by Cindy Anstey
“Welcome, Mr. Steeple, Mr. Benjamin.” Mr. Chively stepped forward, enunciating and projecting his words so that it felt more like a performance than a greeting.
Fortunately, the company laughed, and the atmosphere relaxed immediately.
“Chively, old fellow, no need to be so formal,” Mr. Beeswanger called out.
Mrs. Beeswanger, who looked as genial as her husband, nodded with great vigor. “Indeed not.” She stepped to the center of the room, glanced toward Mrs. Chively—who shrugged—and then back to Ernest. “The countryside lends itself to a far less decorous lifestyle—the strictures of society can be relaxed somewhat here. To that end, we”—she gestured to those around her—“are quite comfortable with given names for the younger generation, and if it would not insult your sensibilities, we would offer you the same casual address. A little untoward, perhaps, but we are all on good terms.” The implication being, of course, that the good terms would soon include the Steeple boys. There was no hiding why they were visiting.
Ben glanced at Ernest, knowing he would be flummoxed. Ernest found great comfort in those strictures; they provided a template—expected behavior drilled into him since birth. Well, no, that was an exaggeration. Their regimented life had begun only when Sir Andrew and Lady Margaret had accepted the responsibility of two lads while their parents traipsed around the Continent. Still, five years of rules and regulations had been of comfort to Ernest … though not to Ben.
“Untoward, indeed, Mrs. Beeswanger,” he said, stepping into the fray, allowing Ernest to gather his wits. “But a welcome deviation. Another reason to appreciate country life.”
“Marvelous” was her reply, said with an exhalation as if she had been holding her breath.
Ernest’s silence continued a tad overlong, forcing Ben to nonchalantly shift in his brother’s direction and knock him shoulder to shoulder.
“Yes, yes, indeed.” Ernest came to life. He turned toward Imogene, raising his voice slightly to include the offset group. “Call me Ernest. Benjamin prefers Ben.”
Looking at Ben, Miss Chively smiled quite broadly. “Thank you, I shall. I’m Imogene.” She turned and swept her arm back as if to indicate those standing with her, but her gaze moved as she did, falling on Ernest. She turned a bright shade of pink—that Ben thought rather becoming—then blinked and swallowed, all in silence.
Clearing her throat, Miss Beeswanger secured the attention of the room. “Ernest … Benjamin … please, call me Emily.”
Ben noticed the use of his full name, pronounced slowly as if it were being measured, and he lifted the corner of his mouth, offering a weak smile. Benjamin was pretentious in his mind; it reminded Ben of his namesake, General Benjamin Steeple, a great-uncle of a stern and pompous repute. Not exactly a person he wished to emulate.
“These are my sisters, Pauline”—Emily gestured toward the older girl first and then, the younger—“and Hardly Harriet.”
“Em,” Hardly Harriet whined with a deeply entrenched frown and … yes, a pout. “You can’t say that to strangers. It’s not right.”
“I beg your pardon,” Miss Emily said, facing Ben, not her sister. “Harriet prefers Harry.”
“Do not!”
“Percy Chively.” The young man stepped forward with a nod, ignoring the teasing. “Everyone calls me Percy.” He, like his parents, was focused on Ernest.
“There we go. The formalities of the night are over; we can enjoy—” Mrs. Beeswanger started to say.
A gravelly noise emanated from the settee. They all turned toward the sound and the person making it—by clearing her throat.
“Oh, dear me. I apologize, Miss Watson. Please, let me introduce Miss Bertha Watson, Pauline and Harriet’s governess.”
With introductions truly complete this time, the host and hostess dragged Ernest into their group—almost literally, for Mrs. Chively asked Ernest to walk her to the window, a distance of a mere ten feet or so. Ben, unfettered for a moment, drifted toward Percy’s group. Though not interested in the man’s bragging about his hunting prowess, Ben thought this discourse held more promise than a soliloquy about the weather … or snuffboxes. Catching Miss Imogene’s eye, he winked, eliciting a light laugh from her. It sounded so enchanting that Ben was taken aback.
