Read Online Of Moths and Butterflies by V. R. Christensen - Free Book Online

belatedly, back to Cambridge. He got no further, however, than the church gate before he stopped. What was he thinking? He turned and looked back toward the chapel. What kind of fellow leaves a woman in apparent distress to make her way home, alone and in foul weather! Not a gentleman. And so he waited, placing himself strategically beside the churchyard gate of.
    She was among the first to exit the building. Neither did it surprise him that she hesitated upon seeing him. Eyeing the gate and perhaps considering her escape, she moved on. He stepped forward and held the gate for her, but she offered no sign of acknowledgement as she passed him.
    The distance between them widened. The crowd was gathering, and his chance would soon be beyond him.
    “May I see you home?” he asked her at the last moment.
    She stopped but did not turn…then threw a cautious glance in his direction. “Thank you, sir, but it’s an unnecessary trouble.” She moved on.
    Soon the crowd obscured his view of her. Was that it then? No. It was not possible. He followed and caught up to her.
    “Will you tell me your name?”
    Half turning to him, she glanced but her gaze did not meet his face. “And what use would that be to you?”
    He hesitated for only an instant. “Well, so I might use it, of course.”
    She looked up at him. There was a smile in her eyes, a hint of a laugh. And he was pleased.
    “Are you quite all right?” he asked, sincerely desirous to know and wishing he might somehow relieve her of whatever burden it was that weighed so heavily upon her.
    “Perfectly,” she said with another grateful but melancholy smile, her eyes sparkling with the moisture that did not belong there. “It looks like rain,” she said, attempting once more to take her leave of him. “I must go.”
    “Your name?” It was daring, but he had to know, there must be some connection, something to ensure that he might see her again. “Please?”
    Still she hesitated, and he was happy, for the moment, to have her standing there just looking at him.
    “Gina Shaw,” she said at last. “Now I really must be on my way.”
    He did not stop her again, simply watched her walk hurriedly away as the rain began to fall.
    *   *   *
    Imogen returned to the upper rooms that afternoon and tried very hard not to think of the strange gentleman she had met that morning. But it was not until Charlie and Mr. Brown returned to help her that she found any success in the endeavour. Mr. Brown arrived with his toolbox in hand and an apology on his lips. He had been detained at the station, he said. Sir Edmund’s nephew was returning to Cambridge today, and it was Mr. Brown’s responsibility to bring the young man’s horse back, but he’d had to wait an hour or more. This he explained as he began disassembling the canopy bed in preparation for its removal. Imogen remembered, vaguely, that the matter of the visitor had been discussed between Sir Edmund and Mrs. Hartup, but she had not been aware of anyone’s arrival or departure. But then she had been so busy she had hardly had time to be aware of anything at all. Still, the apology was unnecessary.
    Charlie too was late in arriving but he offered no apology, nor any excuse. In fact he was quite solemn, which was a marked change from his usually pleasant and friendly demeanour.
    “His father visited him today,” Mr. Brown told her confidentially. “He’s always like this when his father visits.”
    “Does he not live with his father then, Mr. Brown?” Imogen dared to ask, but only when the boy had left the room with a crate to take to the attic.
    Mr. Brown’s features grew into a stiff, contemplative smirk. “There’s lots of boys what don’t live with their fathers, miss. There’s lots of boys what don’t know who their fathers is.”
    “Somehow I thought–” and she stopped. What had she thought? He dressed like a member of the household and worked like one of the staff. She knew very well he didn’t