Suitors and Sabotage(2)
Imogene sighed again. It was a long-suffering sigh, not that of eager anticipation.
Benjamin Steeple bent to accept Jasper’s continued attention. It was the respite Imogene needed, and it gave her time to take a few deep breaths, release the tension in her shoulders, and lift her cheeks into the semblance of a smile. As the mutual enthusiasm continued for some minutes, Imogene had an opportunity to observe Mr. Benjamin without reserve.
They had met once before, at a soiree in Mayfair. Though her glance of Ernest’s younger brother had been for a short duration—and she had spent the entire length of the conversation staring at his shoes—she had seen the likeness immediately.
There was no doubting that Ernest and Benjamin were brothers, and being so close in age, at twenty and nineteen, it would be difficult for anyone without the knowledge to say who was the elder.
Similar in build, the Steeple boys were tall, loose-limbed, and broad-shouldered. They both had dark brown hair, but Ernest wore his longer, brushed back from a widow’s peak. Ernest’s face was slightly broader; Benjamin’s chin was slightly sharper. And while Ernest had an open smile, Benjamin’s smile was wider, getting wider and wider—as Imogene continued to examine his face without speaking.
Oh Lud! She was staring.
Imogene gulped in discomfort and prayed for some sort of distraction—anything: a sudden rainstorm, a stampede of goats … or a fast friend coming to the rescue.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Steeple, and a lovely surprise.”
Imogene’s eyes grew wide—horror of horrors, was Emily going to tell him that they had not been expected until the next day? While true, it might cause him embarrassment. Imogene cringed with the thought of mortifying poor Mr. Benjamin. What should she say? How could she prevent this travesty?
However, instead of flushing and looking uncomfortable, Benjamin Steeple executed a well-practiced bow. “Yes, we are a day early, aren’t we? Ernest would not be stopped; he could think of nothing else but to see this part of the country.” He did not turn to look at Imogene, but his eyes flicked in her direction and then quickly back to Emily. “I apologize for the interruption. I did not know that you were here.”
“That is disappointing, Mr. Steeple. I thought it was our company that brought you to the ruin—that you sought us out.”
“Had I known, had Ernest known, we would have been here an hour ago, but alas it was indeed the call of these old stones that sent me down the hill.” He gestured toward Gracebridge, the large sandstone manor visible behind Imogene, and then turned, making a show of looking at the ruin’s tower and south wing, where the sun glinted off the many panes of the mullioned windows. It was the only part of the castle still intact. The adjacent great hall and the floor that had been over it were gone; three arched doorways, and above them six glassless windows, led into the roofless shell, where all but the staircase had suffered from the ravages of time.
“And what do you think, Mr. Steeple? Does the castle live up to your expectations?” Emily turned toward the old hall. Imogene knew her interest to be a pretense. The building had lost its allure to her friend when Emily had learned that there were no ghosts or ghouls within its crumbling walls.
Mr. Benjamin took a deep breath, almost a sigh. “Indeed, yes, indeed. Wasn’t really a castle, though, was it? Not any longer. More of a fortified manor. Elizabethan?” Still staring up at the tower, he turned his body, stepped forward, and almost collided with Imogene. “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”
He glanced down, arms outstretched, preparing to catch her should she take a tumble. With effort and relief, Imogene retained her balance. She nodded her appreciation.
Mr. Benjamin shrugged with well-executed nonchalance, then offered Emily one arm, Imogene the other. “Shall I escort you back to your piazza?” he asked, using his head to indicate the blanket by the moat.
Emily grinned, accepting with alacrity. Imogene, however, was loath to put her arm in the crook of his elbow.… But it would be the height of bad manners to ignore the gentlemanly gesture. She timidly lifted her arm.
The young gentleman hooked her hand and with little fuss tucked it in place as if he took the arm of young ladies every day—which she supposed he did, being that he had been in London for the Season. Oh dear, and now he was walking. Imogene tried to match his pace, saw him look over with a friendly smile, and then, suddenly, their gait was in harmony. The awkwardness of their promenade disappeared, and Imogene sighed in relief—and then worried that he had heard it.
But if he had, Benjamin Steeple showed no sign and merely led them to the blanket by the moat. Jasper trotted happily in their wake. He assisted Emily as she gracefully reclined beside the basket.
“Yes, I believe the old Norman castle was rebuilt in the Elizabethan era.” Emily returned to the question at hand, glancing toward Imogene for a sign.
Imogene nodded, and Emily smiled. “Yes, Elizabethan.” It was a brilliant smile, well executed: spontaneous, friendly, and slightly sassy.
Imogene thought Emily had pulled it off with great aplomb, but when she looked to see how it was received, she noted that Mr. Benjamin was not looking in Emily’s direction. He was still studying the ruin.
With a shake of his head, Mr. Benjamin turned to face them. Silence reigned for eons—perhaps a moment or two—and then Emily and Benjamin Steeple began to speak at the same time.