George steered the carriage around the side of the house and drove it back to the stables. Still happily chatting about past events which had defined life at the Glendower seat. Somercote dismounted and tossed his reins to a groom, then stepped over to the phaeton. George held the horses steady while her husband helped Imogen down, and then handed the reins over to one of the waiting grooms and allowed Ivo to help her down as well.
Once on her feet, George led them in through the side door, and straight to the billiard room, where they could hear the sounds of a game in progress. Inside, they found the earl playing billiards with Cardross, while the rest of the guests either looked on, or clustered about the two tables playing cards. George swooped in, greeting everyone brightly, leaving her husband and Imogen to trail in behind her. After making the rounds, she dragged one of the men over to Imogen, and introduced him.
‘Dorry, this is my friend Miss Mowbray, she’s rather new to us, so do your best to put her at ease. Imogen, this is my very old friend Lord Dorrington. He’s mostly been home in Ireland these past few years, so I’m very excited to find him here today.’
Imogen smiled and gave her hand to the man. He was shorter than most of his friends, barely taller than she was, handsome in a comfortable way. His coat was loose, his neckcloth plainly knotted, but his boots fit him perfectly, and were shined to a mirrored perfection.
The Irish earl bowed over Imogen’s hand in a friendly, but thoroughly perfunctory manner, and asked if she and George would like a drink. He was obviously not much of a ladies man. Imogen smiled at him with a friendly twinkle. Good thing too, as she had more than she could handle at the moment.
‘Traveling is thirsty work, or so I always find,’ he said, smiling back at her.
While he was gone Imogen had a chance to glance about the room. Gabriel definitely wasn’t there, but his wasn’t the only face that was missing, so some of the guests must either be arriving late, or already taking advantage of one of the many activities the estate could offer just now.
Imogen accepted a glass of madeira from Lord Dorrington, and crossed the room to greet their host’s son. She rather liked the bluff Lord Layton, he was friendly and entertaining, without ever being flirtatious, or making her the least bit uncomfortable. Cut from the same stamp as his father, clearly. Imogen had the distinct impression that the countess’s first husband had been the wild one in the family.
Layton was playing hazard with Bennett and Lord Morpeth. Bennett currently held the dice, but he paused to welcome her, and invited her to join them.
‘I’m afraid you all play too deep for me,’ Imogen responded with a grin. ‘I’m more in the habit of playing for lottery fish with the children, but I’m more than happy to sit and watch.’ She took the proffered seat beside Lord Morpeth and sat chatting with them and watching them play until the butler appeared and informed them that their trunks had arrived, and were being unpacked.
‘Thank you, Griggs,’ George said, rising and smiling at him. ‘Are the earl and I in our usual room?’
‘Of course, my lady,’ he responded, with just a hint of a smile. ‘And Miss Mowbray is in the Three Graces Room, as you requested.’
‘Excellent. Imogen, are you coming?’ She turned and looked at Imogen inquiringly.
Imogen excused herself from the table and followed George out of the room and up the stairs. George, chatting all the way, pointed out various objet d’art and familial portraits, including one of her former husband and his brother. Imogen stopped and gazed up at them.
‘He was very handsome,’ she said, stating the plain truth of the matter. The painter had even captured the devilish twinkle in his eye.
‘Yes, he was,’ George agreed a bit wistfully. ‘Very handsome, and full of life. Lyon was always something of a rogue, and everybody adored him. It was impossible not to.’
The countess gave herself a shake and Imogen realized she’d made something of a faux pas. No matter how much in love with her current husband George might be, it was clear that she’d always have a spot in her heart for her first.
Turning away from the portraits, they went down a long hall and George let Imogen into a large corner room where they found a maid already busily unpacking Imogen’s trunk.
‘I’ll come back to collect you for dinner in an hour or so,’ George said. ‘Just listen for the bell. The house can be confusing, and Ivo and I are in another wing entirely.’
Imogen glanced around the room. It was huge, with pale blue walls, and a raised bed with curtains of a slightly darker brocade that matched the drapes, the upholstery of the chairs arranged before the fireplace, and the cushions in the window seats. There were large windows on two sides of the room, and several Persian carpets on the floor. It was a beautiful room. There was a landscape painting on one wall, and on the mantel the set of three rather ugly Sevres figurines, depicting cavorting naked goddesses and plump cherubs.
Imogen requested a pitcher of hot water so she could wash her face and hands, and while the maid was gone, stripped out of her habit. Once she was clean, she selected a gown, and then allowed the girl to help her dress.
She dampened