Looking down at Miss Imogene, Ben tried to imagine her as a member of the Steeple family and discovered that the prospect was no longer as unwelcome as it had been a mere day ago. In fact, the possibility was rather buoying.
* * *
“LORDY, LORDY, ERNEST. I don’t envy you your in-laws.… Possible in-laws.” Ben chuckled quietly while closing the door behind him. He had followed Ernest to his bedroom for a private chat about the whys and wherefores of their evening.
“Really? How could you not be fascinated by … now let me see if I recall—the compound interest of debt, or was it the compound debt of interest? No, no, I’m quite certain it was the former.… Or was it the latter?” With a snorting laugh, Ernest shook his head and pulled off his coat. “What in heaven’s name would give Mr. Chively the idea that I cared about the ins and outs of banking? His chosen occupation, not mine.” Ernest frowned at the door until it opened briefly to allow Matt to slip in, and then he handed the valet the coat and limp neck-cloth that he had just tugged free.
“Well, I might have mentioned something.”
“Ben, you didn’t.”
“Not intentionally. It was an innocent comment. We were talking of Musson House, and I simply stated that Grandfather already appreciated your opinion in regard to management of the estate. I was trying to impress the man with your competence; I did not know that he would take it as a sign that you were kindred spirits in all matters of economics. See, nothing untoward—all very innocent.”
Ben smiled, for in truth he had known that Mr. Chively would take the comment and run with it; though Ben had not expected the man to monopolize Ernest completely and leave his brother with no opportunity to woo all evening. Ben had meant to set his brother up for a boring conversation, not an entire night.
Ernest looked at Matt. “Does he ever make an innocent comment?”
“Not that I have observed, sir.” Matt made no attempt to hide his grin.
“See?” Ernest offered Ben an ineffectual glare. “In our employ only a month and already Matt knows that to be a bouncer. Really, Ben, the point of this visit is to become better acquainted with Miss Imogene, not her father.”
“Too true.” Ben shrugged and dropped onto the window seat that was similar to the one in his room. It was, perhaps, the only similarity; this chamber was larger and much more lavishly appointed. “Well, tomorrow is another day in which Mr. Turner might still provide fodder for a lively discussion. The tutelage was not for naught.”
“It felt like a waste.… Not the tutelage, the evening. If I hadn’t seen that you were entertaining Miss Imogene, I would have called the night a complete loss. By the by, what were you talking about? She seemed fascinated. Extolling my virtues?” Ernest raised his brows in a hopeful manner.
“Mother and Father’s Italian journeys. Might be an idea for a bridal trip.”
“Oh.” Ernest huffed a sigh as he unbuttoned his vest; he stared without focus above Ben’s head. “Miss Imogene is of a retiring disposition, Ben. She’s not a traveler. We can hunker into Musson House in harmony. Not stir beyond Chotsdown.”
“That might be to your taste, Ernest, but I got the impression that Miss Imogene would enjoy a wider view of the world.”
“No, no. You are mistaken. Miss Imogene was quite unhappy in London. Mentioned several times how much she preferred to be at home—in the country.”
Ben frowned. He was not mistaken in Miss Imogene’s interest. She had leaned forward with rapt attention, asked about the ruins in Rome, the canals of Venice, his parents’ collections of paintings and sculptures—where they had been found, what was their condition, what subjects were depicted. The shyness from which she usually suffered was hardly evident. In fact, they
had become so involved in their discourse that it had taken a nudge from Miss Emily to pull Miss Imogene out of her reverie.
Ben thought it likely that his brother misunderstood the nature of Miss Imogene’s desire to stay in the country. A bashful character would not enjoy the squeezes of London balls and soirees, but a Continental journey with a husband at her side—well, that would be an entirely different matter.
Ernest became very still. “I have no cause for concern … do I?” He lowered his gaze.
“About what?”
Ernest continued to stare, his jaw tightened.
“What is going on in that pea-brain of yours, brother?”
“Miss Imogene hung on your every word. Don’t think I did not notice.”
“You just said that the evening would have been a waste had I not entertained your lady-fair.”
“Yes. But she has never looked at me in such a way.”
