Suitors and Sabotage(24)
Flirtation at its finest.
Imogene wondered if she should take notes.
“Thank you. Almost done.” Ben shifted the paper out from under Emily’s fan. He continued to frown, adding an additional line here and there. “Imogene, there is a problem. The edge is not clear, and the ivy … well, it looks more like…”
“Cracks.” Emily nodded, unaware of the insult.
Ben cleared his throat. “Yes, apparently the ivy looks like cracks.”
“But very nice cracks,” Emily clarified.
“Indeed. My ivy has the appearance of very nice cracks.” He gave Imogene a long-suffering look.
Imogene chuckled, setting her own sketch aside and leaning across from the other direction—without touching Ben’s shoulder or batting her eyelashes.
They were lounging in the shadowed grass next to what used to be the chapter house of Carden Abbey. It was a ruin now, abandoned during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the sixteenth century. Many of the stones had been carted away over the years until all that remained were the arches of the cathedral and parts of the monks’ meeting room.
Ben was attempting to draw one corner of the room. Ivy had grown up and over the half wall, creating a lovely tableau that had appealed to Ben immediately. Imogene had suggested something simpler or even a portion of the wall; that would be more in keeping with his present skill level … but—well …
“This is dreadful!”
Imogene straightened and caught the paper, with its accompanying board, just as Ben attempted to pitch it into the grass.
“It is not dreadful,” she said as she righted it and then studied the sketch. Not dreadful but quite grim. Ben had overworked the piece to the point that it was a mass of gray lines with no definition. “Merely indistinct,” she added. And the scale was off-kilter, too, but she would deal with that at a later date. “An easy fix. Watch.” With a few deft strokes—darker strokes—the wall gained dimension—though there was little she could do with the ivy.
Ben huffed a sigh. “Yes, that’s better—but … I will listen to you next time. Something simpler.”
Imogene nodded. “You can’t run before you can walk.”
“Speaking of walking, can we?” Emily’s expression was bright and hopeful. She shifted as if she were about to rise. “I am stiff from sitting overlong and would so enjoy a little stroll around the abbey.” She winked at Imogene while she reached for her parasol.
With a nod, Ben untangled his long limbs, stood, stretched, and then offered Emily a hand up. “Shall we?” he asked like a true gallant. Once he got Emily to her feet, Ben pulled her arm through the crook of his, and they set off across the grass.
“And you?” Ernest inquired. Unlike the rest of the company, he had relaxed in the sun—under a wide-brimmed hat, of course. Sitting on the ruined wall nearest the group, Ernest had a placid expression as he swatted languidly at a pestering insect. As usual, he had brought a book. “Would you care for a meander?”
Glancing down at her unfinished sketch, Imogene hesitated. She seldom left her work incomplete, and yet the prospect of a stretch held enough appeal that she looked around for her parasol, too.
Soon they were arm in arm, swaying in unison at an easy gait. They took the path opposite the one Ben and Emily had chosen, and so for a time the couples were out of each other’s sight. It would have caused shock and consternation had Mama been aware of this little breach, but Imogene had no intention of informing either of her parents.
Chatting comfortably, Imogene was quite content, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to be married to this kind, handsome young man. Ernest was all that she had ever imagined in a husband: quiet, calm, and while not actively interested in her art, he did not dismiss it as worthless, either. He had the approval of her father, which was a major accomplishment in itself, and most important, there seemed to be great affection in his eyes when he looked her way. She felt comfortable in his presence, which was a surprise. While she let him carry the weight of the conversation, she could comment without nervousness and self-doubt. Yes, it was all very pleasant.
Then, as they rounded the arch leading to what had been the nave, the sight of Emily laughing and Ben smiling—oblivious to all but each other—gave Imogene pause. Her belly clenched, and she felt a sudden need to turn away. Lifting her gaze back to Ernest, she concentrated on his mouth and his delivery of a Lord Byron poem. Imogene knew “She Walks in Beauty” well enough, and by focusing on each individual word, she found the strength to push back the distress that threatened to overwhelm her sensibilities.
It took some minutes for Imogene to recover her equilibrium and bury her yearning. When she did, Imogene turned her head again toward Emily and Ben, noting her friend’s high color, her broad grin, and the way she leaned closer than was likely considered proper. Imogene smiled, happy for her friend. And if the tableau blurred a little with unshed tears, she would blame the brightness of the sun.
*
“MIGHT I SPEAK to you, Percy?” Imogene asked while reaching for her brother’s arm, giving him no chance to refuse. She had dressed quickly for dinner and rushed to the bottom of the main staircase so that she might have this very conversation. She could hardly allow him to escape at this juncture. Naturally, Percy complied, though Jake, who was at his elbow, thought the invitation included him, which it did not. Still, she could hardly quibble.