Suitors and Sabotage(7)
Without responding, Mr. Ernest stepped past her father and approached Imogene. He hesitated, and Imogene feared that he might try to take hold of her hands while greeting her. Instead, he bowed his head, and Imogene returned his greeting with a bobbed curtsy. She tried not to chew at her bottom lip.
“So good to see you again, Miss Chively. Are you well? You seem to have had a slight mishap.” The breeze played with the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. His grin was half self-conscious, half admiring.
Imogene nodded with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Steeple. I am as well as can be expected after—”
“After you brought down the castle.” Imogene’s father gestured toward the ruin, flailing his arms about.
“The erosion was significant, Mr. Chively. Likely made worse by the frosts of last winter—”
“Winter has been over for some months, Mr. Benjamin. I hardly think we can blame the weather for this disaster.”
“Perhaps the ravages of time, then.”
“What?” Imogene’s father turned his head to stare at Mr. Benjamin. He added a frown to his stormy expression and a slight curl to his lip.
It was a clear display of condescension, and Imogene was insulted on Mr. Benjamin’s behalf. No, more than insulted, she was peeved—yes, truly peeved. Here was a helpful young man in a ruined coat carrying her injured dog, and her father was not only ignoring this act of gallantry but also deriding the bearer. Still, Imogene knew better than to confront her father directly.
“Father, I made mention of the growing number of cracks and sagging floor yesterday.” She had been assured that there was nothing to be concerned about—a great fuss for nothing were her father’s exact words.
“Yes, well you should have explained yourself more fully, Imogene. Now the whole will have to come down. It’s a danger to everyone.”
His words unsettled her, as they were meant to. Shaking her head in distress, Imogene stepped forward as if to put her hand on her father’s arm. “No. Please, Father. It can be repaired.”
Leaning back, away from his daughter, Imogene’s father lifted his chin—allowing him to look down his nose at her. “I would say not. Look at that mess. A piece of history utterly destroyed. If you had stayed away, this would not have happened. All that tramping about.”
Mouth agape, Imogene glanced at Mr. Ernest, who exuded sympathy and confusion at the same time. She didn’t wonder at his uncertainty. Her father’s angry declaration made little sense; though, to point that out would only increase his ire. And yet she had to try—the thought of losing the castle entirely was just too upsetting to stay her tongue.
“But, Father, there is no need for—” Imogene began, but she was interrupted.
“No need for such drastic measures, sir. The west wall would require only bracing. The tower is undamaged, and once the storeroom is cleared of rubble, you can secure the remains of the foundation.”
Silently releasing her pent-up breath, Imogene felt her heart swell with appreciation. Mr. Benjamin had picked up the gauntlet and was crusading to save her castle.
Father’s lip curled higher, and he smiled in a most unfriendly manner. “Ah, I see. Know a lot about castle ruins, do you, young man?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Oh?” It was amazing how much haughtiness could be instilled in a single word.
“Ben has been studying with Rudyard Newbury in Canterbury this past year. He is a first-year apprentice,” Mr. Ernest explained, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “You have heard of Lord Penton, the legendary architect, I assume?” He turned to smile and nod at Imogene. His pride in his brother’s prowess was evident.
Imogene returned her gaze to that of her father. His countenance underwent a gradual change as he mulled over the comment cum query. His brow lost the multitude of folds, lifting until he looked almost even-tempered. “Indeed, I have heard of Lord Penton. Your mentor? Indeed. Looking to make your mark in the world, are you? Erect a building or two?”
“That would be the ultimate goal, sir. Though it will be many years yet.”
“Why are you not there now? In Canterbury with Lord Penton? Not playing truant, are you? Won’t have any of that.”
“No.” Ben laughed easily. “Indeed not, Mr. Chively. I can rightly understand. No, Lord Penton has graciously allowed me the summer off. Rather unheard of, but I believe that Lady Penton insisted that her husband rest after completing the last project. I will be returning to Canterbury in the autumn.”
“I see. And you think the old castle worth saving.”
“Absolutely, sir. In fact, just before the floor gave way, I wondered if Lord Penton might be interested in knowing of your stonework, particularly where the great hall and tower come together. A masterful design.”
“Really? The stonework?”
“Oh, indeed, finest I’ve seen.”
Imogene frowned ever so slightly. Was there a tinge of sarcasm in Mr. Benjamin’s reply? No, it was just her imagination—the gentlemen were nodding at one another without any display of rancor.
“Oh, well, we must preserve that then, mustn’t we.” Imogene’s father stepped closer, one with the group again. “Yes, yes. Preserve it, we must. Might I ask a great favor of you, young man? Might you consider overseeing these repairs? Shouldn’t take too long, I would think. Just a word or two to Mr. Opine, my land agent. Suggestions and whatnot. You are the expert. What say you?”