Now that he’d returned from his travels, she’d need to take care.
Her appearance was most certainly altered from what it had been. Her hair, of course, was a different length and color than he’d remember, but beyond even that, she’d been well cared for since her wedding. Instead of her bones protruding through her thin, dull flesh, she’d become pink-cheeked and—admittedly—well fed. The women in her family were not intrinsically delicate, but the Pritchard women had become so for lack of sustenance. Indeed, Imogen had grown hips and breasts at twenty-and-four. Her hair became glossy, and her gaunt gray eyes now sparkled over features turned golden and freckled with too much time spent in the garden. She’d even dare to call her hazel eyes green now, if the light permitted.
In fact, she doubted very much that should Ezio del Toro, himself, cross her path he’d recognize her.
Even so … she’d be wise to give her neighbor a wide berth, she decided as she adjusted her gloves and swept into the hall. Collin Talmage was a dangerous man. Being a prisoner of war had altered him. Not just physically, but in ways she couldn’t even begin to conceive of. Perhaps in every possible way.
The thought of his loneliness caused her a pang of guilt and sorrow. Curiosity as to his motives for seeking Ginny out after all this time itched at her.
And yet, it was imperative that she keep her distance to avoid the dangerous duke at all costs, she reproached her soft and traitorous heart. Affixing a smile to her lips, she attempted to glide into the ballroom as she’d seen Millie and Mena do, their grace and confidence flowing from them in tangible waves. Though her desperate circumstances had changed, she still had Isobel to consider. Who, even now, attended Lady Caroline Witherspoon’s debutante ball in hopes of meeting a husband.
In the gathering crowd, Imogen found a familiar face. “Dr. Longhurst,” she exclaimed “I’m beyond pleased that you accepted my invitation!”
He made an awkward gesture, narrowly avoiding an upset of his drink as he turned to her. Though his features lit with similar pleasure, which warmed and diverted her. “Nurse—I mean, Lady Anstruther. I almost didn’t attend. I’m appalling at these kinds of events. Never much of a dancer.” He pulled at his collar, which was slightly askew. “Can’t ignore a good cause. Or … the chance to see you again.”
Imogen linked her arm with his and gestured to the room at large. “To see you here has made my entire evening.”
He flushed a bit, and took a bracing drink. “You’re being kind,” he muttered uncomfortably.
“How are things at the hospital?” she queried, realizing his discomfort with familiarity.
“Same old.” He slid her a speaking glance.
“Dr. Fowler?” she guessed.
“He’s retiring at the end of the year, or so the rumor goes.”
They shared palpable pleasure in this gossip. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in ages.”
Longhurst agreed with a grim nod. “Had I not taken an oath to do no harm, I’d be sorely tempted in his case.”
“And no one at all could fault you. In fact they’d applaud you.”
He sobered further as he looked down at where her arm casually linked with his. “You look … well,” he murmured. “Better. Healthier.”
“I am. On both accounts.” Imogen didn’t tell him that she’d been asked to serve on St. Margaret’s charity committee, which was to say she’d been asked to become a sponsor of the hospital. She decided in that moment to use whatever clout her money provided her to help further Dr. Longhurst’s research and career. “Did you hear that Gwen works with me now, to further my charity work?”
“A great loss to St. Margaret’s,” he said. “Both of you. You’d think I’d be used to your absence. Almost two years, now, since we worked together. But … I still find myself searching for you to assist me. You were the best nurse we ever had.”
“Now it is you who are being kind,” she countered warmly.
“No.” He finally met her eyes, and Imogen was surprised at the admiration she read there. “No, I am not.”
Suddenly flustered, she put her hand over her heart. “I trust everyone else is well?” she said a little too brightly. “William, Mrs. Gibby, Molly?”
“Haven’t you heard? Molly died. Rather suddenly, or so I’m told.”
Struck dumb, Imogen could only blink at him. She’d only met the nurse the once, and their interaction hadn’t been pleasant, but the news still came as a shock, especially when given with such nonchalance. “Oh dear Lord. Do you know what happened?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t there. But by all accounts the circumstances were gruesome.”
“Lady Anstruther!” Mena hurried to her from the far entry where she’d stood with a cluster of curiously tall, overly well hewn men. “Over here, dear, there’s someone very important I’d like for you to meet.”
She looked up to Dr. Longhurst, and read something strange in his demeanor. Something more than disappointment. “I—”
“Oh look,” he muttered. “There’s Gwen. I’ll go inflict myself upon her.”
“But—” It didn’t seem they had finished their conversation. She felt strange about leaving things between them like this, even though nothing of consequence had been said.
Something, in fact, had been left unsaid.
“It was lovely to see you,” he hurried, extracting himself from her grasp. “I hope to do so again. More often.”
And then he retreated, and Mena Mackenzie took her arm and directed her to their cluster of acquaintances. “Lady Anstruther, you remember my husband, Laird Liam Mackenzie, the Marquess Ravencroft.” The woman said his name with such pride, such obvious affection, that Imogen couldn’t help but beam at the brutish-looking Highlander.
“Welcome, Lord—er—Laird Ravencroft. Your wife is truly extraordinary.”
“Aye, that she is,” he agreed as he pressed her hand carefully and released it. “I hope you’ll forgive my tardiness, Lady Anstruther, and again my breach of manners, but I’ve invited a guest tonight, only because I reckoned an extra pocketbook wouldna be dismissed from your gathering.”
“You reckoned correctly.” She hurried to put him at ease with a warm smile. Certainly she was overcrowded, what was one more at this juncture? The more money they raised, the better, and chances were she’d already sent whoever it was an invitation. “Any guest of the Mackenzies is most welcome.”
“You are generous, my lady.” He turned to gesture to a tall gentleman, whose broad back seemed to test the limits of his tailor’s capabilities. The footman had yet to relieve him of his hat, so his coloring remained indistinguishable from where he conversed with Argent in the entry. “Lady Anstruther, allow me to introduce His Grace, Collin Talmage, Duke of Trenwyth.”
Imogen fought the urge to steady herself as the entire mansion tilted. For a horrible and absurd moment, she wondered if a house could tip over on its side, even with so many weighing it down. It took every fiber of will she could possibly summon not to reach out for something to steady herself with. Instead, she fisted her hands into her skirts and summoned her shaking smile.