Suitors and Sabotage(34)
Could she speak to Mama? Never. Cousin Clara would have known what to do. But … Imogene huffed again. Mrs. Beeswanger … no, Emily’s mother might not be pleased, either.
“That was a big sigh, miss,” Kate said as she closed the door behind her. “I hope it weren’t ’cause I were a bit longer than expected.” She handed Imogene a piece of folded paper. “I’m putting curls around Miss Emily’s face. It’s a little fussy.”
Imogene sat up straight, meeting Kate’s eyes in the mirror. “No. No, indeed.” For a moment, she considered asking Kate, but that would put the maid in an untenable position. Even without using names, it would be obvious to whom she was referring. No, Imogene would have to do this on her own. “I was deep in thought, is all.”
Kate smiled.
It was a knowing smile that made Imogene grit her teeth and look downward for a moment. She focused on the paper in her hand.
“What’s this?” Imogene lifted it so that Kate could see it in the mirror while she finished doing up the buttons.
“Don’t know, miss,” she said, glancing at the paper and then back down at the gown. “Found it under your door. A love note, mayhap?”
Imogene scoffed, flipped it open, saw Ben’s name, and flipped it closed. “Hardly,” she said as casually as one could when one was suddenly out of breath.
Watching Kate’s head nod without looking up, Imogene struggled for calm. Not only had Ben’s name jumped to the fore but also the word love. She would wait to read the note, wait until Kate finished her hair and left to check on Emily’s curls.
Waiting.
Still waiting.
Why did an upsweep take so long!
Imogene smiled and thanked Kate for her hard work. She really had done a wonderful—
There, the door was closed.
Imogene paced around the room—briefly. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she swallowed several times, breathing deeply. After a moment of trying to steady her nerves, she gave up and flipped the note open, reading it quickly.
My dearest, dearest Imogene,
Now that we are reunited, I find it impossible not to express my true feelings. We are so often together, but while walking with Emily, my thoughts are of you—you alone. In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
Benjamin
Gasping, Imogene hugged the note to her bodice. She stared across the room, not seeing the far wall but his face. Her beloved! Tears of joy threatened to spill, and she swallowed against the excess emotion—exhilarated beyond reason. She could hardly think straight. She wanted to run from the room, shout his name, and fling herself into his arms. The thought sent her heart racing and her knees shaking.
Giving the note an extra squeeze, Imogene held it up to read again. This time she whispered his beautiful declaration. By the third reading, she grew bold and spoke the words aloud.
And then she stopped … frowned and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
Imogene reread the note a fourth time but not out loud, not even a whisper. And as she did, her heart stopped pounding. She no longer gasped for air, and her exhilaration faded into weariness.
This was not what it seemed; this was not a love note from Ben—or Benjamin. She had seen his distinctive scrawl on the bottom of her letter from Ernest; this handwriting was not in the least similar. There was no sketch anywhere on the paper, and the prose was awkward, as if being made to fit the context. In fact, the words were familiar. And the more Imogene thought about it the more she was incensed; this passage was from Pride and Prejudice—one of her favorite Jane Austen novels.
How could they? Imogene knew the villains of this horseplay: Percy and Jake, without a doubt. They likely thought this funny. Imagined Imogene running to Ben agog, only to be rebuffed and made ridiculous. Would they watch, waiting to laugh, waiting to mock, waiting to see her brought low?
Had Percy recognized the expression in her eyes when they had greeted the new arrivals? It mattered not; she would give no satisfaction.
Folding the note, Imogene tore it in half, then quarters, then eighths. She continued to shred the paper until it was a littered mess at her feet. And then she turned to the looking glass and practiced smiling. But as much as she might try, the anger stayed in her eyes.
chapter 9
In which an unremarkable excursion is interrupted by a challenge
The atmosphere of Shackleford Park was remarkably different from that of Gracebridge Manor. Considering it was merely a backdrop change—like a stage play—and the actors were the same, the change was indeed … um, remarkable.
Perhaps when Mr. Chively was no longer called upon to impress, to be the best of all possible hosts, he found the ability to put a smile on his face. Or was it the news that Lord Penton was indeed interested in seeing the old castle’s stonework? Mrs. Chively’s affable expression hinted that she preferred playing the cherished guest to that of hostess. Her biting asides to Imogene were fewer and not as sharp.
Still, if Ben were to note the most significant difference in the transplanting of the company to another country estate, it would be Imogene’s behavior. She was acting rather oddly. It was as if she were angry, seething, in fact, and yet he had not witnessed anything untoward. It was a puzzle. Something must have occurred between their arrival and dinner as she seemed to be just fine—quite pleased, actually—a few hours earlier. Yes, odd.