Suitors and Sabotage(51)
Within a short space of time, the tension had eased enough that their dealings were reasonably amicable. Missteps, missed cues, muddles, and mayhem provided enough hilarity to distract everyone. Laughter abounded. The atmosphere inside was the antithesis of the storm outside. Even Percy came around when they started discussing props and costumes.
*
DESPITE THE CONTINUING RAIN, Ben unhooked the window latch and pushed the tower window open. At least the wind was coming from the other direction and not likely, hopefully, to pour into the room. The smell of must was just too strong for them to remain shuttered in the tower all night without some fresh air. The temperature of the gray stone room dropped precipitously, but the blankets on the bed looked ready to remedy any chill.
“Are you sure you will be all right?” Ben asked Matt as he hung up Ernest’s coat in the wardrobe. “In the stables?” He looked at the rough carpet in the sparsely furnished room. “I had hoped that there might be a place for you in here … but—”
“Not to worry, Mr. Ben. The men’s quarters are above the stables—they’re not putting me in the hayloft. Sharing with the Beeswangers’ valet. Nice fella. I’ll be just fine.” A slight frown creased across his brow. “I might be better off than you.”
Ernest snorted as he pulled off his neck-cloth. “It wouldn’t be hard.” He glanced at Ben. “Don’t you get tired of being right? It must be tedious.”
“To which aspect of this fiasco do you refer?” Ben dropped onto the bed to remove his boots; there was no chair beside the washstand … not even room for a chair. The mattress was lumpy, and the board beneath squeaked.
“I was speaking of the lack of accommodation—though, I would not call this a fiasco. Far from it. I grant you the welcome was a little frosty, but I believe we won the day. That was, in fact, the most entertaining evening we have had since we joined this traveling menagerie. A shame that the soprano Mr. Tabard had hired never showed, likely deterred by the storm, but there was enough easy conversation to compensate.”
“Humph,” Ben offered.
“Even Percy and Jake seemed to come around.”
“Yes, well. That was more a lowering of hackles than an out-and-out capitulation. I am not yet ready to let bygones be bygones. They have still to atone for their tomfoolery—that verged on nastiness—but it seemed politic to appear as if matters were resolved. Imogene looked quite anxious until I did.”
“Thank you, Ben … for putting Imogene’s emotional state ahead of your own. I do appreciate it.”
Ben winced and looked up at his brother, but Ernest had his head down, shucking off his waistcoat. Ben met Matt’s gaze instead. It said nothing and spoke volumes at the same time. Had Matt realized what Ernest had not, that Ben was besotted with Imogene? Ben looked away, not wanting to know the answer to that question.
“Yes, well. I’m not about to call them my friends, but we can certainly keep antagonism at bay … for now.”
“Excellent.”
By the time Matt had finished his duties and taken one of the candles away with him, Ben hunkered under the covers, listening to the rain, trying desperately not to think of Imogene. She had certainly changed from the appallingly shy young lady he had met in London. He had never seen her look so confident as she had ordering them about, calling out lines and stage directions. The penetrating stares she had fixed on him had set his heart to thrumming.… No. Stop. He was only making matters worse. Think of other things.
Emily had been rather charming. Lovely smile, slightly saucy expression. So different from Imogene. They were quite opposite in their natures. While Emily was confident, Imogene was hesitant. Though not as much as she had been.… No, no … he had circled back to a certain someone yet again.
Constant thoughts of someone kept drowsiness at bay. Even counting sheep did not help; the fence-jumping creatures gained Imogene-like qualities. A blond sheep here, a sheep smelling of roses there. Finally, he hit upon a distracting subject. Roof design. Yes, far more interesting than the color of someone’s eyes or hair or her gown or …
Gambrel, mansard, Dutch gable …
Ben was almost relieved to hear the start of a soft and low noise, like an echo of whispered indistinguishable words. It grew into a moan as the volume increased, came to a crescendo, and then faded, only to start again. It was rhythmic and constant and diverting. In no time at all, Ben’s eyelids became heavy, and with an amused smile, he drifted off to sleep.
*
GREYTOWER WAS POSSESSED of a long gallery lined with portraits of Tabard ancestors. It ran the length of the east wall next to the drawing room and offered a view of the front, side, and back of the house. It was somewhat chilly at either end due to a lack of proximity to the fireplace and the dampness of another rainy day. However, in the center, cozied up to the coals, the place became a snug little nest—which had nothing to do with Imogene’s presence.
“I like this one.” Ben passed a sketch to her from his folder. He had spent the entire time at Musson House drawing—to the point that his grandmother had asked him if he was ill; she was not used to such restrained behavior. “But these two … no, three. Here. I know something is wrong but not what.”
“This one is easy enough. Look at the angle of these two lines; they are supposed to be parallel, and yet—”