by Cindy Anstey
“This is dreadful!”
Imogene straightened and caught the paper, with its accompanying board, just as Ben attempted to pitch it into the grass.
“It is not dreadful,” she said as she righted it and then studied the sketch. Not dreadful but quite grim. Ben had overworked the piece to the point that it was a mass of gray lines with no definition. “Merely indistinct,” she added. And the scale was off-kilter, too, but she would deal with that at a later date. “An easy fix. Watch.” With a few deft strokes—darker strokes—the wall gained dimension—though there was little she could do with the ivy.
Ben huffed a sigh. “Yes, that’s better—but … I will listen to you next time. Something simpler.”
Imogene nodded. “You can’t run before you can walk.”
“Speaking of walking, can we?” Emily’s expression was bright and hopeful. She shifted as if she were about to rise. “I am stiff from sitting overlong and would so enjoy a little stroll around the abbey.” She winked at Imogene while she reached for her parasol.
With a nod, Ben untangled his long limbs, stood, stretched, and then offered Emily a hand up. “Shall we?” he asked like a true gallant. Once he got Emily to her feet, Ben pulled her arm through the crook of his, and they set off across the grass.
“And you?” Ernest inquired. Unlike the rest of the company, he had relaxed in the sun—under a wide-brimmed hat, of course. Sitting on the ruined wall nearest the group, Ernest had a placid expression as he swatted languidly at a pestering insect. As usual, he had brought a book. “Would you care for a meander?”
Glancing down at her unfinished sketch, Imogene hesitated. She seldom left her work incomplete, and yet the prospect of a stretch held enough appeal that she looked around for her parasol, too.
Soon they were arm in arm, swaying in unison at an easy gait. They took the path opposite the one Ben and Emily had chosen, and so for a time the couples were out of each other’s sight. It would have caused shock and consternation had Mama been aware of this little breach, but Imogene had no intention of informing either of her parents.
Chatting comfortably, Imogene was quite content, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to be married to this kind, handsome young man. Ernest was all that she had ever imagined in a husband: quiet, calm, and while not actively interested in her art, he did not dismiss it as worthless, either. He had the approval of her father, which was a major accomplishment in itself, and most important, there seemed to be great affection in his eyes when he looked her way. She felt comfortable in his presence, which was a surprise. While she let him carry the weight of the conversation, she could comment without nervousness and self-doubt. Yes, it was all very pleasant.
Then, as they rounded the arch leading to what had been the nave, the sight of Emily laughing and Ben smiling—oblivious to all but each other—gave Imogene pause. Her belly clenched, and she felt a sudden need to turn away. Lifting her gaze back to Ernest, she concentrated on his mouth and his delivery of a Lord Byron poem. Imogene knew “She Walks in Beauty” well enough, and by focusing on each individual word, she found the strength to push back the distress that threatened to overwhelm her sensibilities.
It took some minutes for Imogene to recover her equilibrium and bury her yearning. When she did, Imogene turned her head again toward Emily and Ben, noting her friend’s high color, her broad grin, and the way she leaned closer than was likely considered proper. Imogene smiled, happy for her friend. And if the tableau blurred a little with unshed tears, she would blame the brightness of the sun.
* * *
“MIGHT I SPEAK to you, Percy?” Imogene asked while reaching for her brother’s arm, giving him no chance to refuse. She had dressed quickly for dinner and rushed to the bottom of the main staircase so that she might have this very conversation. She could hardly allow him to escape at this juncture. Naturally, Percy complied, though Jake, who was at his elbow, thought the invitation included him, which it did not. Still, she could hardly quibble.
The trio stepped out of the way in the event that others might wish to continue down the corridor toward the grand saloon and the predinner gathering. They stood in front of the large unlit hearth in a loose triangle. The boys’ eyes sparkled as if anticipating a laugh; Percy and Jake seldom took Imogene’s frustrations seriously.