“Ernest, Ernest, Ernest. I helped rescue her dog and saved her castle from destruction. Of course she is kindly disposed to me. It was a traumatic afternoon, and you should admire her ability to step past it so quickly. She is impressive; no vapors, no histrionics.… Still, worry not, brother dear, she was not looking at me in that way.”
“She was quite animated when you spoke,” Ernest said with careful enunciation.
“True. But a shared experience does create a bond.”
“A brother-sister bond?”
“Indeed.” Ben nodded, happy that Ernest was coming around. “Be her hero tomorrow, and you’ll be all set.”
“How?”
“Ernest, you are so unimaginative! Let’s see. Offer to carry her art supplies.”
“Hardly heroic.”
“True. But I don’t recommend throwing Jasper down a well so that you might rescue him or setting the manor alight so that you might carry Miss Imogene from the flames. Perhaps jump into the fray when Mrs. Chively offers her daughter a particularly snide remark … which she does on a regular basis.”
“That’s not heroic, either.”
“Really, Ernest.” Ben shook his head in frustration. “I have little doubt that Miss Imogene would simply appreciate someone coming to her defense. As you must have observed, the Beeswangers are far kinder to Miss Imogene than the Chivelys.”
“Yes I did. Perhaps they are too practical. Don’t value her artistic abilities. Yes, I will talk to Miss Imogene about John Turner tomorrow. Prove that I, unlike they, appreciate creativity.”
“Yes, yes, excellent idea.” Ben rose to his feet and slapped his brother on the back as he headed for the door. “However, I think you will impress Miss Imogene more if you call the gentleman Joseph Turner instead.”
* * *
IT IS DIFFICULT to maintain an air of indifference while one is rushing down a hallway in desperate need to talk to one’s closest friend. It was just as well that Imogene was not trying to deceive those around her but simply to maintain her privacy. A privacy that was about to come to an end … as soon as she and Emily put good English oak between them and the rest of the household.
Imogene could hardly contain her disquiet; she needed Emily’s opinion.
Had she noticed? Had her friend seen the way Ben looked at her?
Imogene was certain … almost certain … that Ben’s interest in her was not of a brotherly nature. Had he not stared at her throughout dinner? Had he not engaged her in a discourse of which she, and she alone, could be a part? Had he not reached out to touch her as they sat at the table? And then he had split his dessert, offering the sweet, delectable seed cake to her and Emily when Imogene declared it her favorite.
How could he flirt so openly with her when Ernest was watching from the other end of the table? It was a most uncomfortable situation—made worse by the fact that she quite enjoyed Ben’s company.
What was she to do?
“Oh, Imogene, we have so much to discuss,” Emily said. A mere step or two behind Imogene, Emily grinned with excitement.
“Let us hurry,” Imogene said, though to hurry more would necessitate running. Even without her mother’s watchful eye, Imogene could not do something so undignified.
It seemed an age before Imogene could close the door to their shared bedchamber, though in fact it was but a moment or two.
“I can hardly believe it.” Emily was the first to speak, unaware of Imogene’s troubled thoughts.
“Indeed,” Imogene squeaked. She walked over to the bed and then, changing her mind, strode over to her window seat. Even that did not appeal. How could she sit still when every fiber of her being was tense with concern? She wanted to fling back the shutters and fly away, soar high into the sky until all the worries and complexities of the evening disappeared.
She paced instead.
“It has happened,” Emily said as Imogene passed by for a second time. Grabbing her hands, Emily leaned back, and they spun together in the center of the room. “I am in love!” she shouted … quietly.
Imogene gasped. Had she not been caught in the momentum of their spin, she would have tripped. “Oh, Emily! That is wonderful.” Could she mean Percy? No, probably not. They had known each other forever, and he had paid Emily no heed this evening. Surely, she didn’t mean Ben.
Imogene stopped twirling. “Who…?” She suddenly found it difficult to form words.
