Suitors and Sabotage(35)
Doing his best to stay out of trouble—not too charming with Emily, pleasant to the governess, and engaging with the young gentlemen—Ben found his eyes settling on Imogene, finding her behind every chair, within any group, or imitating a statue by the window. And every time their eyes met, they blazed, as if he had caused the affront.… And he was fairly certain that he had not. It was rather disquieting.
When the party finally went in to dinner—and what a spectacular dining room it was—Imogene was seated far enough away that Ben could ignore his concern and dedicate his conversation to Pauline and Mrs. Chively. It was not stunning dialogue. Something about shoe roses preoccupied Pauline, and Mrs. Chively thought the Jessons might visit Gracebridge in the autumn … whoever they might be.
However, despite being two seats down on the other side of the table, Imogene mentioned him several times in her conversation with Ernest. Ben couldn’t help but notice … his ears perking up like a dog’s whenever she named him.
“Really? Ben doesn’t like green beans? How odd. Who doesn’t like green beans?” she said as Ben pushed the limp green vegetable to the side of his plate. “But I suppose he could be forgiven; it is an inconsequential flaw.” She sounded almost disappointed.
Several minutes later, Ben’s name entered the discussion again.
“So Ben has never read Jane Austen. Excellent. Very good to know. I thought as much.” Ernest assured her that though his brother was practically illiterate, Ernest had enjoyed every word of … some novel Ben had never heard of.
And then later: “Wednesday. That’s a shame; Wednesday’s child is full of woe,” Imogene had said when Ernest had laughingly declared what day of the week Ben had been born on. Ben had been chuckling with Pauline at the time.
Yes, it was all rather … odd.
Ben would get to the bottom of this in the morning. While naught had been said—too many ears, listeners, people about—there was an unexpressed agreement that the two couples would meet to break their fast and begin the art lessons anew.
*
THE NEXT DAY saw Ben and Ernest lingering in the morning room, coffee cooling at their elbows. By the time all the gentlemen—except Mr. Tabard—had set off on their various pursuits, Emily and Imogene entered the room ahead of the other ladies, who were still keeping town hours. Breakfast was a quiet meal, as all four were exceptionally aware of Mr. Tabard.
Looking over his paper, Mr. Tabard appeared to be well aware of them, too, and the studied silence. “Have I done something wrong?” he asked with a slight frown. “I assure you it was quite unintentional. Clara was always getting after me for my absentminded ways.… What did I do?”
“No, no, Mr. Tabard. All is well,” Imogene said.
“I will admit to finishing the last of the toast.… But I’m sure you can ring for more.”
“Yes, indeed.” Emily nodded and then lapsed into silence again.
Mr. Tabard looked from one face to another. “I can vacate the room if you like?” he said eventually. He tucked a long strand of gray hair behind his ear and returned his eyes to his newspaper. Clearly, the offer was not heartfelt.
“No, no, Mr. Tabard.” Emily chuckled without humor. “We are all but done. And I wish to show Benjamin the cornice in the dining room.”
“Didn’t he see it yesterday?” he asked without looking up.
“Indeed,” Ben interjected. “I need a closer look.”
They left the old gentleman lost in the latest issue of The London Times.
Closing the tall door to the dining room, art supplies waiting on the corner of the table, Ben rounded on Imogene.
But Emily was faster. “What is amiss, Imogene?”
Imogene lifted her brows and stared wide-eyed from Emily to Ben to Ernest and returned to Emily. All stared back. Slowly a flush crawled up her cheeks until Imogene’s entire face resembled a beet. “Naught. Why do you ask?” She swallowed with some difficulty and turned her eyes to the window.
“You are not acting yourself, Imogene.” Emily approached, putting an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “You would not say last night, and it kept me awake a full five minutes, tossing and turning. Has something happened?”
Imogene tittered awkwardly, turning back to the company. There was a sharp edge to the sound, but the storm in her eyes had disappeared. She offered Emily a weak smile, the blush fading. “I apologize. I was the brunt of more buffoonery, and it took longer for me to calm down than it ought to have.”
“Percy and Jake?” Emily asked.
Imogene nodded.
“What did they do?” Ernest looked as angry as Ben had ever seen him.
Imogene shook her head. “Nothing damaging. Mockery. The folly is now mine, for holding on to the annoyance for so long. I am certain they are off on another lark, having forgotten all about it. I have long since learned not to react; it only urges them on.”
“You did react,” Emily said, correcting.
“Not to Percy and Jake. They enjoy melodrama. They were likely hoping for a scene.” Again, she looked from face to face, this time with a bashful smile. “Only my nearest and dearest noticed.”
Simple words, but they did the job, for Ben was fairly certain they were meant to ease the tension in the room. Ernest grinned, Emily nodded, and Ben … well, he was a little too pleased to be included in this select group. He also tried not to notice that Imogene had given two young men of a short acquaintance—not her parents—that distinction.