Suitors and Sabotage(53)
“Dear Emily. Yes, my dear Emily.” Clasping her hands to her bodice, Emily lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “At last.”
“That is wonderful, Emily.” Imogene heard the waver in her voice and glanced over at her friend. Emily had not noticed.
“I know. We will be sisters after all!”
Imogene closed her eyes and felt the slow blanket of misery swaddle her entire body. “I don’t believe we will,” she said. “I know Ernest to be an admirable person, but alas, my heart is not affected. My appreciation for him is that of a friend, and no matter how I try to see him otherwise, I see only a friend.” The realization was as new to her as it was to Emily, but it felt right, true.
Imogene opened her eyes to find Emily staring at her.
“Oh, Imogene, I am sorry.”
“Strangely enough, so am I. Ernest is such a kind person; the very sort of husband I should be happy to call my own. And now … well, now I must disappoint him terribly.”
“When will you tell him?” There was an unnatural stillness to Emily’s shoulders.
“As soon as possible. It is not fair to string him along. Poor Ernest has been at my beck and call for long enough.”
“Could you wait, Imogene? Please?”
With a deeply entrenched brow, Imogene tipped her head, trying to understand.
“If you tell Ernest right away, they will leave. Ben will go. And … and he has only just come to realize … Please, Imogene, can you delay? Just for a day or two.”
“But, Emily, that’s not fair to Ernest.”
“Yes, it is true.… But … might you not use the time to prepare him? Hint to him that your attachment might not be what he had hoped for … make the blow a little softer by…”
“Preparing him?”
“Yes, exactly.” Emily beamed, not hearing the repetition of her own words. She reached over to hug Imogene.
Behind Emily’s back, Imogene swallowed and fought back tears. She didn’t know if the excessive emotion was the result of losing Ben or the thought of hurting Ernest. It hardly mattered.
*
AFTER HAVING HEARD Jake and Percy discuss at length how they might change a cold, somewhat drafty gallery into an enchanted forest, Ben considered taking his art lesson elsewhere. After all, he had lost his teacher. Scrubbing at his face and wishing himself back in Musson House, away from all intoxicating, lingering scents, Ben collected his papers and stuffed them back into his folder.
“Ready?”
Ben looked up to find Ernest staring down at him. “Ready for what?”
“To rehearse, of course. I was in the library when these fine ladies came to get me.” He smiled rather broadly and then stepped aside to allow Ben the sight of the bright, open expression of Emily and the serious countenance of Imogene. The second was rather worrisome, for Imogene’s seriousness held more than a hint of melancholy.
“Is all well?” he asked, and was reassured with a false smile and overly cheerful tone that it was.
Ben spent the hours before luncheon observing Imogene, trying to discern the reason for her disquiet. There was no outward show of bashfulness, and she did not refrain from expressing her opinion or calling out cues in regard to the play, but it was with a most lackluster timbre. She did stare and converse with Ernest far more than was her norm, but without any pleasure. Yes, that was the missing ingredient. There was absolutely no gladness in her—as if she were defeated, dejected, and beaten down.
No one seemed to notice.
Several times, he pointed out as much to Emily, who apparently needed to be at his elbow the entire rehearsal, and yet she merely laughed and said Imogene was tired.
With a quick luncheon, the afternoon was spent the same as the morning. The rehearsal went well; so much so that it was thought the performance could take place in another day, perhaps two. Of all the actors, Ernest had the most difficulty with his lines, which was not to be wondered at. His brother had never aspired to the stage. The jibes from Percy were now few and seemed more rote than venomous. Jake desisted completely. And yet the hilarity was not as unfettered as it had been.
At dinner, Ben watched Imogene offer Ernest far more attention than she had previously. Any passing comment that might be considered critical to his person would see Imogene leap to his defense, invariably followed by a wistful smile.
Ben pondered a tragic possibility. Had Imogene capitulated to her father’s demands without returning Ernest’s regard? If that were the case, it would be a misfortune for them both—for them all. Her melancholy ate at Ben. His belly churned. Even the lemon ices held no appeal.
*
“I HAVE WON the day,” Ernest said, puffing up his chest, standing akimbo in the center of the tower room. “Imogene will soon give me leave to make my offer—perhaps as early as tomorrow. Did you see how she hung on my every word?” He reached over to Ben, slapping him on the shoulder. “It was worth the journey and the awkward greeting. All will be well.… All will be better than well.”
With a great grin that served only to increase Ben’s queasiness, Ernest turned to Matt. “There is no longer any doubt of her attachment.”
Looking nonplussed, Matt blinked. “Excellent, sir. Very glad to hear it.” He stood before the wardrobe hesitant, as if unsure of his role in this atmosphere of conflicting emotions. He had just raised his hand to take their coats when a knock sounded at the door.