Suitors and Sabotage

by Cindy Anstey

  “No, there was no need. Excellent, Bernie and Charles are off the list as well as the drivers.”

  “Not excellent. Our list is shorter but more disconcerting. We are left five—five members of family and friends. Though it has been only Percy, Jake, and my father who have at times been at odds with Ben.”

  Emily clicked her tongue softly. “Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear.”

  Imogene turned toward her friend. “Emily? What is amiss?”

  “We have not been considering someone. There are actually six gentlemen we should be taking into account.”

  Motionless, staring at each other, Imogene’s eyes grew large. “No. It couldn’t be. Ernest?”

  “It makes sense. He can walk about without notice, inside and out. He knew where Ben’s room was.”

  “And he would only need to ask to find mine. A little search and voilà—my topaz in hand.”

  “Collecting Jasper and tying him in place after the laborers had—no, that wouldn’t work. He returned to Gracebridge with us.”

  “But he could easily have placed the burr under Ben’s saddle pad.” Imogene chewed at her lip.

  “Though he was with Ben, Jake, and Percy when they heard the ghost. So he did not have a hand in the haunting.”

  Mulling over the many possibilities, Imogene shook her head. “It’s too much; there has to be something that ties it all together. We just can’t see it.”

  “Perhaps we need to focus on why—why would someone want to hurt Ben?”

  “Father does not think well of Ben, but would he lower himself to throw rocks or sneak into Ben’s room with my necklace in hand? I cannot think so poorly of him. I am certain he would do no such thing.”

  “As much could be said about Papa and Mr. Tabard. Are we back to Percy and Jake again? That can’t be right.”

  “And Ernest,” Imogene whispered. “I don’t want to think this; I greatly esteem Ernest.… But he is the most logical candidate. Perhaps he had nothing to do with tying up Jasper or the haunting, but the burr, my necklace, and … oh, wait. Ernest was with you at the castle. Oh, I am so relieved. It could not be him. We do not need to see a reason why he might want to hurt his brother.”

  “I wish that I could be as pleased, Imogene, but I can’t. Ernest and I left to join the others, but he turned back. Said he had forgotten to ask Ben a question. I only rushed into the castle when I saw a woman and her sons running through the gate. Ernest was standing in the yard when I got there, watching.”

  “Oh dear heaven. I can’t think it of him. Why would he do such a thing? No, Emily, it makes no sense.”

  “Jealousy?”

  Imogene stilled, breathing heavily through her nose. No. It was impossible. Ernest could not know how she felt about Ben. Ernest had not said anything—anything at all. She brought her eyes up and met those of Emily. Did Emily know how Imogene felt? They stared at each other for several minutes until Imogene vigorously shook her head and jumped to the ground. “No,” she said, far louder than she meant. She began to pace, staring at the grass, the path, a rock, the grass, the path, a rock.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Jealousy. It’s obvious. Despite being the firstborn, the heir to the heir, Ernest does not have the charm and easy way that Ben has. Ernest sits quietly reading while watching his younger brother dally with young ladies, laugh with the company, and share witty banter. It must be very difficult.”

  “Jealous of his brother.” Imogene scratched at her forehead. “Then why would Ernest travel with Ben? Why not leave him in Chotsdown?”

  “Perhaps their grandparents asked it of him or Ben did. There can be any number of reasons.… But, Imogene, this theory fits the most. It makes the most sense.”

  “No, Emily. It cannot be Ernest. He wants to marry me.”

  “And that is relevant how?”

  “Not relevant, I suppose. No, it’s not.”

  “I think we will have to watch Ernest very carefully at Musson House. I am so very glad that you have decided that you do not suit. It would have been a horrible shock to learn that your betrothed was capable of such duplicity.”

  “I’m still not convinced, Emily.”

