Suitors and Sabotage(11)
Ben glanced at Ernest, knowing he would be flummoxed. Ernest found great comfort in those strictures; they provided a template—expected behavior drilled into him since birth. Well, no, that was an exaggeration. Their regimented life had begun only when Sir Andrew and Lady Margaret had accepted the responsibility of two lads while their parents traipsed around the Continent. Still, five years of rules and regulations had been of comfort to Ernest … though not to Ben.
“Untoward, indeed, Mrs. Beeswanger,” he said, stepping into the fray, allowing Ernest to gather his wits. “But a welcome deviation. Another reason to appreciate country life.”
“Marvelous” was her reply, said with an exhalation as if she had been holding her breath.
Ernest’s silence continued a tad overlong, forcing Ben to nonchalantly shift in his brother’s direction and knock him shoulder to shoulder.
“Yes, yes, indeed.” Ernest came to life. He turned toward Imogene, raising his voice slightly to include the offset group. “Call me Ernest. Benjamin prefers Ben.”
Looking at Ben, Miss Chively smiled quite broadly. “Thank you, I shall. I’m Imogene.” She turned and swept her arm back as if to indicate those standing with her, but her gaze moved as she did, falling on Ernest. She turned a bright shade of pink—that Ben thought rather becoming—then blinked and swallowed, all in silence.
Clearing her throat, Miss Beeswanger secured the attention of the room. “Ernest … Benjamin … please, call me Emily.”
Ben noticed the use of his full name, pronounced slowly as if it were being measured, and he lifted the corner of his mouth, offering a weak smile. Benjamin was pretentious in his mind; it reminded Ben of his namesake, General Benjamin Steeple, a great-uncle of a stern and pompous repute. Not exactly a person he wished to emulate.
“These are my sisters, Pauline”—Emily gestured toward the older girl first and then, the younger—“and Hardly Harriet.”
“Em,” Hardly Harriet whined with a deeply entrenched frown and … yes, a pout. “You can’t say that to strangers. It’s not right.”
“I beg your pardon,” Miss Emily said, facing Ben, not her sister. “Harriet prefers Harry.”
“Do not!”
“Percy Chively.” The young man stepped forward with a nod, ignoring the teasing. “Everyone calls me Percy.” He, like his parents, was focused on Ernest.
“There we go. The formalities of the night are over; we can enjoy—” Mrs. Beeswanger started to say.
A gravelly noise emanated from the settee. They all turned toward the sound and the person making it—by clearing her throat.
“Oh, dear me. I apologize, Miss Watson. Please, let me introduce Miss Bertha Watson, Pauline and Harriet’s governess.”
With introductions truly complete this time, the host and hostess dragged Ernest into their group—almost literally, for Mrs. Chively asked Ernest to walk her to the window, a distance of a mere ten feet or so. Ben, unfettered for a moment, drifted toward Percy’s group. Though not interested in the man’s bragging about his hunting prowess, Ben thought this discourse held more promise than a soliloquy about the weather … or snuffboxes. Catching Miss Imogene’s eye, he winked, eliciting a light laugh from her. It sounded so enchanting that Ben was taken aback.
Looking down at Miss Imogene, Ben tried to imagine her as a member of the Steeple family and discovered that the prospect was no longer as unwelcome as it had been a mere day ago. In fact, the possibility was rather buoying.
*
“LORDY, LORDY, ERNEST. I don’t envy you your in-laws.… Possible in-laws.” Ben chuckled quietly while closing the door behind him. He had followed Ernest to his bedroom for a private chat about the whys and wherefores of their evening.
“Really? How could you not be fascinated by … now let me see if I recall—the compound interest of debt, or was it the compound debt of interest? No, no, I’m quite certain it was the former.… Or was it the latter?” With a snorting laugh, Ernest shook his head and pulled off his coat. “What in heaven’s name would give Mr. Chively the idea that I cared about the ins and outs of banking? His chosen occupation, not mine.” Ernest frowned at the door until it opened briefly to allow Matt to slip in, and then he handed the valet the coat and limp neck-cloth that he had just tugged free.
“Well, I might have mentioned something.”
“Ben, you didn’t.”
“Not intentionally. It was an innocent comment. We were talking of Musson House, and I simply stated that Grandfather already appreciated your opinion in regard to management of the estate. I was trying to impress the man with your competence; I did not know that he would take it as a sign that you were kindred spirits in all matters of economics. See, nothing untoward—all very innocent.”
Ben smiled, for in truth he had known that Mr. Chively would take the comment and run with it; though Ben had not expected the man to monopolize Ernest completely and leave his brother with no opportunity to woo all evening. Ben had meant to set his brother up for a boring conversation, not an entire night.
Ernest looked at Matt. “Does he ever make an innocent comment?”
“Not that I have observed, sir.” Matt made no attempt to hide his grin.
“See?” Ernest offered Ben an ineffectual glare. “In our employ only a month and already Matt knows that to be a bouncer. Really, Ben, the point of this visit is to become better acquainted with Miss Imogene, not her father.”