Suitors and Sabotage(79)
“Well, yes, actually—” She swallowed. “He feels I am ungrateful and not worthy of time, money, or effort. I am very lucky to have such good friends in the Beeswangers. They have made me feel quite welcome, and Emily thinks I will be a great distraction.” She cleared her throat as if halting a thought and setting her mind in a different direction. “Thank you, Ben. I greatly enjoyed getting to know you, teaching you where your artistic talent lies, and, as much as he might not like to hear it now, spending time with your brother. It is a summer that I will always remember fondly.”
“That sounds like good-bye.”
Imogene laughed lightly, but there was no humor in her eyes. “It is good-bye, Ben.”
“Could I not come to visit you? At Shackleford Park?”
Smiling sadly, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.… You are soon to Canterbury. Your mind will be full of rococo ceilings and stonework,” she said with a forced laugh. “It is as it should be.”
“But—”
“Good luck with your studies.… And if ever you need any assistance of an artistic nature, I would be happy to help.”
There. Ben let go of the breath he had been holding. Yes, there was his opening—his way back into Imogene’s company. He didn’t know if she meant to provide the means of rekindling their friendship or not, but he had every intention of using her invitation in such a manner.
*
“STRANGE,” EMILY SAID after several hours of riding in silence. “I am starting to feel much more myself the closer we get to Shackleford Park. I don’t believe ocean air is as beneficial for the health as it is touted.”
Imogene pulled her gaze from the coach window, catching Mrs. Beeswanger’s nod as Imogene turned toward Emily. She reached out and patted her friend on the knee. “Very glad to hear it. I am certain that you will be feeling quite the thing within a week.”
“You think so?” Emily sounded wistful.
“Yes, absolutely. Time will be your comrade.” They both knew they were not talking about health.
“Perhaps the seaside is not for you, dearest Emily,” Mrs. Beeswanger joined the conversation. “But there are some that benefited from the salt breezes. Some that will be harder hit by its absence.”
A frown flashed across Imogene’s brow, and she turned to see Mrs. Beeswanger pointedly staring at her with an expression of deep sympathy. Imogene swallowed and would have burst into tears had she not glanced at Mr. Beeswanger. He was watching as well, but where Mrs. Beeswanger’s compassion threatened to break her resolve, Mr. Beeswanger’s buck-up-all-will-be-well look served to strengthen it.
“Yes.” Imogene offered a weak smile as a thank-you to them both. “But there is nothing to be done.” Not in regard to Ben. Not in regard to her father.
Still … all was not lost. In fact, might this be the moment to step onto a different path? Seize the day, as the Romans said. Could the rending from her family—and Ben—have purpose? Could she forge her own future, one that might be difficult but bring with it a different sort of contentment? Yes, indeed, might she now find the means to fulfill a dream?
“Mr. Beeswanger, could I meet with you sometime soon to discuss a business possibility?”
“Of course, my dear.” His countenance was suffused with curiosity, but he said nothing more.
Imogene nodded as much to herself as to anyone in the carriage. Her rebellion, as her father had termed her refusal of Ernest, had brought with it irrevocable changes—changes that she had both feared and anticipated. She could now step away from convention—the expectations of society—and champion her own wants and needs. But security was no longer certain; she would need advice—good, solid business advice. Mr. Beeswanger was an amply suitable gentleman for the job. He might even be interested in being a mentor, better yet a patron, of a teaching art studio.
A pervasive calm suddenly blanketed Imogene, and she smiled. It was no longer a weak imitation of cheerfulness but a true display of serenity. The future had changed, but it was not bleak. She would forge her own path.… And eventually she would no longer wish that Ben walked beside her.
*
SHACKLEFORD PARK WAS such a familiar environment that Imogene felt at home almost immediately. Well, perhaps not quite like home. There was no tippy-toeing around the manor while trying to judge the mood of the master of the house. There was no haranguing brother, indifferent mother, and snide remarks from all the above.
Still, Imogene was rather dismayed when a fortnight or so after joining the Beeswanger family in Tishdale, a cart arrived with an excited dog, clothes, painting supplies, and a note in her mother’s hand.
Dear Imogene,
I thought Mrs. Beeswanger was not mistaken in her suggestion that a few of your warmer gowns would be of use for the cooler nights that are now threatening. I have taken the liberty of including all your autumn accessories—shawls, coats, bonnets, and such. One never knows how quickly the cooler weather will descend, nor do we know how long your father will remain out of sorts in your regard. If need be, I will send over your winter clothes. Mrs. Beeswanger assures me that she quite thinks of you as one of her own and is more than happy to have you there.
I have also included your art supplies, which I am sure you sorely miss. Percy and Jake took a liking to your grandmother’s studio, setting it up as a theater. Costumes and props at one end, a stage of sorts at the other. They have even hung up a curtain and invited several other young gentlemen in the area to join their Thespian Society. They are entertaining themselves nicely. We have already had a scene from Much Ado About Nothing. Quite hilarious. Jake is fitting in nicely.