Suitors and Sabotage(81)
“Clearly, I have missed something.” Emily’s voice was clipped. “Might I get you to come back in a bit, Kate?”
“Certainly, Miss Emily.”
The door closed, and silence took over—a pulsing, oppressive manifestation.
Imogene listened to the small mantel clock tick away the seconds, and then minutes, and still Emily did not speak. Finally, Imogene lifted her head to find her closest friend staring with an unreadable expression. Perhaps that was a good omen, for Imogene had expected anger or hurt. “Emily?”
“Yes.”
“There was nothing between Ben and me. Nothing. A few heated looks not unlike those you shared with him. He is an incorrigible flirt, remember? Please do not be angry with me. I did not mean to fall in love with him. I thought of him as your beau and behaved accordingly.”
“The heated looks that Benjamin and I shared disappeared under examination. Our relationship was friendly and boisterous, with a great deal of camaraderie, but, in truth, he did nothing to entice me. It was all on my shoulders. He is charming—and he cannot behave otherwise.”
“So you say, and yet you are still distressed with me. I am not a pea-brain, thinking that your upset is directed elsewhere.”
“Of course I’m distressed. I told you Benjamin looked on me with interest and you said nothing of your own sentiments. Nothing of your heated looks.”
“All my life I have doubted myself, Emily, my actions, my thoughts, my judgment. You talked of your conviction that Ben was smitten, and I didn’t know you had doubts. More important, I would never interfere with your growing affection even if I thought there was a chance that Ben would look my way. I would not do that to you. I would never hurt you.”
Emily’s expression softened. “I know you wouldn’t.… But you forgot something in all this conjecture. You forgot to give me the chance to do the same. Had I known that you, too, had feelings for Benjamin, I would have looked for signs. We could have approached the puzzle of Mr. Benjamin Steeple together.”
Imogene stared at Emily, tears welling. “I beg your pardon, Emily. You are right, I should have told you.”
With a sad smile, Emily nodded. “Now that we agree, tell me what you meant when you said that you told him not to call.”
“The day we left Musson House, he asked if he might call.… But I said that he would be too busy. Implied he should not visit.”
“Why?”
“Oh, Emily! I did not know he cared. I thought it was only my heart.… I … Why did I think he was just being gentlemanly? What was I thinking?” Covering her face with her hands, Imogene leaned against Emily. “Oh, Emily, I didn’t even give him a chance. He must have been waiting until I broke with his brother … waiting to see how I felt. And I turned him away. This is a disaster.”
“No. Not a disaster. It’s just a setback.” She pulled Imogene’s hands from her face. “So, what are you going to do?”
Imogene sat up straight, squared her shoulders, and glanced out the window. “What can I do?” she asked the ether, thought for a moment … thought about all that had happened that fateful day—the break with Ernest, Mr. Tabard’s guilt, her father’s rage, turning down Ben … and then the salvation of being offered a home and a future—and all the pieces tumbled together.
She turned back to Emily, who had been watching her closely. “Restitution. Mr. Tabard promised Ben restitution. And your father suggested that our art school would be better situated in a town or city … such as Canterbury. Even if we find a suitable townhouse, it will likely need to be renovated. Might the two not go together?”
Emily stilled, considered for some moments, and then blinked and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Tabard should be prevailed upon to provide a monetary restitution. He should hire Lord Penton on the strength of his apprentice’s excellent reputation to oversee the project.”
“Yes,” Imogene grinned. “And I am fairly certain that I would need to meet with Lord Penton’s apprentice regularly to discuss the plans.”
*
NOT A WEEK LATER, as Imogene was setting up her new teaching studio in the Shackleford attic, Emily entered the narrow room with an excited aspect in her bearing.
“Imogene,” Emily called needlessly from the doorway, as they had already spied each other. “You have a caller.”
“A caller?” Imogene stood from where she had been rooting through her art trunk. “Should I come down to the drawing room?”
“I brought him up here, being that he is no stranger to art studios.”
Emily stepped out of the way to reveal Ben Steeple, looking more handsome than ever. He had his hat in hand and kept turning it as he stared across the room. Imogene had never seen such a beautiful sight.
Jasper must have agreed, as the dog awoke and leaped to his feet in the same instant. He raced toward the door and greeted Ben with great bounces, tongue lolling, and adoration on his face.
“I apologize for disturbing you.” Ben calmed Jasper with inattentive pats and an unusually reserved manner. “I thought that I might write first … but then decided to ride over. I have a proposition—an offer, a business scheme—that I thought you might … that I might … Well, I’m sure you understand.”
Imogene could hardly hear his halting words over the clamor in her ears. Her heart was trying to beat out of her chest. Her breath seemed to have left her lungs, and yet she was filled with joy.… And she did not understand anything that he was saying. But did it matter?