Suitors and Sabotage(8)

“It would be my pleasure, sir.” Mr. Benjamin glanced at his brother with a smile and a wink before he looked down at the bundle in his arms. “At the moment, however, I believe this fellow needs attending to.”

Imogene’s father dropped his eyes to Jasper; he offered a startled expression, as if only just realizing the dog’s condition. “Yes, indeed. He looks worse than Imogene, and that’s saying something. The stables are the best place for him.”

Imogene straightened. “Yes, Father, that’s where we were headed.” Laying her hand on Jasper’s furry head, she scratched behind the dog’s ear. She glanced at Mr. Ernest; he was watching her. Should she invite him along?

“Come up to the house, Imogene. You need to make yourself decent. I was just about to show Mr. Steeple my superb collection of snuffboxes. Come, everyone, we can leave the dog in Mr. Benjamin’s capable hands. I’m sure he can find the stables.”

“I would rather accompany Mr. Benjamin and speak to Mr. Marshal about Jasper’s care, Father. We will follow you directly.” The words were out of her mouth before Imogene could consider the consequences. She turned, hiding her self-conscious swallow and wide, horrified eyes from all but Mr. Benjamin, who was standing in the wrong place.

However, when their eyes met, Imogene did not look away in mortification … or disgrace … or discomfort. She didn’t feel the need. If he had noticed her disagreement with her father, he gave no sign. He turned instead to his brother.

“Yes, we will away to the stable while you run up to the manor. You shall have to admire the snuffboxes for both of us, Ernest. How many do you have in your collection, Mr. Chively?”

“Oh, well, let me see now. Over fifty, perhaps as many as sixty.”

“Most impressive, sir. I’m sure Ernest will want to see each and every one … and to know their entire history as well.”

“Might we not wait until Ben’s return?” Mr. Ernest offered the company a guileless expression. “It would be a shame for him to miss out. I’m sure they must be wonderful works of art.”

“Ah, but that is far more your interest than mine. You know my taste runs toward brick and mortar. No, no, you gentlemen go right ahead. I shall appreciate the music boxes at another time.”

“Snuffboxes,” Mr. Ernest corrected his brother.

“Yes, just so.” Mr. Benjamin grinned. His tone was cordial—too cordial.

Imogene highly doubted the sincerity of their words; they were funning. She would have appreciated the jocularity so much more if it were not for her father’s presence and the possibility that he would be insulted. However, either oblivious to or simply ignoring the undercurrents of the conversation, Imogene’s father started up the hill, expecting everyone to fall in behind him … which they did.

Except Emily.

“Might I join you?” she asked as she matched Mr. Benjamin’s gait and direction. Leaning back, Emily glanced behind his back to Imogene walking on his other side. She lifted her eyebrows in her friend’s general direction—several times. Imogene felt the stirring of … hmm, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling. Disquiet came to mind, or something in that order. Despite Imogene’s frown, Emily grinned and straightened.

“I’ve seen the snuffboxes before.… Many times. I could even describe them to you, if you wish,” Emily chatted as they skirted the manor.

Mr. Benjamin chuckled. “Thank you, no, Miss Beeswanger. Don’t use the stuff.”

“The snuff?” Emily interrupted and giggled.

“Just so.” Mr. Benjamin chuckled again, softly this time. “I don’t use snuff, and I’m not entirely sure why one would go to such lengths to beautify what amounts to a box—a tiny one at that.” Then, glancing in Imogene’s direction, he added, “I mean no disrespect.”

“None taken, Mr. Steeple. I do not share my father’s fascination. I prefer a larger canvas.” Imogene frowned and glanced over her shoulder toward the ruins. “Oh dear, my sketch is still at the castle.”

“I’m sure Sawyer will ensure your art supplies are brought up when they collect the basket and foodstuffs,” Emily reassured her.

“Yes, I’ll mention it to him when we get to the house.”

Turning back, Imogene looked up at Mr. Benjamin and was surprised to meet his gaze. It was brief but enigmatic—a puzzled frown. “My brother mentioned your interest in art. But he did not tell me that you were an artist yourself. You have an enviable talent.”

Imogene lifted one corner of her mouth in a half smile. She was rather pleased. Few persons, other than family or friends, had seen her work, and her family was less than impressed. Harriet, Emily’s youngest sister, while appreciative of Imogene’s abilities and lessons, was an easily impressed twelve-year-old. To hear such a compliment from someone who was, to all intents and purposes, a learned stranger was rather heady.

“Thank you, I quite enjoy—”

“Imogene has been drawing since her nanny put a graphite pencil in her hand,” Emily interrupted, helping her out, filling in the awkward conversation.

Except this time, it was not awkward, and the rescue was unnecessary. Perhaps it was his easy manner, or his aid in rescuing Jasper, or that moment when Mr. Benjamin held her as she cried—yes, when she thought on it, that moment had broken down a barrier or two. She should have been in her highest state of embarrassment, but she wasn’t.