Suitors and Sabotage(59)

“Oh, indeed. Ben is quite miserable. And there is nothing that anyone wants more than to be at home when they are feeling out-of-sorts. I’ve put him in the cart with Matt, and if we set off now, we will be at Musson House before dark. But worry not; I apologized to one and all and have spoken to the fathers about coming to Musson. They have all agreed. Strangely, your father was the most enthused.” He winked, bowed, and turned back toward the door. “We will put on our little play there. Grandmother and Grandfather will quite enjoy the novelty.”

Putting her hand on his arm, Imogene brought his attention back to her. “Ernest, I think we should talk before you go.”

“Time is of the essence, I’m afraid. Can it not wait a few days? I’m sure it can.”

“Ernest, I believe someone threw a rock at the wasps’ nest to bring it down.”

His expression turned grave. “You think it was no accident.”

“Yes.”

With a nod, he patted her arm. “If so, it was likely one of the young boys running about the place who thought it a great lark.”

“Would that it were true, Ernest, but as it is only one of many incidents, I think we are going to have to face the fact that someone intends Ben harm.”

“Yes, yes. Well, let us argue about it at Musson. I must be off.”

And with a wave, he went, leaving Imogene entirely dissatisfied with their conversation. Nothing had been resolved in regard to Ben; she had been given no opportunity to offer friendship in place of matrimony; and now, they were all off to Chotsdown, where Ernest and his family would host a houseful of guests for the sole purpose of accommodating a betrothal that was not going to happen.

Or would it? Was she going to be coerced and ignored until she cried stop on the steps of the church?

Imogene closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Feeling helpless in the face of such determination was not a new sentiment; she had been dealing with the iron will of her father for eighteen years. It had been easier to capitulate. Life was difficult when Father was crossed, and this would be a most significant revolt.

There was a chance, a very good chance, that Father would refuse to have anything to do with her after he learned how Imogene felt about marrying Ernest.… Mother would follow suit—she always did. Percy wouldn’t care. And so, there she was, either being ignored by her nearest and dearest or looking for room in the stables to bed down at night.

Perhaps that was doing it much too brown, but there seemed to be no happy consequence to thwarting a determined parent.

Undulating misery washed over Imogene as she allowed melodrama to grab hold of her imagination. A vision of the noisy, unfriendly streets of London came to mind, where she walked all alone with a small bag containing her worldly possessions. Sick, cold, and starving.

Imogene snorted in a most unladylike manner. It was a highly improbable scenario. Being in possession of many friends and relatives, the likelihood of ending up on the streets was quite ridiculous even if her father did something as shocking as wash his hands of her. Though being sent to live with a maiden great-aunt in the moors of North Devon was not beyond the realm of possibility.

Strangely enough, it was not the thought of being isolated that brought back that horrid thread of misery that seemed to imbue her every waking moment—for the moors and the west coast would make excellent subjects for painting. It was the knowledge that Ben would be on the opposite side of the country.

The possibility of securing a position as an art teacher offered a ray of hope and a life more suited to her character. It was not a pipe dream; she had a worthy portfolio. Eventually, if she was permitted a flight of fancy, she could secure a patron and set up a teaching studio or art academy of her own. If the Fates were very kind, she could settle in the charming, picturesque city of Canterbury. Yes, she would know people there, charming people … if Ben could be called people.

And so her thoughts had once again circled back to Ben. With a shake of her head in self-disgust, Imogene resolved to speak to Emily right away. They were going to see Ben again within a seven-night, and they had to be certain they were not bringing danger with them. They had to try to understand who might be behind these incidents, or if they truly were accidents and a very long run of atrocious luck.

Yes. Imogene needed to talk to Emily.

Looking up, for it seemed that at some point during her contemplation Imogene had begun to stare at the tiles, she met the quizzical gaze of the Tabards’ butler.

“Ah, Radley, just the person I need.”

The pinch-faced man stepped forward. “Indeed, miss.”

“Might you know where I could find Emily?”

“Miss Beeswanger has gone for a walk.” Sniffing sharply, the man turned as if to go about his immensely important duties.

“Along the road? Down the drive?”

With a sharp pivot, Radley turned back as if being greatly put-upon. He stared.

It was quite a talent—the ability to make you squirm without saying a word.

“Do you not know, Radley?” Imogene refused to be intimidated.

“In the garden. I believe she and Mr. Jake are strolling among the roses. I’m sure they will be returning to the Hall presently.”

“Excellent. Thank you. I can find them on my own. The rose garden is on the west side of the Hall?”

“East, miss.”

Nodding her thanks, Imogene entered the dining room and exited through the doors at the far end. She followed the path through the formal gardens, barely aware of the profusion of color as she passed. However, upon gaining the rose garden, she was stymied—no Emily and no Jake. As she scanned the greenery, she saw Percy two flower beds over, seated on a stone bench, flicking playing cards into his upturned hat.