“What do you think of my pendant?” she asked with no preamble. Imogene had worn the topaz necklace as an accusation and to show the miscreant the failure of his lark.
Percy’s foolish grin faded, and his mouth curled in distaste. “Really, Imogene, what a boring topic. I have never thought it particularly attractive.”
“Yes, but are you not surprised that it is once again in my possession?”
“Hardly. Who would want to borrow such a thing?”
Jake snorted in support of his friend and, though he said nothing, made it plain he thought Imogene one of the silliest girls in Kent.
“No one borrowed it,” Imogene snapped.
“There, see? I said as much. Not even worthy of a conversation … so why are we talking about it?”
Imogene glared at her brother to little effect. “Then you had nothing to do with my pendant vacating my jewelry case and hiding in another room?”
“Nothing at all. What would be the fun in that?”
And with those words, Percy and Jake looked at each other, shrugged, and left Imogene standing by the fireplace unable to answer his question.
“Are you well, my dear?”
Imogene turned her frown toward the first step of the staircase. “Yes, of course, Mr. Tabard,” she said before realizing that her folded brow told a different story. She took a deep breath and adopted a calm demeanor.
“Were Jake and Percy giving you a hard time?” Mr. Tabard puckered his lips, likely trying to adopt the disapproving appearance of Cousin Clara, who had always been the one to rein Jake in.
“No, no. I’m just having trouble understanding something. I’m rather puzzled.”
With a sigh and a nod, Mr. Tabard offered his arm, and they strolled down the hallway. “Life is a puzzle, my dear,” he said in a blousy tone. “Or so your cousin used to say. Puzzling and unpredictable, and needs a steady hand at the helm.” He patted the top of Imogene’s hand as they approached the grand saloon. “So very glad to know that Jake was not the cause of your confusion. Yes, good to know. Clara would have been terribly disappointed.”
Imogene’s frown returned unbidden. “Indeed, she could not abide malice.… Percy and Jake’s antics are seldom purposefully cruel.”
That was the difficulty. For when she considered the theft, she no longer saw the stamp of two young men intent on mischief. The incident did not offer any amusement. No, the accusations that could have followed would have been serious, with far-reaching consequences. Even if Percy and Jake had taken a dislike to Ben or Ernest, to see one of the Steeples falsely accused would be out of character. The blame could also have been laid at their valet’s doorstep … or Kate’s … or the housemaids’. It would have meant dismissal and an upheaval downstairs. No, this was not a prank of the same sort as a spider in her bed, a dousing, or teasing the dogs.
But if Percy and Jake were not the instigators of the theft, then who was?
It was a question that occupied Imogene for a majority of the evening—certainly from the soup to the jellies. Ernest tried to draw her out with a conversation about the abbey, which was a brief diversion from her troubled thoughts. But unfortunately, as soon as the beauty of the day, Carden Abbey, the countryside, and the horses had been exhausted, Imogene’s mind doggedly returned to the puzzle.
Who had stolen her topaz necklace, and why had it been in Ben’s room?
chapter 7
In which a question about the question is questioned
“Is today the day?” Ben asked Ernest as they waited in the yard for the carriage to be brought around. It was too fine a day to linger indoors: warm with a fragrant breeze, layers of clouds playing with the sun.
This was the fifth dry day in a row; it would have been a miracle in Chotsdown, where Musson House hunkered on the coast.
“The day for what?”
“Toad! What is the purpose of this visit—all this excessive civility? Is today the day you ask Imogene to marry you?”
Ernest shifted his balance and turned to stare at the sky above the stables. “That’s a rather personal question.”
“You are hedging. I take it to mean the answer is no.” Ben shook his head in disbelief, and he considered offering Ernest a snarl, but his brother was still staring at nothing. The effort would have been wasted.
“Haste is not necessary.”
“Not necessary? Brother dear, we are off in two days. You are running out of time.” Ben watched Ernest shift again. “Feeling uncertain?”
