Suitors and Sabotage(82)

“No, no, that’s fine. Please come in. It’s lovely to see you.” She turned toward Emily, who was making odd faces behind his back, and waved at her to go away.

“I think I will leave the two of you for a bit. I have to … check … yes, I have to check. Nice to see you again, Benjamin. I hope to see you more often.”

Imogene lifted her cheeks at her friend and flicked her hand in a be-gone movement. Emily winked at Imogene as she turned to go, taking Jasper with her.

Stepping forward, Imogene paused, blinking stupidly at her hand full of brushes—wondering how they had come to be there. She dropped them on a nearby table. “A business scheme? But my letter went out only a week ago,” she said, swaying her hips as she sashayed toward him.

Ben met her in the middle of the room. They were now only feet apart. She could almost touch him, and she was desperate to do so. There was no doubt that he had the most appealing gaze; his eyes were like liquid warmth, even when they were frowning.… which they were doing now.

“Letter? To me?”

“No, Mr. Tabard. Oh.” Imogene frowned. “You are not here about the school?” She tipped her head—and watched him watch her. “Well, yes, I thought it too soon. To what business scheme are you referring, then?”

Upon closer inspection, Imogene decided that she had never seen Ben look so edgy, almost nervous. His engaging smile was gone entirely, and he looked uncomfortable. It was almost as if they had reversed their characters, for she was the far more tranquil of the two, conversing easily.

Ben gave his head a short shake, continuing to frown. He turned his hat again. “I have come to ask if … if you might … will consent to be my artist.”

Imogene giggled—yes, an unintentional giggle, not a good sign. Well, not a bad sign, either—just a sign. “Your artist?” She was feeling rather light-headed. Probably best if she started to breathe again.

“Yes, I spoke to Lord Penton. Told him that I had been less than truthful about my drawing abilities … but that I had worked on it over the summer and better still knew an artist who was excellent at rendering buildings and detail and who might be willing to work with me on future projects. He was quite relieved—said he had seen quite clearly that I could not draw and thought that collaborating with an artist was an excellent suggestion. So there you have it, would you, please, consider a collaboration … with me?”

Imogene grinned. “I think it a most estimable idea.” She offered her hand, as a gentleman might do upon the conclusion of a business deal.

But rather than take it as he ought, Ben dropped his hat and, using both hands, encased hers. “That, my dear Imogene, is the best news I have had in some time. It would require regular visits … to discuss various projects and … why did you think I was here because of Mr. Tabard?”

Imogene stared hypnotically at their joined hands. Propriety dictated that she pull her hand away—break the bond—but she was too content to give propriety any heed. “I wrote to Mr. Tabard suggesting that he might make amends to you financially. That he should secure Lord Penton and his highly recommended apprentice, Mr. Benjamin Steeple, for a long-term project … that of building or renovating a studio, a teaching art studio.”

“A teaching studio? Would that be your art school?”

She grinned. “Eventually. A teaching studio at first, growing into a school and then, if all goes well, an academy.”

“Oh, that is too splendid, absolutely the best news ever. Imogene, I am so very pleased for you.”

“Thank you. It is not the work of a minute. There is a significant amount of planning, but with Mr. Beeswanger’s guidance, I’m sure it will come about. Something I never thought possible before.” Reluctantly, she freed her hand but did not step back. They were standing very close—almost under-the-parasol close.

“You are a marvelous teacher, Imogene. I know the school will be a great success.”

“Thank you. I have high hopes.”

A slight fold formed above the bridge of his nose and then disappeared. “Designing, settling on plans, and then executing them would place us in each other’s company a fair amount over several months.”

“I assumed as much.” She laughed at his surprised and then brightening expression. “I have missed our time together … our lessons, of course.”

“Have you? But when we last spoke, you did not seem at all eager to continue our acquaintance.”

A cloud formed in Imogene’s eyes. “It was a terrible day, Ben. I was not thinking clearly. I had just devastated your brother, broken with my father.… How is Ernest?”

This time, Ben’s frown stayed. “Not as well as I would like, I must admit. But his letters are becoming frequent and no longer filled with doom and gloom. Still, it has been only a few weeks—time is his best ally.”

“I did not mean to hurt him. I hoped we might be friends; I did so like his company. He has such wit and gentleness.”

“Yes, well, he might not thank you for friendship right now. He avoids the topic of you almost entirely. He only mentions Miss Chively—yes, I’m afraid your given name has disappeared—he only mentions you as a necessary evil when haranguing me to pay a social call on the Beeswangers. In that, he was rather emphatic—relentlessly insistent, in fact.”