Suitors and Sabotage(69)
“Count us out,” Jake called from what had now become the gentlemen’s side of the breakfast table. “Percy and I are going to fish in … what did you say the name was?”
“Duff Lake. More of a pond, really, but a reasonable place to wet a line,” Ernest said.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to accompany us and lend an arm to the young ladies, Jake.” Mr. Tabard looked across his raised cup at his son. “Beaches are notorious for uneven ground. We wouldn’t want a twisted ankle for want of a sensible young man.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Tabard.” Ben laughed. “Ernest and I will be there. No need to press Percy and Jake to join us if it is not what they wish.”
“Capital,” Jake said. “In that case, we will go fishing. And hope that the mists don’t clear.”
Mr. Tabard did not look mollified. Imogene suspected the excursion was meant to provide more gentlemanly lessons—Jake had knowingly escaped.
And so it was that just after luncheon, when the sun had burned away the last vestiges of the morning mist, a much smaller party of walkers and beachcombers emerged from a side door in the rustic. They numbered only eight—the Beeswangers, Mr. Tabard, Imogene’s father, the Steeple brothers, and two fast friends.
Though not visible from the house—protected from the wind by a stand of larch—the coast was not distant enough to warrant ordering the carriages. It was, in fact, faster to traverse the winding lane to the cliffs and then along the ledge to a dip that brought the path and the beach together. A bit steep in parts, the adults had already decided to let the younger members of the group climb down, while they would enjoy the vista, the breezes, and steadier footing along the cliff’s edge.
“Careful of the erosion,” Lady Steeple warned as she waved them away.
After five minutes or so of an easy walk, they stepped out from behind the trees and were greatly rewarded with sweeping views of the channel. It was breathtaking, and Imogene instantly and instinctively turned to Ben … who was watching Emily. Casting her eyes at Ernest, she saw him frown. He had noticed that her first glance had been toward his brother.
Imogene lifted her cheeks and gestured toward the channel. “It would make a marvelous painting.” It was an explanation, of sorts.
Ernest nodded. His expression of bewilderment faded, and Imogene felt the joys of the view succumb to her worries once again. She turned back to the vista, trying to shunt all but the glory of the moment aside.
A meandering path topped the hilly grass cliffs, and beyond that the gray-blue of the water and the cornflower blue of the sky. Fingers of rock formations stretched into the water, creating rugged coves and reaching toward an island not far from shore. Visible above the foliage, the top of a crenellated tower offered a hint of the ruin below. Turning back to Ernest, not Ben, Imogene pointed toward the tower. He nodded again, this time with a grin.
“Oh, Benjamin, look!” Emily shouted against the wind. “The tower. We shall have to go tomorrow.” She skipped closer, taking Ben’s arm and leaning into him. She had left her parasol behind, opting for a wide-brimmed, well-secured bonnet in its stead—as had all the ladies. A parasol was impractical in the gusting wind. Better yet, a bonnet allowed for closer proximity.
Glancing over her shoulder toward the Beeswangers, Imogene was relieved to see that Emily’s parents wore agreeable expressions. Far from being uncomfortable with Emily’s behavior, they were pleased. Beyond them, her father’s glare told Imogene she should be doing the same with Ernest, and Mr. Tabard looked oblivious, staring at the view. Imogene returned her gaze to the path.
As planned, the younger members of the party left the adults just up the trail. Ernest helped Imogene down to the beach, and he would have retained her hand had she not demurred, saying that the terrain was not conducive to intimacy. The rocks—for it was not a sandy beach—made footing and balance a challenge. The shrug she received might have meant that he was hurt, or insulted, or in agreement.
Imogene shook her head in self-castigation—she was being overly sensitive on everyone’s behalf. Emily offered her a look of sympathy and then went back to exclaiming over each rock or stone that Ben pointed out to her. They were soon dropping their treasures with a regular plunk and plop into the bucket Ben carried.
Imogene found that she was not really interested in rocks, even the striped ones with golden flecks that Emily seemed to think superior to all others. No, Imogene found a small piece of shell, and as she admired the shiny pearl casing, Ernest handed her another larger piece. It was suffused with shades of pink.
“It’s lovely,” Imogene said, turning it this way and that, watching the light reflect and change color. It was really very pretty.
“I’ll find you another,” he said in a muffled voice. His head was already down as he was doing just that.
Staring at the top of Ernest’s hat, Imogene sighed, trying to understand why her pulse did not race when he looked at her. Why she didn’t want to fling herself into his arms. Why thoughts of a future with Ernest felt stifling. He was such a good person, and he cared greatly for her. Was that not enough? And then she heard Ben laugh … and knew that it wasn’t.
“Come see this, Benjamin,” Emily called sometime later from farther up the beach. She had skipped ahead and was pointing to some object that had captured her attention. “It’s too big to lift, but the layers appear to be folded.”