Suitors and Sabotage(31)
Looking behind him, he saw that Matt’s cart was lagging behind, and he pulled up Lancelot to wait. He heard Ernest do the same but did not look over until he heard his brother clear his throat—as if he were about to broach an uncomfortable subject.
“I was wondering,” Ernest started to say, then paused and started again. “Well, I know it to be an imposition as it is and to ask further is…”
“Spit it out, brother. You are being mysterious, and it does not suit you.”
“I was wondering…”
“You said that already.”
“Yes, but I still don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“I saw that Emily was somewhat taken with you, and I wondered if you felt any affinity toward her, because if you do, that would be wonderful and marvelous and all that. But if you are just being charming—because that is what you do—I was wondering if you wouldn’t. It might cause Imogene a difficulty with Emily—being a friend and all. And I was wondering … I know I asked you to accompany me—and I can’t tell you how very much I appreciate your support and I could not do this with you—but I was wondering if you wouldn’t.”
“That didn’t make any sense whatsoever.”
Ernest looked crestfallen and then laughed. “It didn’t, did it?”
“No.”
Taking a deep breath, Ernest began again, speaking slowly—whether the purpose was to make himself clear or to settle his tumbling thoughts, it was not apparent. “I could not help noticing that Emily is rather taken with you.”
“I noticed that, too. Unlike Imogene, Emily is not shy.”
“Yes, just so. I would not wish Emily to be hurt, not only for her own sake but it would upset Imogene prodigiously. They have been fast friends all their lives.”
“Ah, you want me to be standoffish around Emily.”
“No, not at all. But perhaps a little more guarded. Unless all your tête-à-têtes are your way of getting to know Emily better … that she has imposed on you … that you are interested in her … conversation. Then that would be another matter altogether. Not that I am asking for a confidence, I … I…”
“You … you … are floundering again.”
“Yes.”
Seeing that Matt had caught up to them, Ben pulled Lancelot’s head around and heeled him into a walk. “I will be a little more prudent in my conversations with Emily so that neither she nor anyone else will make any assumptions. Emily is a very amiable and worthy young lady, and I enjoy her company immensely; however, I am not interested in being riveted as yet. Only at the start of my apprenticeship, if you recall.”
Riding alongside, Ernest nodded. “Of course. Though, long betrothals are not uncommon in circumstances such as these.”
“Yes. Well, I shall keep that in mind.”
Ernest sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Don’t get too comfortable, brother of mine. If I am not mistaken, Tishdale is dead ahead … and then on to Shackleford. And you still don’t know how you will propose. Have you considered throwing yourself at her feet and begging?”
“No.”
Ben laughed and continued with his absurd suggestions.
*
SHACKLEFORD PARK, TISHDALE, KENT—
LATE JULY 1817
AS EMILY AND IMOGENE meandered through the great rooms of Shackleford Park, Imogene could not help but reflect on how much more there was to impress in this elegant estate than at Gracebridge Manor. The affluence of the Beeswangers was patently obvious: from the quality of their furnishings and tapestries to the number of rooms and the large staff.
When their mothers and Cousin Clara had been school chums, there had been little difference in their social or monetary stature, and while each had married a gentleman, Mr. Beeswanger’s prosperity was decidedly more significant. It was not to be wondered at; Ralph Beeswanger inherited his fortune under the guidance of an exemplary land agent, and that fortune had grown.
Mr. Chively’s success came from an unexpected source: Cousin Clara’s husband, Mr. Tabard. Myles Tabard had inherited an estate weighted by debt. Without knowledge or management skills, Mr. Tabard could not prevent Greytower Hall from slipping further and further into the mire until Imogene’s father stepped in to help. It had not been an altruistic gesture on the part of John Chively. It had been a sensible business arrangement: one that brought both gentlemen success.
In the process, Imogene’s father had discovered a skill for organization, management, and banking; he had found himself a career. There was none more horrified than his wife. Olivia Earlton Chively had not been brought up to support a husband in trade.… But after a few years of prosperity, Imogene’s mother had decided that banking was not unlike being a magistrate or a bishop. The social censure she had felt initially was tempered by large gatherings at the newly acquired London townhouse. And while Lady Scatney and Mrs. Redger might refuse to acknowledge them, Mother was on the best of terms with Mr. and Mrs. Alma, who were well-placed members of the Ton. Such was the complexity of proper society.
“I thought this might make a good study,” Emily said, pointing to the cornice above one of the windows in the dining room.
All of Emily’s suggestions involved rooms in the front of the house near windows. She was watching, as was Imogene, for the arrival of two young gentlemen of the surname Steeple.