She nodded.
“I’m afraid it was my brother.”
A frown flickered across her face. “But … but he told me his name was … that is … Is your Christian name Milo?”
He nodded. “The gentleman—and I use the word in the loosest sense—who you met is called Darien.”
“But I don’t understand. Why did he tell me…?”
Milo glanced at me, and I understood at once. He wanted me to tell her. Perhaps he thought it would be easier coming from a woman.
“Darien is Milo’s half brother,” I explained. “Milo was actually unaware of his existence until this morning. It seems that Darien only recently learned about his connection to our family. I … well, we believe that he thought to use the name as a … an alias of sorts.”
All the color drained from her face again. “So he was only toying with me,” she said. “I thought that I had married the man of my dreams, and now…”
“He … led us to believe you were not legally wed,” I said gently.
A blush rose up to overtake the paleness of her face as she realized it was now common knowledge that whatever sort of “honeymoon” they had enjoyed had not been within the bounds of matrimony. “He said … I thought … we were going to marry in London.”
She burst into tears then, and there was nothing that the brandy could do to help it. I took the glass from her and set it on the table, patting her back and muttering whatever soothing things I could think of.
I glanced over her head at Milo, who looked more impatient than sympathetic. He had never been much moved by tears.
“Have you a handkerchief, Milo?” I asked pointedly.
He pulled one from his pocket and rose to hand it to me. “I’ll just leave you ladies to discuss things,” he said.
I shot him a look, which he ignored, and he walked from the room.
I handed the handkerchief to Imogen, who wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she crumpled it in her hands, her gaze trained on the little ball of fabric. “I know what you must think of me…”
“No,” I said, reaching out to pat her arm. “He deceived you. The fault lies in him, not in you.”
“I ought to have known it was too good to be true,” she said sadly. “I just feel so … so stupid.”
I felt another surge of anger at Darien.
“I’m terribly sorry, dear.”
She sniffed. “Well, better I found out now than later, I suppose.”
I hesitated. Though I didn’t like to intrude on her privacy, the question needed to be asked. “There is one more thing…”
She looked up at me. “Yes?”
“It’s rather a delicate question, but it’s important. You don’t suppose you … might be in a similar condition to mine?” I asked gently.
She looked at me, her eyes wide, and then looked away as color suffused her face once again. She shook her head. “No.”
“You’re fairly certain?” I pressed. I didn’t mean to embarrass the girl, but if there was going to be difficulty, perhaps I could find some way to help her through it.
She managed to meet my gaze. “I’m sure.”
I nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief. That was one less thing we needed to worry about.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked, wishing I could find some way to help.
“No. Thank you. I’ve already caused you a good deal of trouble.”
“Not at all. Please know that you’re always welcome here.”
“Thank you.” She rose. “I should be going now. I … need some time to think about things.”
“Yes, of course. What will you do now?”
“Go back to London, I suppose,” she said. “Though perhaps not for a day or two. I’ve already paid Mrs. Cotton for the week, and I could use the time to … sort out how to proceed.”
“Are you all alone in London?” I asked, hoping she would have someone to support her when she returned home after this difficult errand.
“No,” she said. “I live with my sister.”
“You didn’t ask her to accompany you?” I asked.
She flushed and shook her head. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t want her to know about this.”
I could understand that, for the entire thing must be very embarrassing to her. Darien had certainly made a mess of things.
“You will let me know if there’s anything I can do?” I asked, sensing that she was eager to take her leave.
“Yes. Thank you, Amory.”
Imogen left the house, and I was left with a vaguely dissatisfied feeling. There was, I supposed, not much I could do, but I still wished there was some way I could help.
I went looking for Milo and found him in his study, a comfortable, masculine room with dark wood paneling and heavy furniture, gathering some paperwork to take with him to visit Mr. Ludlow.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about all of this,” I said, perching myself on one of the leather chairs near his desk.
“I don’t know that we have to do anything about it,” he said without looking up, sliding a sheaf of documents into an attaché case.
I was not surprised by his lack of interest in the matter. Problems of the heart were not of any importance to him, and I supposed he would like to wash his hands of the whole mess. It wasn’t going to be that easy, however. Darien was his brother, and, like it or not, one couldn’t so easily sweep family aside.
“If he’s going to associate himself with our family, use the Ames name, then I think that we might…”
“It’s not really any of our concern. Darien and Imogen are both adults.”
“But…”
“I’m sorry the girl was hurt, but, after all, it’s not the first time a woman has been seduced by a man under false pretenses. It happens all the time. Frankly, she should have been more careful.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No,” he said, looking up from his paperwork. “It’s not, but it’s the way things are.”
I sighed.
“You can’t fix everyone’s problems, darling.”
Perhaps not, but that didn’t mean I was going to stop trying.
* * *
MILO LEFT TO catch the train to London, and I was left to my own devices. Naturally, my mind was still on the situation with Imogen and Darien, and I found my thoughts wandering to his newest dalliance. Someone ought to warn Marena about Darien, but I had the feeling it would do very little good.
“Winnelda,” I said as I prepared for bed. “Have you heard any of the village gossip about Marena Hodges and Bertie Phipps?”
If she thought the question strange, she didn’t show it. Winnelda was always happy to share the interesting tidbits she had learned.
She nodded. “I’ve heard a few things, here and there. I know May who does the cleaning at the vicarage. She sometimes overhears a little when she’s there.”
I’m sure she does, I thought. It occurred to me that this might be a very useful source of information.
Before I could press Winnelda further, however, she continued. “May said she wasn’t surprised Miss Marena broke things off with Bertie. She said Miss Marena’s always been the sort to prefer a sophisticated gentleman.”