Suitors and Sabotage(75)
Ernest leaned in closer. “And so he should,” he barked.
Without flinching, Imogene smiled. “Should he? Ben did no wrong. He is who he is.”
“He stole you from me.”
“I was never yours to steal.”
Ernest shifted so that he could see beyond her again. “You have to go. I don’t want you at Musson. Don’t want you charming Grandmother anymore. Don’t want your scent greeting me in every room. You have to go.”
“I will speak to Father as soon as we get back. We will leave tomorrow.”
“Today. There is half the day left.”
“Yes, but Ernest, we are marooned on an island. I can hardly walk across the water because you no longer wish my company.”
He blinked, as if weighing the veracity of her words—as if there was anything to weigh. Without speaking, he pivoted and stalked back down the shore, marching past Emily and Ben. They watched him go and then stared at Imogene with open curiosity. They would not have heard the conversation, but there was no mistaking Ernest’s thunderous expression.
Imogene closed her eyes and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. She was not ready to answer questions—not Emily’s, not Ben’s. She, too, needed to be alone. Opening her eyes, she glanced around and saw what she was looking for. The path up to the tower ruins. There would be shade and privacy … and better yet, somewhere to sit and cry.
*
EMILY FOUND HER not a half hour later, leaning against the outer wall of the medieval tower. She had meant to go through the doorway, find a hidden corner, and sob to her heart’s content; the building was roofless, but three walls still stood … of a sort. Crumbled and cracked by vegetation, a musty smell in the air, the ruin offered the perfect backdrop for abject misery.
As she had approached the tower, Imogene had observed the many aspects worthy of sketching. It was a habit and her solace. Unfortunately, those thoughts had led her to recollections of drawing with Ben, and quickly on their heels, Imogene lost the ability to hold herself upright. Her knees buckled, and she would have tumbled into an undignified sprawl had the wall not been near enough to grab.
And so she stayed. Using the hem of her soiled gown to wipe her nose and cheeks. She didn’t care if the algae-covered muslin left streaks of green and brown down the side of her face. She didn’t care about much. She wasn’t sure which component of her conversation with Ernest distressed her the most—it was irrelevant. It was all a terrible mess.
Ernest was in pain—pain that she had caused. She hadn’t handled it well, not well at all. There should have been a way to temper the hurt—remain friends, still enjoy each other’s company. But no, she had bungled it completely. Ernest did not want to be anywhere near her now. She had lost the good opinion of a very kind young man. He hadn’t deserved her rejection—if Ernest had not had a charming, handsome, devil-may-care brother, Imogene might have succumbed to his quiet, easy manners. She might have found excitement in his dance steps and poetry. Might. Might. It was all moot.
Ernest did have a brother—a like-minded brother who would want to see the back of her, too. Yes, as soon as Ben learned that Imogene had not accepted Ernest’s offer, he would not give her the time of day. Once through the Musson House gates, Imogene would never see Ben again—ever. The looming moors of Devon seemed appealing—the idea of not ever encountering Ben or Ernest again was relieving.
“How are you?” Emily asked.
Imogene didn’t look up. Miserable was on the tip of her tongue, but civility won the day. “I’m not really in the mood for company, Emily.”
“I know that might be true, dearest friend, but, unfortunately, company has found us. Well, actually, in my eyes, it is fortunate. We are about to be rescued.”
Imogene lifted her gaze. “Rescued? So soon?”
Emily nodded and then opened her arms, offering Imogene a comforting embrace. “There is a boat nearing the island. Something called a dory, I believe Ben said. Lots of space. Better yet, it floats.”
Imogene muffled a chuckle into Emily’s shoulder. “Floating is good.”
“Ben has gone to find Ernest; I came for you. And the boat is coming round the point to land in the cove. It will be here soon.” Emily lifted the hem of her gown, picked the cleanest spot, and used it to wipe away Imogene’s newly formed tears.
“Oh, Emily, I have made a mess of everything.”
“Perhaps not everything. But I think we need to talk about it later—after we have survived this next ocean voyage.”
“Hardly an ocean voyage.” Imogene laughed, somewhat weakly, and then she saw Emily’s grimace. “A short trip, Emily. And once we are back, you can stay on terra firma.”
“Permanently!”
“Indeed,” Imogene said. “Here, take my arm.” She offered Emily her elbow. “I’ll steady you; you steady me.”
“Always,” Emily said as she swallowed visibly before setting a slow gait back to the cove. While it was evident she wanted off the island, it was equally evident Emily did not want to get on another boat.
By the time Imogene and Emily emerged from the shrubbery, the dory had landed. Ernest and Ben greeted the four men who jumped onshore wearing jerseys and grins. All were lean and muscled, with the sun-darkened skin of outdoorsmen.
“Heard you got yerselves in a bit a trouble,” the shortest and oldest man said with a snicker.