone in different ways. Some wish to be alone, and others—”
“But she’s with Annabel! She’s not alone. And I’ve—I’ve—” Tess didn’t even know how to describe the way she felt. “After our mother died, I practically raised all of them. How would Imogen…why?” The thoughts flew about her head like a little confused flock of birds. She wished desperately that she had not sent Lucius away.
“I’d offer you a drink,” Rafe said with a sigh, “but it’s too early.”
Morning sun was creeping through the heavy curtains. Tess drew them and looked out at the courtyard. Perhaps Lucius would come riding back and take her with him. There was no sign of him, of course, so she sat on the edge of a chair, clasping her hands together so tightly that they hurt.
“Grief makes a person bloody-minded,” Rafe said, throwing himself into a chair and stretching a leg so that he could kick a log on the fire, irrespective of the smudges on his boots. “After my brother died, I didn’t say a civil word to anyone for over a year. Cursed the minister after the funeral service; I told him in no uncertain terms that Peter would have hated the whole damned affair. I wasn’t myself.”
The day continued in the same vein. Tess would enter a room, and Imogen would be shaking in Annabel’s arms. Annabel would give Tess a look that said, unmistakably, no.
And then Tess would walk down the hallway and seek out Lady Clarice. To all appearances, Clarice had retreated behind a block of ice. She showed almost no reaction to anything said in her presence, and while she asked Tess to read the Bible to her, and appeared most appreciative, Tess didn’t think she heard a word.At some point in the afternoon, she found Rafe holding Imogen in a manner that anyone in polite society would find impolite. Imogen didn’t even like Rafe! She was the one who said he was a drunk, and a slob, and lazy to boot. Yet if Tess came near her, Imogen froze and stopped crying. She answered in monosyllables. She looked away. If Tess hugged her, rather than Rafe or Annabel, Imogen’s body was stiff.
Finally, she found the courage to ask Annabel, late at night, two days after Draven died. “Why?”
“She blames you,” Annabel said. She was sitting in front of the fire in her bedchamber, sipping a glass of brandy. Annabel had apparently decided that Rafe’s brandy was an excellent idea.
“Blames me? Blames me?” Tess repeated numbly.
“I didn’t say it was logical.”
Annabel looked exhausted. Her beautiful creamy skin was drawn and faintly sallow; her eyes were ringed with dark circles. Imogen cried all night, every night, and Annabel was always with her.
“How can she blame me?” Tess cried.
“Because the two of you were arguing when the race was happening,” Annabel said heavily. “Or so she says. And she thinks that if she had been watching—if she had noticed that her husband was riding that devil of a horse…”
“She couldn’t have done anything,” Tess said, stunned. “It was already too late. What could she have done?”
“I know it,” Annabel said, taking another drink. “I’ve told her so. I think”—and she looked up at Tess, her eyes exhausted and sympathetic—“I think she simply can’t bear the guilt of it herself.”
“What guilt?” Tess whispered. “He chose to ride that horse. She made him promise not to do so!”
“Didn’t he say that he’d done it all for her?”
Tess froze. He had said that, in the stables. “He didn’t mean it that way!”
“She can’t help thinking about it,” Annabel said, turning the glass in her hand so that golden rays of light darted about the room. “Maitland said that he wanted to win so that she would have a house, so that Imogen didn’t have to live with Lady Clarice any longer.” There was a moment broken only by a log falling into two crashing, golden pieces in the fire. “I wish he hadn’t said that,” Annabel added.
“Oh, the poor sweetheart,” Tess said. “I can’t believe—he didn’t mean that! I was there, I could tell her—”
“No,” Annabel said sharply. “I’ve only just got her to sleep, and, Tess, she hasn’t slept in two nights. Please don’t wake her!”
“But I must tell her,” Tess said, tears snaking down her face. “Maitland didn’t mean to cast blame on her, not in any sense. He was just telling her that he loved her more than his horses, that’s all!”
“I’m sure he was. And her feelings don’t make any sense. But blaming you is all she’s hanging on to right now,” Annabel said wearily. “Please don’t take that away from her.”
Tess was sobbing now. “How can you ask me such a thing? She’s my sister, my little sister, and I love her! I would do anything for her! I want to be with her, help her.”
Annabel was beside her then, arms around her, rocking her back and forth, and Tess had a pulse of guilt. The last thing Annabel needed was another person sobbing on her shoulder. “Hush,” Annabel said, just as Tess had heard her say to Imogen, “hush.”
So Tess wiped her eyes, and said, shakily, “Do you think I should leave?”
“I think you should go back to your husband,” Annabel said, giving her a kiss. “Imogen will come around. She just can’t face reality at the moment, and you’re an easy target.”
“I feel so responsible.”
“Actually, what is probably best for her right now is you,” Annabel said, going back to her chair. “She’s so angry at you—”
“That angry?” Tess interjected, still disbelieving.
Annabel nodded. “Because of her rage at you, she hasn’t had to think about life without her husband. And I don’t think she’s ready for that yet.”
“How can she not want to be with me?” Tess said, a twinge clutching her heart. “How can she? Perhaps she just thinks that she doesn’t want me, but she really does.”
“She will need you later,” Annabel said. “But right now, she’s clinging to this foolish notion of blaming you, and it’s keeping her sane, Tess. I honestly think you are doing the best thing for her, simply by allowing her to be angry at you.”
Tess took a deep breath and scrubbed away a tear. “You will—you will send for me if she needs me? If she needs anything? If she changes her mind?”
Annabel nodded again. “Rafe is surprising me. Yesterday he even forgot to take a drink until well after sundown.”