  “I know.” Emily sighed sadly, pushing away from the stone fence, as well, and picking up her bonnet and parasol. “I hope I’m wrong.… There is no win in this situation. We will just have to do our best to keep Ben safe.”

  chapter 15

  In which Ben would rather commune with a tiger than have a private talk with Imogene

  MUSSON HOUSE, CHOTSDOWN, KENT—

  AUGUST 1817

  Ben stood in line with his grandparents and brother on the balcony of the horseshoe staircase outside the great edifice of Musson House. On each side, one to a tread, a uniformed servant waited with them. The entire household was present, right down to the scullery maid and boot boy. Grandmother was trying to impress.

  And what an impression it would be, coming straight up the gravel drive past pristine lawns toward the large foursquare manor. Three stories above a raised rustic, huge Corinthian pilasters framing generous windows and capped with a pediment filled with stone swags and the Steeple coat of arms. There was no doubt of grandeur.

  One of the footmen had been positioned in the observatory with spyglass in hand. As soon as the coach had been spotted, the call had gone out, and there had been a great rush to get into place—chests heaving at first, calming as the coach sedately made its way to the front door.

  Ben did not want to be there. Anywhere else would have suited him just fine. Anywhere Miss Imogene Chively was not. However, Grandmother would not be persuaded. Even the suggestion of returning to Canterbury early to reestablish himself before Lord Penton mustered his troops fell fallow. Grandmother wanted a show of support for Ernest. Besides, Ben was needed to help entertain—a duty that Grandmother deferred to him because of her age and vacillating health.

  There was nothing wrong, in fact, with Grandmother’s well-being other than possessing a character somewhat like Ernest’s: a preference for little company and a pile of books by her elbow. Grandfather was just as bad—his greatest amusement was a nap in his chair midafternoon. The family pretended not to notice his snoring.

  And so it was that company depended on Ben’s chatter and easy manner to be comfortable. It was all very taxing.… Though it wasn’t usually. No, it was more common for Ben to be eager to have others about, laughing and regaling them with fantastical stories of one sort or another, and then listening to their offerings. His reluctance for the arrival of the Chivelys was solely his lack of enthusiasm to see Imogene.

  No, that wasn’t right, either.

  Ben ached to see Imogene. Every night, hers was the face that saw him into his dreams, and recollection of her laughter brought him awake in the morning. He thought about her constantly, always knowing, always aware that she was not for him. That he could never court her. That if she ever agreed to marry a Steeple boy, it would be Ernest meeting her at the altar, not Ben. That thought alone crushed his heart.

  And then there was the guilt. He was extremely mindful of his breach under her parasol. If Emily had not called out when she had, Ben would have kissed her—Imogene … Ernest’s soon-to-be-intended. There was no doubt that he would have to apologize and forget the look of mutual longing that he thought he had seen on Imogene’s face. He had been mistaken—his error was mired in his own desire, not hers. He would have to beg Imogene not to tell Ernest of this terrible near blunder and then walk away.

  No, Ben was not looking forward to the arrival of the Chivelys. And to make matters worse, the Beeswangers and the Tabards were not to arrive until tomorrow. A full afternoon and evening with no other focus—no one, like Emily, to provide a distraction. Perhaps he’d chat with Percy—pull him out of his sulks, engage him in a rousing game of billiards, or something of that sort.

  Grandmother sensed a problem, but Ben refused to speak of it. He claimed his lackluster sensibilities were a result of his sore hands. In truth, they ha
d stopped hurting, but as he had been stung only six days ago, he could get away with a little prevarication. He would have to look for another excuse soon.

  “Chest up, Sir Andrew,” Grandmother instructed as the coach came to a stop below them.

  Looking across to where his grandfather stood, Ben chuckled. Grandfather had a generous belly, and this order had to do with the protrusion of his gut more than the straightening of his shoulders.

  “Doing my best, Lady Margaret, but it seems to be quite content where it is.”

  Catching Ernest’s glance, they shared their amusement by way of a silent grin. Ben was pleased to see that Ernest was all anticipation. He hoped and prayed that he had not ruined his brother’s chances by gawking at a beautiful young lady under her parasol and looking at her luscious, delectable …

  “There she is,” Grandmother said under her breath.

