Suitors and Sabotage(70)
“Be right there,” Ben said as he sidled up to the cliff, reaching toward a spot a few feet above the beach floor.
A skitter of stones from overhead dropped at his feet. Imogene looked up with him in time to see the ground above start to shake.
“Ben!” she screamed. “The ledge is coming down!”
Grabbing her skirts to her knees, Imogene ran. But she wouldn’t reach him in time. She was too far away.
chapter 17
In which Ben spends a fair amount of time not noticing Imogene
Jumping back, Ben lost his balance and fell hard, still under the path of the falling rocks. Someone grabbed his collar and hauled him back—half choking, half lifting. Hat knocked one way, bucket flung another, Ben braced his feet and pushed away from the cliff just as the ledge gave way. A shower of dirt and rocks, large and small, piled onto the very spot Ben had been standing moments earlier.
Senselessly, Ben leaned back farther, only to encounter a wall. A wall sitting on the ground behind him, feet extended. A familiar wall, who had lost his balance and fallen, too, in the rush to pull his brother out from under the rockslide.
As the screams faded, Ben realized there had been three sources, not two. One had come from overhead, from where the eroded ledge had given way. Gasping for breath, he looked over his shoulder to see Emily rushing toward him and heard Imogene behind, doing the same. Ernest patted Ben’s shoulder while gulping at the air.
Scrambling to his feet, Ben dusted off his hands, his posterior, and his hat, and puzzled about the scream from above. Imogene and Emily fluttered about, touching Ben’s arms and exclaiming excitedly, while Ernest got to his feet and proceeded to dust himself off. All seemed unaware that there was an unidentified party in this mishap.
“Oh Lordy, that was close, Ben.” Ernest shook his head and laughed weakly—still wheezing from panic. “You have become quite accident-prone.”
“Indeed,” Ben said with a final glance at the top of the cliff. He turned his gaze toward Imogene. “Ernest, my brother, has saved me from certain death. My brother. Saved me.” He repeated, refraining from adding: This proves how wrong you were.
“Certain death? Might be doing it up a little brown, Ben.” Ernest bent to retrieve his hat.
“Halloo,” a voice called from above. “Is everyone all right down there?”
Startled, Ben pivoted to stare at the head peeking over the top some thirty feet or so above them. It was Mr. Beeswanger.
“I say, is everyone all right?”
“We are all fine, Papa,” Emily called up, hands cupping her mouth so that her words would carry.
“Oh thank heaven. So glad to know. Your mama almost landed at your feet, dearest Emily. That would have been a terrible tumble.” He laughed in an affable manner, but there was a telltale shake to his voice. “Weren’t paying attention, I’m afraid. Standing too close to the edge. Tabard grabbed your mama just as it gave way. Quite the scare, yes … quite. Well, not to worry, she’s a bit mussed but otherwise fine.” A murmur behind him could be heard, but not the words. “What’s that?” Mr. Beeswanger turned. “Oh. Very good, then.” He turned his head toward them once again. “Been told,” he said, chuckling, “to get away from the edge. Very well. We’ll see you back at the house. Your mama wants to clean up a bit.… I think she looks lovely.… But, well, there you have it. Cheers.”
And so saying, the head of Mr. Beeswanger disappeared.
With a most unladylike snort, Emily pivoted to face the group. “Yes, well, humble apologies, everyone. Apparently my mama wanted to add a little excitement to our day.”
They all smiled, as they were meant to, and then set about picking up the bucket and all the treasure that had been spilled. Within a quarter hour, they were meandering around the beach again—well away from the overhang.
*
CAREFUL MANEUVERING SAW Ben sit down to dinner between Emily and Jake. He would have preferred to be at the other end of the table, well away from Imogene, but this would do. When he looked up, it was to see Ernest, and he could ignore the lovely young lady beside his brother—in a soft sage green gown cut to a neat fit around her tantalizing figure with an enticing décolleté … with ten … no, twelve pearls sparkling in her golden upsweep. Yes, he could ignore her completely.
He hardly noticed when Imogene gave Grandmother the cockleshell she had found and exclaimed over on the beach. Ernest must have mentioned that Lady Margaret was partial to shells. It was certainly not impressive that Imogene had given the treasure away to someone who would enjoy it equally.
And Ben certainly did not notice that Imogene ate little—pushing her food around the plate. Was she paler than usual? Were those dark circles under her eyes? How could he notice any of those things when he was not paying the least attention? Besides, why should he care? He was angry. Still angry. Nothing had been resolved. He had merely pointed out that Ernest could hardly be considered a villain when he had pulled Ben out of harm’s way.
The speed with which she agreed was inconsequential. He was angry. Still. And he would hold on to that rage—yes, it was rage, fury, and all other descriptors of being incensed that he could think of. He had to hold on to all those emotions that would push Miss Imogene Chively from his heart.
And just as important, he would disregard the look of bafflement that Grandmother was sending in his direction. A look that seemed to volley back and forth between Imogene and him. Him and …