Suitors and Sabotage(63)
“Ah, Miss Chively, I am so very happy to meet you,” Grandmother said, taking Imogene’s hand in between her own and giving it a little squeeze. “I know you young people have decided to use given names, but I hope you will forgive me if I don’t. I’m an old woman not used to these modern ways.”
“Of course, Lady Steeple, I quite understand.” Imogene blushed prettily and tried to pull her hand away, but Grandmother resisted.
“I am so looking forward to meeting all your friends; it has been many years since we had a houseful of guests. Yes, indeed. What a lovely gown, my dear.”
“Thank you, Lady Steeple.” She swallowed in discomfort as Grandmother continued to converse about trivialities while still in possession of Imogene’s hand.
Somewhere around the third compliment, Ben looked up to see that rather than rescuing Imogene from her discomfort, Ernest was watching the exchange with a ridiculous grin.
Ben sauntered over to his brother and jabbed his elbow into Ernest’s side. “Ernest! Free her. What are you thinking? Imogene is going to pass out from embarrassment if Grandmother does not let go of her soon.”
“What? Oh yes.” Ernest blinked stupidly. “Shall we go in?” he asked the company at large.
Ben was relieved to see Grandmother drop Imogene’s hand and nod in agreement. With a hearty laugh about nothing at all, Grandfather gestured toward the arched French doors leading into the vestibule. As the rest of the group traipsed into the manor, Imogene turned.
“How are your hands?” she asked Ben’s feet.
“Much better, thank you.”
The bonnet nodded, so it was obvious that she had heard him.… And yet he had still not seen her eyes.
“Is all well, Imogene?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Perhaps because you seem more fascinated by the floor than the company.”
The bonnet instantly tipped back, and Ben could see Imogene’s beautiful face. Her beautiful blond hair framed her face … beautifully, and her beautiful eyes sparkled beautifully. Ah … no. They were not sparkling in the least. Grandmother must have frightened her far more than he realized. She looked quite forlorn. Though, on Imogene, it only served to make her look even more appealing. He almost sighed like a lovesick calf. Almost.
As they stared at each other, voices drifted out from inside the vestibule.
“Do you take snuff, Sir Steeple?”
“Yes, indeed. An excellent pastime, though Lady Margaret is less than happy with it. Says it makes me sneeze excessively.”
“Excellent, I have brought you a gift. A snuffbox that I acquired from France just before the war.”
Mr. Chively’s voice grew faint as he moved to the back of the vestibule and toward the cavernous hall enclosing the grand staircase, and yet Ben and Imogene continued to stare at each other.
“Come along, my dear.” Grandmother stepped back across the threshold, frowned slightly, and then regained Imogene’s hand. “Let me take you up to your room. We have given you one of the nicest of our guest rooms in the southwest corner of the manor. I’m sure it will suit you well. It’s been decorated in the softest green chintz. Overlooks the front drive—a view not unlike that of Ben’s. So relaxing.”
And as she continued to talk, Grandmother led Imogene away from Ben, who stood outside for some minutes … wishing he were somewhere else.
*
AS THE DAY PROGRESSED, Ben found that he could avoid Imogene almost entirely by way of playing the host. Since it was the role to which Grandmother had assigned him, he did so with aplomb. He took it upon himself to see everyone seated at luncheon, with Imogene as far from him as possible. There was no snub, for Ernest was right there beside her—staring at her, so absorbed with looking at her he failed to see her, failed to see how uncomfortable he was making her.
Ben knew that Ernest was rehearsing in his mind. They had talked at length of where and when he would propose—in the folly overlooking the channel, three days hence, was the final decision—and how he would react to her acceptance. Ben had tried to instill some sense into his brother, mentioning several times that his offer might not be accepted. Ernest had laughed, waving his hand around.
“After seeing all this, I think not. What young lady would not want to call such a place home?”
“Yes, but do you want someone who wants you for yourself or your inheritance?”
“You are being naive, Ben. They are tied together. You can no more take Musson House out of me than you can take architecture out of you.”
It was true enough.
After luncheon, Grandmother took Mrs. Chively for a lovely little chat in the drawing room, while Ben suggested a game of billiards in the hunting room for Mr. Chively and Percy. Grandfather looked wistfully at the ladies—no doubt preferring his favorite chair and occupation—but did his duty, following them into the long room where the paneled walls were covered by sets of trophy antlers. Ernest took Imogene on a tour of the house, which was to be followed by a tour of the gardens. Ben watched them walk away arm in arm, frowning at Imogene’s awkward gait. It almost appeared as if she was leaning away from his brother.
The game was not as successful as it might have been had any of the players actually wished to be knocking a ball around a felt-covered table. Grandfather fell asleep while waiting his turn, and Mr. Chively proceeded to complain about not being able to concentrate in such a noisy environment. Grandfather’s naps involved snuffles and snorts as well as the usual sawing breath. Eventually they scattered. Percy to see the stables, Mr. Chively to join the ladies, and Ben to the library, where he thought no one would look for him. Grandfather didn’t notice their departure.