Suitors and Sabotage(20)
“You are a poet? Or an essayist?”
Another hearty laugh. “Would that I were. No, I’m afraid it is much worse than that.… I am a reader. Nothing that I like better than quiet days of contemplation and the written word.” He breathed deeply through his nose and then sighed. “I realized that I wasn’t being fair. If we are to know if we suit, I have to be honest. So the truth is now before you. I will no longer maintain the facade of being an art aficionado.” He stared at her for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting in a quirky—rather appealing—smile. “Please tell me that you have done the same. It will make me feel so much better about my deception.”
Imogene frowned ever so slightly. She was confused. Staring into the eyes of Ernest Steeple, she felt her heart stir; this young gentleman might not be a charmer, as was his brother, but that did not make him any less engaging. It was merely a different sort of charm. Ernest’s allure was not flashy but understated and gentle.
“I have indeed been cutting shams, Ernest.” It was the first time that she had used his name comfortably. “I cannot say if I enjoy the paintings of Turner … as I have seen only one.” Again, Imogene was rewarded for her sauciness by a broad grin. She thought she might enjoy getting to know Ernest, after all. She appreciated his honesty, and his laugh was rather captivating.
*
THE NEXT MORNING, Ben stood at the bottom of the main staircase, leaning on the newel post, trying to look casual. Sawyer had walked by several times, eyeing him with speculation, but said nothing. Campbell’s book The British Architect–Volume Two was not providing the distraction he needed as he pulled out his pocket watch every few minutes to check the time. Harriet had come down from her lesson a full quarter hour earlier, and yet there was still no sign of Imogene.
“Steady on,” Ernest said without looking up from his own book. He was relaxing with the historical novel Waverly in the sitting area by the window. The large entrance doubled as a reading room.
“Easy for you to say.… You are not going to expose your darkest secret.”
“No, I did that yesterday.”
“Hardly. Admitting that you know nothing of art doesn’t qualify. Perhaps if you had told Imogene that you snore, then that might—”
“I do not snore.” Ernest’s protest was mild. He sighed and continued to read.
“Who snores?”
Ben turned to find Imogene standing on the landing looking down at them with curiosity.
“No one. No one. Just giving Ernest a hard time, is all. Yes indeed, that’s all.”
“Brotherly banter, then?”
“Yes. Indeed.” Ben shifted to stand out of the way—closer to the unlit fireplace, no, a little more toward the hall, yes, there. Perfect. He lifted his chin and realized that Imogene had descended and was now watching him from a distance of a mere six or seven feet.
“Is anything amiss?”
“Yes, I mean, no. Might I have a word with you?” Without allowing her time to decline, Ben gestured to the empty chair opposite Ernest. Once she was seated, Ben lowered himself onto the cushioned window seat between them.
This was the best arrangement. All seats were occupied, discouraging others from joining them and … and he could head for the door if he felt the sudden urge to flee.
“Are you quite all right?” Imogene looked genuinely concerned.
“Not entirely.” Ben shook his head, surprised that this conversation was proving to be so difficult. “Since I was a child … No, that might be going back too far. When Lord Penton took me on…” Scrubbing at his face, Ben pursed his lips for a moment and began again. “I was hoping that I might solicit your help.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t know to what I am referring yet.”
“Indeed not, for you are being rather enigmatic; however, if there is something that I can do that would assist you, then of course you can count on me.”
“Told you,” Ernest said, looking over his book at the two of them.
Imogene sniffed a laugh and turned back to Ben. “Apparently, Ernest told you that would be the case. So perhaps you might now enlighten me about my role.”
Ben smiled back, feeling a modicum of tension drain from his shoulders. “It is a familiar role for you.” He sat up straighter and took a deep breath, preparing to let it all spill out—to get it over with. “Might you be prevailed upon to take on a new art student?”
“Gladly. Teaching is a pleasure.”
“Excellent. Then might I ask you to teach me to draw?” Ben held his breath. He stared at her, waiting for Imogene’s eyes to cloud over, censure to change her expression, ridicule … mockery …
“Of course.”
Ben blinked, certain it could not be that easy. “I want nothing more in life than to be an architect. But one has to have some ability to render if one is to be a success.”
“Of course.”
Ben frowned at her smile and continued to explain. “When Lord Penton took me on, I was not entirely honest. I indicated to him that I had some talent.”
“You out-and-out lied, Ben,” Ernest said unhelpfully.
“Yes, well, there might have been a little prevarication.” Ben glared at his brother, who glared back in silence. “Fine. I offered a bouncer.”