Free Jane Feather by Engagement at Beaufort Hall

then.”
    Imogen took a sip of claret and said thoughtfully, “The shooting is as good as ever. How have you arranged matters with Charles, Duncan? Does he have rights on alternate days, or does he have exclusive rights to certain parts of the property?”
    Her tone was quite mild and pleasant, but Duncan was not fooled into thinking he need not tread carefully. “You have to forgive me, Gen. I really meant to make sure that you knew about this before it happened . . . but . . . well, there was a lot going on in town and—”
    “It slipped your mind,” Imogen said with a tranquil smile. “Quite understandable. But how much liberty does he have, Duncan? The run of the estate whenever he wishes?”
    Her brother nodded, looking as miserable as a scolded dog. “It seemed simplest.”
    Imogen smiled. “Of course it was, love. And Charles and I are quite capable of carrying on a civilized conversation in whatever public arena we find ourselves. So don’t worry about a thing.” She rose from the sofa and bent to kiss him. “Poor Duncan, what a scold you must think me. There’s nothing to worry about. The dreaded first meeting has already taken place and we’re all alive and well.” She gathered up her outdoor garments and went to the door. “I must change my shoes before tea.”
    The door closed behind her and Duncan looked at his other sister. “Is she really angry, Essie?”
    Esther shook her head. “She was a little annoyed at first, but now she tells me she’s indifferent to Charles, and she certainly behaves as if she is. So, why don’t you just relax and enjoy your guests and let Gen deal with matters with Charles as she sees fit?”
    “Yes . . . yes, I suppose that’s best. It’s certainly a relief.” Duncan stood up. “I should change too.”
    Esther nodded, waited until her brother had reached the door before asking casually, “Why did you really feel it necessary to agree to Charles’s request, Duncan?”
    Duncan flushed to the tips of his ears. “It was polite . . . neighborly. To do otherwise would have made the scandal worse. Surely you can see that, Essie?”
    “I’m not sure that I can,” she returned, frowning slightly. “No one would have expected you to do Charles any favors now. A polite distance in social situations is all that’s required.”
    “Well, I don’t agree,” Duncan declared flatly and marched from the room, closing the door with something of a snap behind him.
    Esther raised her eyebrows. Whichever way one looked at it, Duncan’s behavior towards his sister’s ex-fiancé was far too friendly. It wasn’t even as if they’d been bosom friends before the debacle. Duncan did not move in the same circles as Charles, who was a good ten years older. Something was off-kilter about the whole situation, but she couldn’t put her finger upon it. She wondered if Imogen thought the same. She was behaving as if nothing could disturb her serenity, but serene and Imogen were not generally spoken in the same sentence.

    Lord Beaufort’s guests arrived at dusk and the Carstairs sisters were there to welcome them alongside their brother. Three of them were well known to the sisters: Lord Alfred Marsham, Sir Gregory Flint, and Mr. William Markham, but the fourth, a young man of fair complexion, dark blue eyes, and a slight but elegant figure was a newcomer.
    “Imogen . . . Esther . . . may I introduce my friend, Harry Graham. Harry, my sisters, Miss Imogen Carstairs and Miss Esther.” Duncan made the formal introductions in the hall as the guests arrived on a flurry of cold evening air, their bags following them in the hands of footmen.
    “Mr. Graham, we’re delighted to welcome you to Beaufort Hall.” Imogen extended her hand with a warm smile.
    “Indeed,” Esther declared, stepping forward with her own hand extended. “And Lord Alfred . . . Greg . . . Will . . . how delightful to see you again. Come into the drawing room. You must be freezing