  As Imogene stepped down from the coach, she released her hold on the footman’s supporting hand and placed it, instead, on the back of her bonnet in order to look up. Up, up, and up, until she saw the line of people waiting on the balcony. Her eyes grew wide, flew to Ben, and then immediately back to the ground.

  “She’s lovely, Ernest,” Grandmother continued to whisper.

  But his brother heard and beamed. “Yes, I think so, too.”

  “I should hope so,” Grandfather added, offering Ben a wink.

  Once everyone had been handed down, Mrs. Chively picked up the skirts of her ochre gown and led the family up the stairs in a procession that left Imogene at the end. Ernest conducted the introductions, following the expected protocols. While once again Imogene was the last to be presented, Ernest made it very clear that she was not the least. His tone and broad smile hinted at a welcome and pride that made Ben swallow in discomfort.

  It was the oddest of positions to be in—everything was contrary. He didn’t want to see Imogene but longed for her company. He was pleased to see Ernest happy and yet wished that he could wear that smile, hold her elbow, and stand close. He was filled with guilt over a nonexistent kiss when all he could think of was how it would have felt had it occurred.

  “Ah, Miss Chively, I am so very happy to meet you,” Grandmother said, taking Imogene’s hand in between her own and giving it a little squeeze. “I know you young people have decided to use given names, but I hope you will forgive me if I don’t. I’m an old woman not used to these modern ways.”

  “Of course, Lady Steeple, I quite understand.” Imogene blushed prettily and tried to pull her hand away, but Grandmother resisted.

  “I am so looking forward to meeting all your friends; it has been many years since we had a houseful of guests. Yes, indeed. What a lovely gown, my dear.”

  “Thank you, Lady Steeple.” She swallowed in discomfort as Grandmother continued to converse about trivialities while still in possession of Imogene’s hand.

  Somewhere around the third compliment, Ben looked up to see that rather than rescuing Imogene from her discomfort, Ernest was watching the exchange with a ridiculous grin.

  Ben sauntered over to his brother and jabbed his elbow into Ernest’s side. “Ernest! Free her. What are you thinking? Imogene is going to pass out from embarrassment if Grandmother does not let go of her soon.”

  “What? Oh yes.” Ernest blinked stupidly. “Shall we go in?” he asked the company at large.

  Ben was relieved to see Grandmother drop Imogene’s hand and nod in agreement. With a hearty laugh about nothing at all, Grandfather gestured toward the arched French doors leading into the vestibule. As the rest of the group traipsed into the manor, Imogene turned.

  “How are your hands?” she asked Ben’s feet.

  “Much better, thank you.”

  The bonnet nodded, so it was obvious that she had heard him.… And yet he had still not seen her eyes.

  “Is all well, Imogene?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Perhaps because you seem more fascinated by the floor than the company.”

  The bonnet instantly tipped back, and Ben could see Imogene’s beautiful face. Her beautiful blond hair framed her face … beautifully, and her beautiful eyes sparkled beautifully. Ah … no. They were not sparkling in the least. Grandmother must have frightened her far more than he realized. She looked quite forlorn. Though, on Imogene, it only served to make her look even more appealing. He almost sighed like a lovesick calf. Almost.

  As they stared at each other, voices drifted out from inside the vestibule.

  “Do you take snuff, Sir Steeple?”

  “Yes, indeed. An excellent pastime, though Lady Margaret is less than happy with it. Says it makes me sneeze excessively.”

  “Excellent, I have brought you a gift. A snuffbox that I acquired from France just before the war.”

  Mr. Chively’s voice grew faint as he moved to the back of the vestibule and toward the cavernous hall enclosing the grand staircase, and yet Ben and Imogene continued to stare at each other.

  “Come along, my dear.” Grandmother stepped back across the threshold, frowned slightly, and then regained Imogene’s hand. “Let me take you up to your room. We have given you one of the nicest of our guest rooms in the southwest corner of the manor. I’m sure it will suit you well. It’s been decorated in the softest green chintz. Overlooks the front drive—a view not unlike that of Ben’s. So relaxing.”

  And as she continued to talk, Grandmother led Imogene away from Ben, who stood outside for some minutes … wishing he were somewhere else.