“I believe that Imogene is not quite ready. We have only begun to know each other.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
Ernest’s head snapped around, and he frowned at Ben. “How can you even suggest such inconstancy? You know me better than that.”
“Well, you better get a wiggle on.” Ben held up his hand, waving two fingers in front of Ernest’s face. “If you don’t, you will have to wait until the Chivelys return to London in the autumn. Someone else may push you to the back of the line by then.” His words were meant as a jest, but Ernest didn’t smile. “Though it’s unlikely,” he added lamely.
“I have decided to wait a little while longer.” Ernest nodded, agreeing with himself.
Ben huffed in frustration. Ernest had never rushed toward change. In fact, when his brother had become suddenly enamored with the shy Imogene Chively in London, Ben had thought that Ernest had overcome his aversion to impulsiveness. Accepting the invitation to dwell among strangers, even if only for a seven-night, he thought to be a sign of Ernest’s tremendous attachment.… But now he hesitated.
“Well, you might get permission to write. Her parents should be amenable. And your prose is quite eloquent in a blousy, boring sort of manner.”
“Thanks ever so.”
“Still, it will probably impress your lady-fair and give Imogene … and you … the time—”
“No need.” Ernest’s expression lightened—with a decided twinkle to his eye. It usually spelled trouble.
“Oh Lud. What have you done?” Looking across the yard, Ben watched a chicken round the stable corner. Where was the coach … or the ladies, for that matter?
“I have accepted an invitation.”
Another chicken joined the first, and they set about scratching in the dirt.
“Have I accepted, as well?” Ben could finally hear the clop of hooves on cobblestone. The landau would soon follow the chickens.
“Most certainly. You were very pleased to accept.”
“Was I, indeed?” Ben harrumphed, returning his gaze to his brother. “You realize, Ernest, that I cannot traipse after you all summer. I have my own pursuits.”
“Of course, but this fits in handsomely with your plans.”
“Does it?” He waited, hoping to be convinced—since it would seem he had little choice in the matter.
“Yes. The Beeswangers have asked us to join the company at Shackleford Park. Apparently, all are to Tishdale within a fortnight. This visiting back and forth over the summer is a decades-old tradition.”
“Yes, I had heard something in that order.” Ben tried to maintain his glower. He did not want Ernest to know that he actually did approve of the idea. Not only would Ben get a chance to appreciate the architecture of the Park, but Imogene could also continue his drawing lessons. It would do rather nicely.
“That will give me more time to ready.”
Ben laughed. “To ready yourself or Imogene?”
“Both, I imagine.”
Ben continued to chuckle as the door at their backs squeaked open.
“Ah, there you are,” Emily said as she and Imogene stepped across the threshold. She was pulling on a pair of soft yellow gloves that matched her gown and the ribbon in her bonnet. Imogene was dressed in blue—a light sky sort of blue … that had an identifying name that eluded him. “Cerulean?” he asked, pointing to her skirts.
She smiled. “Azure.”
Emily glanced up at Ernest with a lifted brow—either puzzled or surprised—and ignored the exchange. “I’m afraid Pauline and Harriet have decided they are not interested in the view from Foxhill after all. So once again, it will be just the four of us.” She tried to turn down the corners of her mouth as if she were disappointed but was less than successful.
“That’s a shame,” Ben said without conviction. “The girls had seemed quite taken with the idea at luncheon.”
“Yes, well, Mama thought that a little shopping in Fotheringham was more to their taste.” Emily tipped her head to the side, offering Ben a saucy grin. “The offer of sweets and new ribbons can quickly change one’s mind about a lovely vista.”
Ernest laughed. “Indeed.”
During this exchange, Mr. Fowler had pulled the carriage to a neat stop in front of the group, alit, and come round to help his passengers into the landau. He waited patiently beside the stepping-block, doing his best to appear unaware of the conversation.
Ernest nodded a thank-you to the elderly coachman, offering to hand up the ladies in his stead. Emily was seated easily enough, but Imogene required more attention. Well, not really, but Ernest made a process of the deed—almost ceremonial.
