Suitors and Sabotage(30)
More important, she wondered if Ben … no, Ernest … missed her company.
chapter 8
In which Imogene and Emily rush to the door … with elegance and grace, of course
Being sequestered had one benefit—though only one that she could conceive. Imogene could avoid the long-winded sermon of the Reverend Harris the following morning. The good Reverend had a tendency to preach fire and brimstone, yelling from the pulpit one minute and whispering the next. It was all very dramatic.… Or it would be if it were not the same every Sunday. Imogene was never entirely certain that the words changed—so repetitive was his diction.
The greatest loss was, of course, Emily’s company. Mrs. Beeswanger, in the interest of protecting her daughter from the possibility of ill health, had rearranged the bedrooms. Emily was now sharing with Pauline, while Harriet was placed on a trundle bed with Miss Watson. No one was very pleased with the change, but, as it would be of short duration, they all made the best of it.
Before he left, Ernest sent Imogene a lovely three-page note full of flowery language. He expressed his disappointment that he would have to wait a full fortnight before seeing her again, but he thanked the heavens that the Beeswangers thought to invite him and Ben to Shackleford Park. Such a great and wondrous kindness. Until that glorious, fateful day, Ernest would wait impatiently and anticipate their marvelous reunion.
On the bottom of the third page, Ben had added a sketch—a small drawing of a dog and a few scrawled lines explaining that the tangle behind the dog represented the ruins and the moat.
By the time Imogene was allowed up and out of her shuttered, stuffy room, all the company had gone. Her sneeze had not developed into anything more than a runny nose and a mild sore throat, certainly nothing resembling a deadly contagion. Storm in a teacup, Imogene decided with no little asperity.
The manor seemed inordinately quiet. Not only were the Steeples, Tabards, and Beeswangers gone, but their servants were as well. The opportunity to question Matt or Kate about the topaz necklace would now have to wait until they all arrived at Shackleford Park. But would it matter by then? Betty, the Chively housemaid, had seen nothing out of the ordinary.
“So many strangers about the place, miss, there were no telling where everyone were supposed to be.”
The idea that Percy and Jake were part of the riddle remained in the back of Imogene’s mind for some days; tenacious thoughts that also laid the blame of Jasper’s misadventure at their feet. There seemed nowhere else to put it.
As the days passed, Imogene spent more and more time in her studio doing very little painting. She was restless and preferred to design lessons for Harriet and Ben instead. She tried not to think of Ben and Ernest overly … with little success.
Fortunately, Ernest was in her mind nearly as much as Ben. While she did not have the excuse of trying to teach Ernest how to draw, he was the one to whom her Father continually referred at dinner. Quotes. Ernest said this, Ernest said that. Father attributed many adages to Ernest … none of which Imogene had heard the young man utter. It mattered not; managing other people’s lives had always kept her father happy.
Imogene ignored it as best she could.
*
“YOUR EYES ARE brighter than the sun. I cringe in your shadow,” Ben stated with one arm outstretched, as he swayed with the rhythm of his black thoroughbred, Lancelot, and kept a firm grasp on the reins with the other hand.
“No.”
“I promise to love you until we are old and gray, shriveled and shrunken.”
“No.”
“I will do anything to win your heart: swim the widest ocean, slay a dragon … read a book.”
Ernest sighed, rather deeply. One could hardly blame him; Ben had been gleefully offering proposal advice for the past hour. It helped to ward off the monotony. They had been on the road to Shackleford Park for the better part of three hours, and Ben was restless.
“No.”
Ben looked around surprised. “What? Oh yes, no dragon slaying. They are hard to come by these days.”
Ernest sighed again and gave him a long-suffering look. It wasn’t as effective as it might have been had his brother not been swaying on the back of his white-starred thoroughbred, Arthur. It was not his usual bob but a tired side-to-side sort of motion, not in the least dignified.
Ben grinned. “Enlighten me, then. How are you going to go about it?”
“I haven’t thought on it overly.”
With a snort, Ben shook his head and dropped his arms. He knew that to be a bouncer. He had seen his brother’s crumpled efforts collecting under the desk in the Musson House library. In truth, Ben did not envy his brother this step toward matrimonial bliss. If Imogene’s answer were a certainty, then—perhaps—the matter of how to propose would not be as worrisome. But as best as Ben could tell, Imogene was well on her way to friendship, but would it go further?
Recollecting her shy smile, Ben frowned and ignored the slight acceleration of his heart. It did not gallop or even run but merely trotted—signifying nothing more than an interest. And why would he not be interested in this gifted artist who made his mouth go dry when he thought of her standing in the rain, her gown clinging to her every curve and a look on her face that invited …
Invited cold reflection … that she would soon be betrothed to his brother and a most welcome sister-in-law. What a happy family they would be. Yes, the Steeples and the Chivelys getting together for Christmases and baptisms. Somehow the thought of baptisms brought a hitch to his calming thoughts, and he forced his mind to other topics, again.