Suitors and Sabotage(56)
“Percy and Jake were up very late with Ernest and Ben, Mr. Tabard,” Emily explained. “Chasing ghosts.”
Mr. Tabard started. “Ghosts? Spirits? Ethereal creatures wandering the land of the living lamenting their loss of … whatever they have lost? Nonsense. Utter nonsense. Clara would stand none of it. No, no. No ghosts at Greytower.” He turned back to Ben. “Did you catch it?”
Stifling another yawn, Ben shook his head. “No, sir, I’m afraid not.” He stood, pushing back his chair. “Think I need to clear my head. A brisk walk might do the job.”
Mr. Beeswanger leaned around Mr. Tabard. “Plenty of time, plenty of time. We won’t be going immediately, young man.”
Ben nodded and lifted his hand in a haphazard wave. “Excellent.”
“Might I join you, Benjamin? I would enjoy the fresh air as well.” Emily stood, not waiting for the reply. “I’ll just run upstairs for my bonnet.”
Imogene watched the Beeswangers share knowing looks and matching smiles as Ben and Emily left arm in arm.
*
TAVEROCK CASTLE WAS an odd, triangular fortress of red stone surrounded by a wide but shallow moat, which was now predominantly water lilies. It had undergone many alterations in its golden era but had been a ruin for the better part of fifty years. Time had taken its toll on the six-hundred-year-old building; crumbling, it was now half covered in ivy, home to countless birds and rodents and a bat or two. The grounds were rough from neglect but added to the charm. Far from possessing an atmosphere of desolation, this castle was now a destination for many a summer visitor in the northern part of Kent.
With the sea visible but not too close, the breezes were warm and the ambiance festive. At least it was festive for those who were not vastly uncomfortable walking beside a young gentleman with love and hope in his eyes, when said person would have to tell this kind gentleman that his patience was for naught. And yet said person was obligated to say nothing for at least a day or two—which she thought terribly unfair for all parties involved, and she was not sure she was going to be able to—
“I am going to invite everyone to Musson House,” Ernest declared, interrupting Imogene’s agonizing pangs of guilt.
She tipped her parasol to the side so that she might see him better. He was grinning; Imogene’s roiling insides did an extra tumble. “That is very kind of you but unnecessary.”
“Oh, I do not agree. I have been welcomed at Gracebridge, Shackleford … and Greytower, and I want to reciprocate the generosity.”
Imogene noticed the hesitation and thought Ernest’s attitude admirable considering the rude welcome he had received at Greytower.
“I spoke to Grandmother before we left, and she thought it a perfectly equitable idea. Besides,”—he cast her a come-hither look—“it is the perfect setting for any questions or offers that might be upcoming.” He pushed the hair out of his eyes and bobbed his brows.
“Please, Ernest, I would like to talk to you about friendship and the marvels of that institution.”
“Worry not, Imogene. I am not pressing you. I simply believe that your understanding of who I am might be better brought about when you see where I call home … and you might one day, too.”
Shaking her head, Imogene dropped the side of her parasol, cowardly hiding from his cheerful expression. “Ernest, I believe we—”
“I shall wait until dinner and speak to everyone all at once. Don’t want to ruffle any feathers about who was asked first.”
Most people would not care when an invitation was issued; however, her mother and father were not most people. Ernest was being observant and considerate again. Bother! “Ernest, my father might have given you the impression that I do not have a mind of my own.”
“Well, he tried. But I have—happily—learned better.” Taking her hand, he placed it on his arm.
Imogene tipped her parasol once more to accommodate the closer proximity and tried to broach the subject again. She had to divest him of this false euphoria, or her refusal was going to hit him all the harder. “Ernest, you seem expectant. I know I asked for time—” She frowned as he raised his other hand and waved.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Pauline and Harriet were wandering through the grass just off the path. They waved back, and while Pauline continued to smile at them, Harriet’s head was once again bowed.
“What are you doing?” Imogene called across the lea.
“Looking for lady beetles,” Harriet said without looking up. “You know, those spotted red ones.”
Imogene laughed. “I do indeed.”
“You have to see this.” A new voice caught Imogene’s attention, and she turned toward it; it was a lively voice, full of amusement and no longer yawning. “Come, I’ll show you.” Ben grabbed her hand from Ernest’s arm and then made a show of looking at her from side to side. “Did you not bring your sketching paper?” He puckered his mouth in mock disapproval. “Left it with the food baskets? Shortsighted, my dear girl. Very shortsighted. No matter, I have mine.”
Imogene started and glanced at Emily’s grinning countenance; her friend was apparently unaware that Ben had just used the same endearment that had set her all atwitter the day before. It appeared to be a habit, not a declaration—but Imogene was not about to say so.