Suitors and Sabotage(77)

“How could you expect to secure Emily with one such as him around?” Mr. Tabard said heatedly, jerking his head in Ben’s direction. “You couldn’t. He is winning the war. Battle after battle, Emily is being charmed. He is nothing if not persistent. He will not stop enchanting her!”

“Emily?” Jake looked perplexed. “Why would it matter?”

“Jake, Jake, my son, it was your mother’s dearest wish to see you and Emily united. She could talk of little else as she lay dying. Imagining your children. Seeing them running down the halls of Greytower—a happy place. It was a wonderful vision.”

“It was a fiction, Father, a lovely apparition, but no more than that. Emily is a sister to me. I have no more intention of asking her to marry me than I have of asking Imogene.” Jake glanced at Percy and then back to his father. “Please tell me you did not nearly drown four people in an effort to prevent Ben and Emily from spending time together. It is not your affair.”

“No, it is yours. You have done nothing toward securing her favor—”

“Nor will I. Father, listen and listen well. I am not going to marry Emily.”

“Please, Jake—”

“No. I will hear no more.” Jake lifted his chin and glanced at those around him until his eyes settled on Ben. “I humbly beg your pardon,” he said, looking more the gentleman than Imogene had ever seen him before. “It would seem that my father, in misapprehension, has done you great wrong. There is little restitution that I can offer. But perhaps you will know that I feel the weight of it by saying that I can do nothing else other than break with him—”

“No, Jake.” Mr. Tabard reached out toward his son, even as those around him gasped.

“It is not necessary,” Ben said, looking vastly uncomfortable. “No true harm was done. What is a skiff, after all?”

“Or being stung by bees, or thrown from your horse…” Jake turned back to his father. “Father? Should I continue?”

“No. I … I was not thinking clearly.” Mr. Tabard stared at his son with welling eyes. “I could hear Clara … your mother … lamenting. She wants to see you happy.”

“And I will be happy. But not with Emily at my side.” He glanced at her. “No insult intended.”

“None taken,” Emily said quietly.

“I will make amends.” Mr. Tabard started to shake; he turned toward Ben, weeping openly. “Ask anything, anything.”

“It is not necessary,” Ben said again.

“But I will. I will. There, see, Jake. All is well, my boy. Where are you going? No. Jake? Jake!”

As a flailing Mr. Tabard ran up the beach after his son, those that remained stood in shocked silence for some moments. Eventually, Percy cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me. I believe I have to see to Jake.” He bowed formally and followed at a sedate and dignified pace.

“Well,” Mr. Beeswanger said, staring at the ground.

“Well,” Mrs. Beeswanger said, staring at Emily.

“I don’t understand.” Emily frowned and blinked and turned a flaming shade of crimson. “Jake and I have never meant anything to each other. There have been summers that we have not even exchanged a single word. How could Mr. Tabard possibly believe that we would make a match? How could Cousin Clara?” She looked past Imogene. “I apologize, Benjamin. I had no idea that our friendship was the cause of all your trials … perils. All those incidents that we knew were not accidents. Mr. Tabard put you in danger, no matter his intent.”

“I am sorry, too, if I have given the impression of a greater regard than is seemly.”

Emily blanched.

“You haven’t, my boy.” Mr. Beeswanger came forward and clapped Ben on the back. “You have had no hand in Mr. Tabard’s delusion. I’m afraid it was all in the mind of a grieving husband.” He turned with Ben and Ernest, and the three headed toward the path off the beach, talking quietly. Mr. Beeswanger’s reassuring tone dominated.

Emily stared at Imogene in terrible distress—tears on the verge of spilling.

What a ghastly, dreadful day. In his attempt to clarify, Ben had made it all too clear that he did not favor Emily—that the special relationship that she thought was seeded and beginning to bloom was no more real than the one Mr. Tabard had imagined between her and Jake. Ben Steeple was not in love with Emily.

Imogene reached for Emily’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Wordless, but in sympathy, they followed Mrs. Beeswanger up the slope toward Musson House, where the fun of the day would continue. She was now about to face her father, and not only tell him that Ernest Steeple was not to be her husband, but that they were to leave immediately.

Yes, a lovely day.





chapter 19


In which Imogene’s world tips on its axis

Sound didn’t usually carry through the halls of Musson House, but the raised voice in the library was so loud that the echo made its way up to the third floor, where Ben finally found Ernest.

Ignoring Mr. Chively’s shouting, Ben sighed with relief. “There you are.” He had been fairly certain that his brother would not do himself an injury in his melancholy—but a niggling doubt had eaten at Ben while he changed and then searched the manor.

Standing before the windows at the far end of the gallery, clothed impeccably once again, Ernest stared at the sky as if unaware of his brother’s presence.