Draven was a reckless boy who’d grown into a gambling man. But he had never lacked courage, for all his recklessness. He had never been less than a man, for all his wildness. And he had never been less than the wild thing Imogen’s papa used to call him, except for now. Because now he took what was clearly his last strength and reached for her hand.

“I love you, Immie.”

Imogen couldn’t answer. Sobs were tearing through her chest.

“I don’t think I married you for the right reasons,” he said, his voice lower now, and palpably thin. “I know I didn’t. But I thank God I did it, Immie. It’s the only good thing I’ve done in my life.”

“Draven, don’t—” she said. She bent her head onto his chest again. His hand was stroking her hair, slowly, so slowly. And she couldn’t hear his heart. Could she?

“I’m not good at saying such things,” he said. “I’d better say them now. I married you, well, for who knows what reason. But I knew by nightfall, Immie, that it was the best thing I ever did. And what I’ve done since, it was all for you, even though I’m not good at saying those things.”

Imogen came to kiss him. There was bright color at the edge of his lip. She dabbed it with her handkerchief, then realized to her horror that it was blood.

“Know that I love you,” she whispered. “You were all I ever wanted in life. Being married to you was all I ever wanted.”

“You deserve better,” he whispered, squinting as if he was trying to see her better.

“There is no one better!” she said fiercely. “No one!”

“That’s my Immie,” he said. “Will you tell Mama that…” His voice trailed off.

“You love her,” Imogen said. “I’ll tell her, Draven. I’ll tell her.”

His hand had been on her shoulder, but it slipped back to the bed. There was a rustle behind her. Imogen didn’t look until a man stooped at her side.

“I’m Reverend Straton. The doctor sent me,” he said, kneeling next to Imogen with an utter lack of pompousness. He put his hand on Draven’s forehead, and said in a deep voice, “In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust…”

Imogen put her hand on Draven’s chest. She couldn’t feel his heart. The priest was saying, “verily I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.”

Draven’s eyes were closed, and he looked as if he were asleep and yet…and yet.

Then Tess was on her knees next to Imogen and hugging her, and Lucius brought them both to their feet. But Imogen tore herself away and fell down next to Draven again.

“It can’t be true,” she cried. All of a sudden she heard the sounds of the stable around her, a horse striking his hoof against the wood of his stable, someone walking at the far end of the corridor, the jingle of a bridle. It couldn’t be that these things could continue without Draven.

“No!” she cried. “No!” She clutched him but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Draven!” she cried. “Draven, it’s not time, it’s not time. Don’t go, don’t leave me, don’t go!”

But he had gone. Anyone could see that. The Draven she had loved since the moment she saw him, walking across the courtyard laughing with the pure joy of winning—he was gone. His face was different, changed.

Tess pulled her into her arms, and whispered, “He’s with God, Imogen. He’s with Papa.”

“Don’t go!” Imogen cried again, and tried to twist out of Tess’s arms. She felt crazed, as if the stables should crack open at the very sight of it, of Draven dead. “Come back!”

Then the priest was holding her, and saying something about God and heaven and places that were too far away to know about. But Imogen had gone deaf again; the only thing she could see was Draven’s white face lying on the cot.

“We must take Draven home,” Tess said to her, and that made sense. That was the only thing that made sense. They couldn’t stay in the stable, around the horses. So she allowed Tess to draw her to her feet. She walked beside the bed and held his hand as they carried it, but his hand was limp, not like Draven’s. Draven was always moving, always talking—

So she put down his hand, and they carried the bed into the sunshine.

He didn’t open his eyes.

And then they went home.

And Draven came with them, in his own carriage.

Chapter 34

W hen they reached Lady Clarice’s house, Rafe was there with Annabel and Josie; Lucius had sent a groom ahead to ask Rafe to tell Lady Clarice. Tess would have expected hysteria, tears, screams…. There was nothing. Lady Clarice sat like a statue in the sitting room. Her face was paper white, and she held a handkerchief, but she didn’t use it. She and Imogen sat next to each other, but whereas Imogen kept crumpling sideways into Annabel’s arms, sobbing so hard that she couldn’t breathe, Lady Clarice just patted Imogen’s hand and stared into space.

Tess sat next to Lucius, feeling as if she must do something, and yet—what was there to do? Rafe wandered around pouring doses of brandy into any unguarded teacup he found. They all sat about, and nothing much was said. And then nothing much was eaten at supper, and they retired. Imogen didn’t feel she could go back to the chambers she had shared with Draven, so Annabel and she went to a room together. Tess woke in the night, sobbing, Imogen’s farewell to Draven somehow entangled in her mind with her own farewell to her father. Lucius kissed her wet cheeks and held her in the dark.When Tess entered the drawing room in the morning, Imogen and Annabel were sitting together. Annabel was bending close to Imogen, saying something. Tess ran across the room and sat on Imogen’s other side, winding an arm around her shoulders. “How are you, dearest?” she asked.

Imogen didn’t look at her, just moved slightly, so that Tess’s arm fell away. “I’m just fine,” she said. She wasn’t wringing her hands or crying.

“I’ve been telling Imogen that she must eat,” Annabel said, in a rousing tone.

“Not at the moment,” Imogen said.

Tess hesitated. There was something slightly…slightly unwelcoming about the way Imogen was leaning against Annabel. She would have thought that Imogen would be in her arms. Not that Annabel wasn’t comforting, but after their mother died, she, Tess, had always—

Lucius entered the room, and she looked at him in relief, but as she turned back to Imogen, she saw something in her eyes. A flash of pain?

Of course! Lucius’s very presence must be painful to Imogen, since they married virtually at the same time, and Tess’s husband was still alive. She rose and walked to Lucius. “May I see you privately for a moment?” she asked.

“Always,” he replied, bowing to her sisters.

An hour later she returned, trying to ignore the fact that she didn’t want Lucius to be on his way home without her. Yet her first loyalty was to Imogen.

But the moment she walked back in the room, Imogen looked up. Her face was white but for burning flags of color in her cheeks. “I would prefer to be alone.”

Tess froze, staring at her.

“If you don’t mind,” Imogen added, leaning her head on Annabel’s shoulder and closing her eyes.