Taking her left hand in his, Ernest cupped Imogene’s elbow with his right. He led her to the carriage and provided support as she negotiated the tremendous height to the block, and then onto the step and into the vehicle. Unfortunately, his hold was a tad overlong; she had to turn around and ask Ernest to release her. She stared at her hand with what appeared to be a troubled expression for some moments—standing across the threshold—until Emily called, breaking into Imogene’s thoughts.
It did not bode well.
By the time they were all seated comfortably, Imogene’s color had receded from the bright red of embarrassment and Ernest had no idea that he had caused Imogene any anxiety. Ben understood Ernest’s desire to touch Imogene—opportunities were few and far between—but he had done himself a disservice.
Ben sighed inwardly as the carriage rolled through the Gracebridge gates and out onto the main road. Perhaps Ernest had the right of it: Imogene was not yet ready to accept his proposal of marriage, and Ernest was not yet ready to ask. Ben did his best not to be pleased with this realization, and he refrained from considering why that might be so.
* * *
IMOGENE STARED AT her hand, aware that she should be involved in the discourse about the passing scenery, but she was unable to join the trivialities. She was instead locked into a loop of unanswerable questions.
When Imogene had dressed for the outing, she had chosen to adorn her gloves with her turquoise ring—a little accent of blue-green. As a gift from her grandmother, the finely worked silver and stone held tremendous sentimental value.… But now that she thought upon it, it had monetary value as well.
“Would you say topaz or turquoise more precious?” Imogene turned to Emily beside her, interrupting her friend’s observation that the buttercups were particularly yellow this year.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the carriage were the crunch of the wheels on the road and the clop of the horses’ hooves. Emily blinked, frowned slightly, and glanced to the other side of the vehicle, where the Steeple brothers were seated.
“I’m not entirely certain,” she said. Though it was clear Emily was not certain about the question, either.
Following her friend’s gaze, Imogene observed that Ernest and Ben were looking at her as if her conversation was odd … which it was since they were not privy to her thoughts. And yet, even as she watched, Ben glanced down at her ring and nodded—clearly perceiving the source of her non sequitur.
“If I were to hazard a guess, I might say the turquoise.” Ben nodded in the d
irection of her hand.
“And that is relevant in what manner?” Emily asked.
“Ah yes.” This time it was Ernest who nodded. “Yes, why would a thief take a topaz necklace when there was a turquoise ring sitting next to it?” It was clear that Ben had shared the incident with his brother, as Imogene had done with Emily.
“Or both?” Ben observed. “It was but a moment’s work—no need to choose one over the other. Both would have brought the thief some reward.”
“Or the entire box, for that matter.” Emily touched Imogene’s skirts to garner her attention. “Your jewelry case is not large, it could easily fit beneath a coat … or in a reticule. And my case was in the same room—a different drawer, but to a thief, what is that?”
“Exactly,” Ben said. “And yet this person took only the topaz necklace. And then after going to the effort, dropped it in my room. A very inept thief, to my way of thinking. Are we quite certain this was not a prank?”
Imogene appreciated Ben’s avoiding her brother’s name outright, but it was clear to all to whom he referred.
“I cannot be sure, but Percy’s protest rang true. He and Jake derive their amusement from watching the discomfort of others—not kind, very immature, and incredibly irritating—but…”
“Might they not have found amusement when I was accused of theft?”
“Too far, even for Percy and Jake.”
Ben lifted his brows. “Really?”
“You are not convinced.” Imogene sighed. Unfortunately, she could not defend her brother any more than she already had; she was doubtful as well. She was going to have to make further inquiries downstairs. Silent and often ignored by the unwise, one of the housemaids might have seen someone in the vicinity of her room, someone who had no business there. She could but hope it was Percy; a nasty practical joke was preferable to thinking a thief, or worse, was in their midst.
