Suitors and Sabotage(21)

Ernest lifted his brow at Imogene. “He lied.”

Imogene nodded and then turned back to stare at Ben, considering for some minutes.

As expected, her expression began to change. But not in the direction that Ben anticipated—not censure but calculation, not ridicule but understanding, not mockery but concern.

“It will take a considerable amount of practice,” she said at last. “I can help you in the time we have, but, Ben, you will not be able to create a masterpiece in a day … or a week … or even by the end of the summer, for that matter.”

“I don’t need to create a masterpiece—not this year, at least. I need to be able to sketch various elements of a building. Small pieces. A cornerstone. A cornice. A sill or a doorway. Up until now, I have written out descriptions.… And Lord Penton has noticed.”

“Ben’s previous drawing teachers were talented in landscapes, seascapes … you know, vistas. They did not—could not—concentrate on architectural details,” Ernest explained.

Imogene smiled. It was a beautiful sight, offering hope. “My forte.”

“Exactly,” Ernest and Ben said together.

“And you would prefer word not get back to Lord Penton.”

“Exactly … or at least not get back to him until I can demonstrate some skill. Not a secret per se…”

Imogene’s gaze shifted to the window behind him. “It would be too apparent were you to join Harriet.… But I often sketch at the old castle.… And you were asked to oversee the repairs. Yes, that might suit.” She turned to Ernest. “Would you care to join us?”

“If you don’t mind. I will bring my book and not disturb you.”

Ben watched as Imogene smiled shyly at Ernest and felt a twinge of the oddest sensation. Had he not known better, he might have called it jealousy.

*

THE AFTERNOON PROVED IDYLLIC. There were just enough clouds to offer interesting shadows; it was not too hot to make them uncomfortable but hot enough to discourage flies. The scent of flowers wafted on the breeze, and the elm offered shade and cover. Hence, no distractions—save one.

Jasper.

Ben had arrived first at the rendezvous point on the hill overlooking the castle, waiting anxiously. Now that the worst was over, in regard to revealing his lack of talent, Ben could concentrate on the process … and worry instead about whether he would ever be able to draw adequately. Imogene had joined him shortly thereafter with paper and graphite pencils.

They were discussing Ben’s first subject when Ernest arrived with Jasper. It was a masterful stroke. Imogene was quite distracted—completely forgetting to be uncomfortable in his presence. In fact, she was so pleased to see that Jasper was improving—if somewhat less bouncy—that she treated Ernest as if he had had something to do with Jasper’s recovery, when, in fact, all he had done was release the dog from his compound and lead him to Imogene. Ernest had done just as Ben had suggested—found a way to look heroic in Imogene’s eyes.

It was most irritating.

“But it’s just a rock.” Ben looked at the gray form that Imogene had placed in front of him.

“You have to start somewhere. And I need to know what you can do.” She widened her eyes and pointed, looking quite owlish. “Draw!”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Draw!”

Ben grumbled under his breath but set to work.

At first, the indistinct mass looked entirely like a nameless shape … until Imogene showed him that one side of the rock was pointed, that there was a shadow in the sun’s lee, and that it was rough on top. The more she pointed out, the more the shape became a rock, and Ben started to understand why Imogene kept saying, “See, don’t look.”

He had no idea how long they sat under the tree focused on the bloody rock, but when he eventually lifted his head, Ernest and Jasper were asleep, both snoring softly. Imogene, however, stared at him with a gentle smile—though he did not understand why.

He frowned his question.

Wordlessly, she lifted his paper from his knee and held it up.

There it was—a rock. The drawing would not win any awards, but without a doubt a rock in shape and definition.

“Success,” he said, causing Ernest to stir and mumble in his sleep. “Success,” he said again, this time in a whisper.

“Yes.” Imogene looked proud.

And then he frowned. It had taken him hours and a lot of intervention from his teacher to draw a simple object. A simple, irregular object. Nothing even remotely as complex as a cornice, let alone as intricate as the chimneypiece in Imogene’s studio. He sighed.

“This is going to take a long time.”

Imogene’s smile faded slightly until it took on a wistful appearance. “I’m afraid so.”

*

STANDING THE SKETCH against the glass above the window seat in his bedroom, Ben stood back to stare at it. He was pleased, too much so. Really … it was just a rock.

“Lovely, sir,” Matt said, entering the room. He had Ben’s evening waistcoat and fresh neck-cloth in hand. “A bird, right?”

Incensed, Ben whirled around to see the amusement in Matt’s eyes. “No, indeed,” Ben replied loftily. “It’s a glen, with children playing in the grass. Here we have a little boy”—he pointed at the rock’s shadow—“teasing his sisters while a horse runs through the background. It’s all symbolic.”