At Abigail’s urging, Imogen slowly lifted the lid and let it fall open—to reveal a trunk full of children’s clothes, and wraps, and blankets. Items all stitched by her own hand over the past dozen years; enough to last a child until they were toddling around on their own steam.
She had begun making small items for her friends at Andy’s urging, and even though she had fallen out of grace since those days, she still made a few pieces for each year.
Abigail wiped a tear from her eye. “How is it you can do all of this? Mine was at least as large. You must have spent a fortune on threads and fabrics. Not to mention the hours involved.”
She smiled. Since she’d never have children of her own, she had indulged quite a bit with her creations. “I enjoyed every stitch.”
And if anyone had ever questioned her work, which happened rarely, it was always assumed she was making something for her own bottom drawer.
Imogen lifted the topmost piece and held it up to the light. This one had a twisting vine of lavender thread embroidered around the hem and small cuffs. It was one of her best efforts.
Julia poked through the contents of the trunk, her eyes widened. “You made all this for Imogen, and the same for Abigail?”
“Yours is upstairs,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it prudent to show you until you give my brother similar good news.”
Julia beamed and hugged her arm. “You will have saved me.”
“I will have saved the garments my nieces and nephews will wear from turning red from your pinpricked fingers,” she laughed softly. She would be able to sew for Julia for years and years and send gifts by post.
She glanced at Imogen as she returned the garment to the trunk. Imogen had not said a word about her gift. Perhaps she expected too much.
Melanie closed the lid. At least she knew where she stood before she left Brighton.
“How could you do this to me?” Imogen’s question had a rough edge to it.
“I apologize.” Melanie dropped her gaze. Perhaps she should have asked Julia to deliver it after she was gone. “I thought to help so you would still have time to write.”
Imogen’s eyes widened and then she glanced at Abigail and Julia guiltily. Both ladies were frowning in confusion though and Melanie was puzzled. Did they not know Imogen and Brahms the author were one and the same?
The whole of Brighton was reading Imogen’s work and quoting her at dinner parties. She’d always imagined them in on the great secret, but perhaps they were not.
Imogen grew pale. “What do you know of that?”
She shrugged. Imogen had been a talented writer even as a child. Back then she’d heard those stories firsthand, and later when they had grown distant, she’d discovered them in her brother’s book collection and been pleased to know she’d continued. “I’ve always known.”
“Imogen,” Julia asked. “What is she talking about?”
Abigail appeared equally perplexed. Melanie swallowed, and glanced at her hands. She had blundered, and badly, yet again. Some claimed Brahms’ work was too bold for young ladies to read. Imogen must be horrified by what she had almost revealed. And that emotion could quickly turn to anger toward her.
She struggled for an alternate explanation that might be the least bit feasible. This wasn’t how she’d wished to spend her last day in Brighton. An idea struck her quickly though, one that was not easy to refute. “Lady Watson has been writing to my cousin in secret.”
“To Teresa Long?” Julia asked. “Why is that a secret? I have written to her myself and told her how much we miss her.”
Imogen nodded and then sighed. “I had hoped her heart had softened.”
Julia appeared even more confused. “Softened from what?”
Melanie caught Julia’s hand. “It was she who alerted my father to Valentine’s behavior and ambitions. She wanted the easy life my father’s money and position could bring. She couldn’t bear the loss of stature, and did all she could to dissuade Valentine from going through with the marriage.”
Imogen caught her other arm. “We didn’t want you to be hurt by the discovery.”
Julia collapsed onto the chaise. “Oh, I worked that out for myself ages ago. I thought at first she must have loved him, but it was only money she loved.”
“She didn’t want to lose.” Melanie sank to her knees at Julia’s side. “He never even realized what was truly going on. Not until the very last day before the banns were read.”
Imogen nodded. “So all that time, Teresa claimed Melanie was against the match.”
“She was lying,” Melanie answered.