  * * *

  AS THE DAY PROGRESSED, Ben found that he could avoid Imogene almost entirely by way of playing the host. Since it was the role to which Grandmother had assigned him, he did so with aplomb. He took it upon himself to see everyone seated at luncheon, with Imogene as far from him as possible. There was no snub, for Ernest was right there beside her—staring at her, so absorbed with looking at her he failed to see her, failed to see how uncomfortable he was making her.

  Ben knew that Ernest was rehearsing in his mind. They had talked at length of where and when he would propose—in the folly overlooking the channel, three days hence, was the final decision—and how he would react to her acceptance. Ben had tried to instill some sense into his brother, mentioning several times that his offer might not be accepted. Ernest had laughed, waving his hand around.

  “After seeing all this, I think not. What young lady would not want to call such a place home?”

  “Yes, but do you want someone who wants you for yourself or your inheritance?”

  “You are being naive, Ben. They are tied together. You can no more take Musson House out of me than you can take architecture out of you.”

  It was true enough.

  After luncheon, Grandmother took Mrs. Chively for a lovely little chat in the drawing room, while Ben suggested a game of billiards in the hunting room for Mr. Chively and Percy. Grandfather looked wistfully at the ladies—no doubt preferring his favorite chair and occupation—but did his duty, following them into the long room where the paneled walls were covered by sets of trophy antlers. Ernest took Imogene on a tour of the house, which was to be followed by a tour of the gardens. Ben watched them walk away arm in arm, frowning at Imogene’s awkward gait. It almost appeared as if she was leaning away from his brother.

  The game was not as successful as it might have been had any of the players actually wished to be knocking a ball around a felt-covered table. Grandfather fell asleep while waiting his turn, and Mr. Chively proceeded to complain about not being able to concentrate in such a noisy environment. Grandfather’s naps involved snuffles and snorts as well as the usual sawing breath. Eventually they scattered. Percy to see the stables, Mr. Chively to join the ladies, and Ben to the library, where he thought no one would look for him. Grandfather didn’t notice their departure.

  Ben spent a good half hour doing nothing other than staring at the tree outside the library window. It really wasn’t that fascinating, and yet he couldn’t concentrate on anything
else.… So it served.

  “There you are,” Ernest said as he entered, cutting up Ben’s hard-earned peace entirely. “I have been looking for you everywhere. Had Stanford not seen you sneak in here, I would not have come in. Didn’t think you even knew this room existed.”

  “That’s rich, brother dear. Where do you think the best architecture books are stored?”

  “Oh yes, true enough, I suppose.” Flopping down in the wingback chair opposite, Ernest scrubbed at his eyes and then raked his hair back. “Ben, I need your help.”

  Ben said nothing. The purpose of this conversation would be apparent soon enough. He knew he did not need to contribute yet.

  “Something is wrong with Imogene. I don’t understand it. She is acting like a skittish colt again. I thought we had gotten over all that. Moved past her bashfulness. She knows me now; we have had many delightful conversations.… And yet she looked as uncomfortable as the day I first met her. Unless I understand what is amiss, there will be no point in asking her anything. She would not consent to be my wife if she remains in this state.”

  Ben frowned and moved his eyes to stare once again at the tree. This was a puzzler. Something had changed since … hunkering under a parasol … looking deep into each other’s eyes. With a churning gut, Ben swallowed in anxiety. “Did she say? Did you … ask? Does it have anything to do with the day at the castle when the wasps attacked?”

  Furthering Ben’s uneasiness, Ernest nodded. “I think it does.”

  Ben took a sharp, though silent, breath. “Oh?”

  “I think … I hate to say this, Ben. But I believe Imogene is easily upset. Worries needlessly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She is talking about the incidents again. Saying that they could not be accidents. That the wasps’ nest was knocked down by a rock. That you are in danger. That someone is orchestrating these disasters. She is worried about your safety. Stop smiling, Ben, I am being sincere. It’s a little troubling—that she cannot take these happenstances in stride without seeing a villain in our midst. You need to talk to her.”