Fortunately, Emily did not notice. She threw her hands up and began to twirl on her own. “Can you believe it? Never would I expect to attract the attention of such a splendid young man. But we have so much in common: our interests, our pursuits. Yes, we will be laughing and chatting into our dotage. Oh, Imogene, I feel as if I could slay dragons—I know the knight is supposed to slay the dragon, but … well, I feel as if I could, too. Life is a marvel, don’t you agree? Can you imagine, Imogene, we are going to be sisters as well as fast friends? You shall be Mrs. Ernest Steeple, and I will be Mrs. Benjamin Steeple. Can you think of anything more glorious?”
Imogene swallowed. “What makes you think that Ben might be entertaining romantic thoughts about you?”
“Oh, Imogene, did you not see? It was glorious.… I love that word, don’t you? Yes, glorious. He stared at me with growing affection all through dinner. He spoke to me, and me alone. Did you not notice how he answered my questions about Florence? And then Benjamin reached out to touch my arm as we sat at the table. Yes, that was when I began to hope that he was mine, but I knew for certain when he offered me his seed cake after I declared it to be my favorite. He claimed to be sated, too full to eat even a morsel. But I knew the truth; it was a sacrifice—for me. How could I not return such glorious affection? Imogene, I am so very happy.”
Imogene stared wide-eyed. Emily’s words were an echo of Imogene’s thoughts. Was Ben attracted to them both? How was that possible? This was terrible—a disaster in the making.
chapter 4
In which hands and fluff are subjects of a deep discussion
“I know what you are going to say—that Benjamin still has to complete his apprenticeship and that I will have to be patient.”
That was not what Imogene was going to say.
“Though we might be able to marry earlier; I am not aware of his financial situation. We could rent a cute little cottage.… I could suffer a snug little place for a year or two. Though I would probably not do well without a carriage. Yes, we would have to rent a place with enough room for horses.”
Imogene breathed deeply through her nose. “Oh,” she said with great intelligence, sitting heavily on the mattress of her four-poster. She exhaled a deep sigh of relief, though an unsettling whisper of disappointment wafted into the air with it. “I don’t think you can be certain of Ben’s feelings, Emily.”
Imogene felt wretched, watching the change in her friend’s face. It progressed from happiness to puzzlement, followed by disbelief, a hint of anger, and then resignation. Silence filled the room. Imogene rubbed at her forehead, reluctant to explain. The hush stretched into several minutes.
�
�Did I misread Benjamin?” Emily finally asked. “Have I presumed too far?”
“I believe so.”
“But … no, I’m certain. He looked at me with such kindness and interest, Imogene. He seemed taken with everything I uttered. He even laughed when I described my muddy boots. It was a banal story.… But he laughed. Why do you think…?” Emily swallowed, unable to continue.
“He laughed and chatted as easily with Pauline and Harriet as he did with you. Even offered Miss Watson a kind smile and comment.” Conjuring up his face, Imogene watched him grin in her mind and felt an unwelcome quickening of her pulse. She turned her face to the dark window. A somber reflection gazed back. “It would seem that Ben is quite adept at making everyone feel special.”
“Oh.” There was a pause and then a deflating sigh. “How utterly and completely … disappointing.” The rustle of Emily’s skirts warned Imogene of Emily’s approach. She dropped onto the bed beside Imogene, bouncing her slightly. “Being charming is not a bad trait,” Emily said softly. “But I am sorry.… I thought his smiles were for me.”
“I’m quite certain they were. Nothing can diminish that. It was the interpretation that was askew.”
“Oh, Imogene, when I think on it clearly, Benjamin paid heed to you, as well. How uncomfortable you must have been.”
“In what way?”
“To think that Ernest’s brother was trifling with you. You must have wanted to melt into the floor.”
Imogene snorted a laugh. “Actually, I find Ben such easy company that I have not wanted to melt in some hours. I was not embarrassed.” It was true enough; she had been puzzled and anxious but not embarrassed.
“Still, what a fine kettle of fish that would have been. Thank the heavens your father did not notice. He would have been furious. Only a firstborn with a sizable income for you.”
“Ernest Steeple’s inheritance matters little to me, Emily. If I never feel my heart race when our eyes meet, then no matter what my father demands, I will not marry Ernest.”
