to the point of her visit. She folded her mittened hands in her silken lap. “Charles Riverdale has acquired the Beringer estate. Could that be the case?”
“I believe it is, ma’am,” Esther said before her sister could respond.
Lady Collins leaned forward a little. “But that could produce some awkwardness, I would think. Dear Imogen would not wish to run into Mr. Riverdale.”
Imogen’s smile was tight as she said, “I believe the gentleman and I know how to conduct ourselves, ma’am. There will be no awkwardness.” She refused to look at Emily and Sarah.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Imogen, but Mr. Riverdale is here. He has brought Zoe back.” Sharpton had entered without knocking, as was his privilege, and no one had heard his soundless arrival.
Imogen turned sharply to the door where the butler stood, quietly attentive and expressionless, his substantial figure effectively blocking the view into the hall behind him. She felt the interest quicken around her. She smiled and stood up. “How kind of Mr. Riverdale, Sharpton. I will come and thank him. The wretched puppy ran off at a gunshot,” she explained to her guests. “She’s gun-shy and I’m trying to train her.” She moved to the door but was not quick enough to forestall Charles’s appearance as he stepped around Sharpton, Zoe leashed at his heel.
The puppy barked sharply and lurched towards Imogen, her tail wagging furiously. Charles brought her to heel with a sharp tug. “Forgive the intrusion, Imogen . . . Esther . . . but I found Zoe wandering and thought you might like her back.” He bowed to the Collins ladies. “Lady Collins . . . Miss Collins . . . Miss Sarah . . . please forgive my interruption. But I know how fond Imogen is of Zoe. I didn’t want to risk her getting caught in a trap.”
It was Esther who came forward. “How thoughtful of you. Sharpton, would you take Zoe to the kitchen? May I offer you sherry, Charles?”
“Thank you, Esther. If I would not be intruding?” He glanced at Imogen.
She gave him a cold smile. “Of course not . . . how could you? Pray have a seat.”
Chapter 5
Charles took an armchair a little away from his former betrothed. He had changed out of his shooting jacket, Imogen noticed, and was looking particularly elegant in a gray tweed coat and trousers, and a plain gray waistcoat. Elegantly and perfectly suited to paying a morning call in the country. But of course, she reflected acidly, Charles never made a faux pas when it came to dress. Turning up so casually, as if he was as welcome a visitor at Beaufort Hall as in the past, came into a different category of faux pas. He was putting her on the spot, and he knew it. The fascinated curiosity emanating from her other visitors in the drawing room was almost palpable.
“Did Zoe wander onto your land?” she inquired. “You were dressed for shooting when I last saw you, just after the silly puppy ran off in Hawker’s Wood.”
“No, I found her wandering and whimpering among the trees soon after you’d left in high dudgeon, for which,” he added hastily, “I do not blame you in the least. I took Zoe home with me, changed my dress, and brought her back. Does that satisfy your curiosity, ma’am?” The lightly mocking tone was accompanied by a politely raised eyebrow.
“Amply, I thank you,” she responded. Zoe adored Charles and would have gone with him at a word of encouragement. “Have you abandoned your guests?”
“Let us say I thought it politic not to bring them with me. Formal introductions at this point might not be appropriate.”
Despite their intrigued audience, Imogen had to fight the urge to laugh. Charles’s sense of humor was irresistible, and back when things were good between them, he could almost always make her smile, however indignant she was. She bit her lip hard and murmured something that could have been a vague assent, before having recourse to her sherry glass.
“Why would it be
“I believe it is, ma’am,” Esther said before her sister could respond.
Lady Collins leaned forward a little. “But that could produce some awkwardness, I would think. Dear Imogen would not wish to run into Mr. Riverdale.”
Imogen’s smile was tight as she said, “I believe the gentleman and I know how to conduct ourselves, ma’am. There will be no awkwardness.” She refused to look at Emily and Sarah.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Imogen, but Mr. Riverdale is here. He has brought Zoe back.” Sharpton had entered without knocking, as was his privilege, and no one had heard his soundless arrival.
Imogen turned sharply to the door where the butler stood, quietly attentive and expressionless, his substantial figure effectively blocking the view into the hall behind him. She felt the interest quicken around her. She smiled and stood up. “How kind of Mr. Riverdale, Sharpton. I will come and thank him. The wretched puppy ran off at a gunshot,” she explained to her guests. “She’s gun-shy and I’m trying to train her.” She moved to the door but was not quick enough to forestall Charles’s appearance as he stepped around Sharpton, Zoe leashed at his heel.
The puppy barked sharply and lurched towards Imogen, her tail wagging furiously. Charles brought her to heel with a sharp tug. “Forgive the intrusion, Imogen . . . Esther . . . but I found Zoe wandering and thought you might like her back.” He bowed to the Collins ladies. “Lady Collins . . . Miss Collins . . . Miss Sarah . . . please forgive my interruption. But I know how fond Imogen is of Zoe. I didn’t want to risk her getting caught in a trap.”
It was Esther who came forward. “How thoughtful of you. Sharpton, would you take Zoe to the kitchen? May I offer you sherry, Charles?”
“Thank you, Esther. If I would not be intruding?” He glanced at Imogen.
She gave him a cold smile. “Of course not . . . how could you? Pray have a seat.”
Chapter 5
Charles took an armchair a little away from his former betrothed. He had changed out of his shooting jacket, Imogen noticed, and was looking particularly elegant in a gray tweed coat and trousers, and a plain gray waistcoat. Elegantly and perfectly suited to paying a morning call in the country. But of course, she reflected acidly, Charles never made a faux pas when it came to dress. Turning up so casually, as if he was as welcome a visitor at Beaufort Hall as in the past, came into a different category of faux pas. He was putting her on the spot, and he knew it. The fascinated curiosity emanating from her other visitors in the drawing room was almost palpable.
“Did Zoe wander onto your land?” she inquired. “You were dressed for shooting when I last saw you, just after the silly puppy ran off in Hawker’s Wood.”
“No, I found her wandering and whimpering among the trees soon after you’d left in high dudgeon, for which,” he added hastily, “I do not blame you in the least. I took Zoe home with me, changed my dress, and brought her back. Does that satisfy your curiosity, ma’am?” The lightly mocking tone was accompanied by a politely raised eyebrow.
“Amply, I thank you,” she responded. Zoe adored Charles and would have gone with him at a word of encouragement. “Have you abandoned your guests?”
“Let us say I thought it politic not to bring them with me. Formal introductions at this point might not be appropriate.”
Despite their intrigued audience, Imogen had to fight the urge to laugh. Charles’s sense of humor was irresistible, and back when things were good between them, he could almost always make her smile, however indignant she was. She bit her lip hard and murmured something that could have been a vague assent, before having recourse to her sherry glass.
“Why would it be
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