Suitors and Sabotage(3)
Laughing at their folly, Emily indicated that Mr. Benjamin should go ahead.
“I apologize again for disturbing you. I will leave you to your…” He glanced at the basket. “To your alfresco meal.”
“Oh no, Mr. Steeple, don’t go. There is no need.” Emily sounded amused. “It is just a spot of tea … without the tea, to see us through until dinner. We have plenty to spare if you would care to join us.”
Mr. Benjamin’s brow folded for the merest second, and then he nodded. “Thank you. So very kind; however, before I do, I might take a wander around this fine building.” He looked over his shoulder almost wistfully.
“Of course.” Imogene surprised Emily by answering before her. Imogene wanted to say more, though—warn him about the decay and less-than-sturdy walls. And it would seem that Emily had forgotten about the danger, for her friend silently gestured toward the castle with a bright smile.
Taking full advantage of the offer, Benjamin Steeple swiveled and quickly crossed the old cobbled courtyard to the crumbling great hall.
“Emily,” Imogene whispered, “warn him—about the hazards.”
With a jerk of realization, Emily called, “Stop, Mr. Steeple, please. The floor is weak in the center and the wall rickety. Best go round the other way. Yes, there is a path that goes around the back.…” Emily snorted a laugh and dropped her voice. “Well, I guess he found it.” Benjamin Steeple had disappeared around the corner of the south wing with a casual wave, Jasper scurrying after him. “Methinks the gentleman likes your … ruins.”
“Not everyone can say that.” Imogene grinned as they turned back to the coverlet. She sat on her side with proper decorum and then pulled the basket close. “Help me spread this out, Emily. We can make a pretty display of it. As usual, Cook has been generous.”
Spreading out the savory tarts, fruit, and sweet squares, Imogene sighed at the loss of their solitude. While it was clear that Mr. Benjamin had not intended to intrude, he had done just that. Manners dictated their behavior from here; he would stay long enough to nibble on the light repast, discuss the weather or the beauty of the countryside, and then he would be off.
With another deep sigh, Imogene realized that her sense of disappointment was not for her lost sketching time, but the loss of a suitor-free day. Ernest Steeple was now waiting up at the house, and she would have to be enchanting and engaging, as dictated by her mother. How was she meant to achieve such lofty traits without … the proper disposition?
“It will be fine,” Emily said as if understanding the source of Imogene’s discomfort.
Imogene shrugged, but it didn’t look as nonchalant as she had wished.
“You’ll have to practice that,” Emily offered.
“I’ll have to practice a great many things.” Imogene sighed, yet again, wishing that her feeling of dread would go away.
“Try not to think on it overly. You’ll only end up tying yourself in knots. Just remember, Ernest Steeple would not be visiting if you had not made an impression. Your most awkward moments are over.”
“I wish that were true. Just as I wish Father had not invited him to spend a seven-night with us. We don’t really know each other—a mere three or four conversations does not indicate a lifelong attachment—Pardon?”
“I think that’s the point, Imogene. Your father invited Mr. Ernest so that you could get to know each other. I wish the idea didn’t make you so uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be tongue-tied or say all the wrong things.”
“Well, then focus on art—a topic so close to your heart you’ll forget to be shy.”
“Yes, but that was how I survived our first four encounters. I can hardly continue in the same vein.”
“Bat your bright blue eyes, then talk of the weather.”
Imogene smiled and shook her head. “Yes, that will win his heart for certain.”
“Do you want his heart?” Emily suddenly looked serious.
Imogene didn’t answer immediately. She mulled over the effects of Ernest’s proximity, and though she quite liked him, she thought that her quickening heart might not indicate attraction, but fear. But was it fear of losing Ernest’s good opinion or fear of disappointing her parents?
“I don’t know,” Imogene said finally.
“Well, whatever you decide, your dearest mama cannot complain. Mr. Ernest Steeple is an excellent prospect. Your Season was not a failure as was mine; I did not take as you have so clearly done.”
Imogene laughed at the absurdity. “You were the belle of many a ball and were not looking for any offer, but the right offer. Mrs. Beeswanger seems quite enamored with the idea of giving you a second Season. My mother … well, she wants me settled and away with no more wasted expense.” She uttered the hurtful words as if they were of no consequence, but Emily knew better.
“They are so very different. Really, I don’t know how our mothers have remained fast friends all these years; they rarely agree.”
“Cousin Clara,” Imogene said, nodding without looking up from her paper. Clara Tabard was not only a cousin of Imogene’s mother but also a great friend of Diane Beeswanger, Emily’s mother. At least, she used to be. A disease of the lungs had carried Cousin Clara away the previous autumn. “She kept the peace. It will be a strange summer without her.”