by Cindy Anstey
“Who is Matt?” Emily asked; her color was getting higher.
“The Steeple valet.” Kate lifted one corner of her mouth. “Quite a nice fella.” She turned back, dipping into the trunk for another piece of clothing. “There was no mistaking it, he said.”
Imogene closed her eyes and swallowed, breathing in a gulp. “It wasn’t my imagination,” she whispered with a half smile. “And I told him not to call.” She hung her head and closed her eyes.
“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?
“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.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And he urged me to approach you with the idea of rendering my designs. He thought you would be highly amenable. That was how he put it, highly amenable.”
“Really. Ernest sent you to … me.” Imogene swallowed and blinked rapidly for a moment.
“Yes. Why does that thought upset you, my dove? I thought it a kindness.” He wiped away a tear that had escaped and was sliding down her cheek.
“Yes, it is a great kindness. A very great kindness.” She took a calming breath and reached out to touch Ben’s hand. She did not have to stretch; he was still standing much too close for proper modesty. It was marvelous. “Did Ernest tell you why I was not favorable to his suit?”
“No. I thought your tastes were … that your interests … No. He didn’t say.”
Imogene stared at Ben, reveling in the sight, finding ecstasy in the warmth of his hands and the heat of his gaze. Could she tell him that she loved him? Could she be the one to take the first step? Would she die of mortification if she had misread his fixed gaze? Was Matt wrong? Did it matter?
No. Love was a gift, a compliment. It might not be reciprocated—but what if it was and Ben was simply waiting for a sign from her? After all, she had mistakenly asked him not to call. And if he did not feel the same…? Well … she would survive—not happily, but she would survive. Better to know one way or the other.
Stepping infinitesimally closer, Imogene took a deep breath, clasped both his hands, and opened her heart. “I have never been more terrified in my life than when you were trapped under the water. The thought of losing you was unbearable; I would have gladly traded places. I could hardly contain my joy when you were safe and sound once more.… Ernest realized … he knew … I am in love with you.”
Six words. Imogene had spoken the six words that would change her world—tip it over. She had taken her destiny in hand. For good or ill, the die was cast.
Ben stilled. Imogene wasn’t sure if he was breathing. And then, finally, he spoke. “Indeed?”
It was more of a croak.
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Imogene said, reveling in the freedom wrought by exposing her feelings. She lifted her hand, touching his lips lightly for a moment. They were soft and inviting, and she could think of nothing else other than how it might feel to press his lips to hers. So tantalizingly soft. They lured her closer.
But Ben had not spoken further. She waited for an eon of seconds.
He did not lean away; he did not back away; he did not run from the room screaming. All was well.… Better than well, for the look of astonishment had changed. There was something compelling about the way his eyes dropped to her mouth. Something that made her heart beat at an impossible rate, made her want to wrap her arms around him.
Then he smiled.
And the world righted on its axis.
Leaning toward her, with his eyes glued to her mouth, Ben paused. Imogene could feel his breath on her face; they were within kissing distance … but not touching. She ached with anticipation. Why was he waiting?
“I love you, too,” he said, finally placing his mouth on hers.
Fire shot through Imogene’s veins, and she wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck, standing on her toes, pressing every part of her body against his. His kiss deepened, and the world disappeared. All that existed was the ecstasy of their entangled hearts, minds, and bodies. She hummed in pleasure as Ben kissed his way down her neck and then back up to her mouth.
All too soon, he pulled away, but not far. She was still in his arms, his mouth ready to continue its exploration.
“Should I ask your father or Mr. Beeswanger for your hand in marriage?”
Imogene grinned. “Perhaps you should ask me?”
With a quiet chuckle, Ben shifted his gaze to her eyes. “Imogene, my dove, will you—”
“Yes.” Imogene smothered his words with her mouth. There would be time for talking later.
Glossary
COVERLET: bedcover, such as a bedspread or blanket
HESSIANS: popular style of boot in the nineteenth century, with military origins
MANSARD ROOF: a four-sided roof that has two slopes, the lower slope being much steeper than the upper one
MORTAR: bonding material for bricks or stones, grout
MULLION: a vertical support that forms a division on a door or window
OAST HOUSE: building designed for drying hops, an ingredient used in brewing beer
ORIEL WINDOW: a form of bay window that projects from a building but does not reach the ground
PILASTER: a rectangular column, often projecting from the wall
SNUFFBOX: pocket-size decorated box used to store snuff (finely ground tobacco)
TABLEAU: an artistic grouping or scene
TO NO AVAIL: wit
h little success
TRUANT: absentee, away without permission or explanation
VISAGE: a person’s face
WOO: to try to gain the love of someone, usually with the intent to marry
Acknowledgments
Under the “no man is an island” category, I would like to express my great appreciation to the many people who helped me take a blank page and turn it into a complete novel.
Thank you to my husband, Mike, for listening to my convoluted plot and helping me find its essence, for offering suggestions, and for bringing some reality to the antics of my characters. Thank you to my amazing beta readers, Christine and Deb; I would be lost without your guidance, patience, and ability to see the bigger picture as well as the tiniest of details.
To the entire Swoon Reads team, thank you. As always, you are an amazing group to work with (with which to work?). Special thanks goes to my editor, Emily, whose clear thinking helped me iron out the wrinkles in my manuscript (figuratively) and add humor to a host of new chapter titles. (I really had fun with the stampede of goats.) Your enthusiasm is contagious and invigorating, and it spurs my creativity. Thank you, Rich, for the gorgeous cover—I can’t think of enough superlatives to describe your hard work. The parasol is a perfect touch! Thank you again, Swoon Reads authors, for your encouragement and fervor, especially Danika, Kate, and Kelly. I would also like to thank all the readers who have contacted me through Facebook, Twitter, and the Swoon Reads website.
Last, but never least, I would like to thank the rest of my family and friends near and far, particularly Dan, Mom, Ginny, Susan, and Paul. I really appreciate your excitement and support!
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About the Author
Cindy Anstey spends her days painting with words, flowers, threads, and watercolors. Whenever not sitting at the computer, she can be found—or rather, not found—traveling near and far. After many years living as an expat in Singapore, Memphis, and Belgium, Cindy now resides with her husband and energetic chocolate labrador, Chester, in Nova Scotia, Canada. She is the author of Love, Lies, and Spies, Duels and Deception, and Suitors and Sabotage. You can sign up for email updates here.
