The Baskerville Tales (Short Stories) by Emma Jane Holloway Page A

that way.
    Lady Bancroft waved her defense away. She paced to the other end of the room and back, her skirts swirling against the velvet stools and dainty side tables that crowded the overdecorated room. “Tobias is in London, more’s the pity. He at least would keep Buckingham Penner in line.”
    Imogen rather thought it was the other way around. Bucky had been an inventive prankster growing up, but her brother, Tobias, was the true devotee of chaos. But none of that mattered now. It was clear she had to carry on without her sibling’s help.
    “Captain Smythe will be here tomorrow at two,” her mother said relentlessly. “Wear something pretty.”
    Imogen struggled not to scream. “He can’t do that. He’ll be black and blue from thefight.”
    “Perhaps he means to show his devotion by letting you see his bruises.”
    “The man is a vainglorious peacock. Someday he’ll be sent to China with an allowance and best wishes for a case of the yellow fever. The only reason he’s calling is because I declined the honor of dancing with him last night. He has to prove to himself that I will swoon at his command.”
    “Then you’d best be quick about it so that we can all move on. After he leaves, Mr. Whitlock is calling at three.”
    “Stanford Whitlock?” Imogen said faintly.
    “Who else? He is a very faithful caller.”
    “The same could be said of certain skin conditions.”
    A look of annoyance crossed her mother’s face. “Imogen, you must marry someone. And soon. Your father needs you to make a good match.”
    “I don’t like either of them.”
    Her mother glanced down at her hands, lines of tension bracketing her mouth. Imogen wondered how long it would be before her own face fell into those defeated angles. “It’s time you grew up and faced facts. I am well aware you have a preference for Mr. Penner, but your father will never permit the match.”
    Fury washed through Imogen so intensely that she sat down on the piano bench before she grew light-headed. She loved her mother, but sometimes it felt as if they were speaking in entirely different tongues. Imogen might have spun entire epics about why she wanted Bucky, but her mother only understood the most prosaic facts.
    It was just as well that Imogen didn’t have to plead her case. “I doubt that Mr. Pennerwill be making an offer.”
    Her mother made a sound that spoke of faint surprise. “Just as well. He’s not our kind.”
    That perverse urge to defend him reared up again. “His father has money. Lots of it. Bucky is his heir.”
    “The Penners are commoners.” Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Buckingham’s grandfather began his career in a Yorkshire blacksmith’s shop. What can people like that do for us?”
    They could make me happy
. The Penners were boisterous and opinionated, but they laughed and loved one another fiercely. Bucky wasn’t the kind of man who dominated a room, but he cared about the people in the room and that suited her far better. But her happiness had never been her father’s primary concern. And neither, it seemed, was it Bucky’s—at least not enough to single her out from his harem. Imogen cursed herself for caring, but it was a devil of a habit to break.
I want him so much. Why doesn’t he want me the same way?
    Lady Bancroft gentled her voice, as if Imogen were a five-year-old in a tantrum. “I truly think you should have a second look at Captain Smythe. An adoring wife is sometimes all a … well, an excessively self-assured young man requires to settle him down.”
    And obviously that’s working well for you
. But Imogen gave herself a mental slap as she thought it. Her mother was trying to do the right thing for the family, even if it was the worst thing for her daughter. Unfortunately, the conflict was giving Imogen a stomachache. “Captain Smythe believes he is doing me a favor by bestowing his attention on me.”
    Lady Bancroft gave her a sharp look. “Then it is up to you to convince him of your