Page 102 of Sense and Suitability
Mrs. Patterson had said that? Simon blinked in surprise. He had thought he’d nearly frightened the woman away with his clumsy attempts at kindness.
“That is a sign of good character, Simon. An example of not only who you are at heart but of who you’ve become. The right woman will make you even better.”
“Then trust me to know who that right woman is.”
Aunt Agatha regarded him for a long moment before she tipped her head, a whisper of a smile in place. “There is nothing wrong with a good,honestcountry gentleman’s daughter.”
Simon’s heart gave a lurch. Did she mean...?
“But if you make that choice,” she added, her tone becoming more serious, “you both must also accept the consequences that come with it, great and small.” She moved toward the door. “You both will have an uphill battle before you, in reputation and finances.”
“I understand and I’ve weighed those choices.” He stepped with her toward the door, wavering on asking the next question, but he had to confirm. “And your allowance?”
She stopped and turned back to him. “You’ve chosen a governess and evidently a bride.” She peaked a brow. “As long as you remain free of scandal, then you will have it. Good night, Simon.”
Her words, though reluctantly spoken, carried the weight of her blessing. With a soft nod, she stepped into the hallway and the door closed behind her with a quiet finality.
Simon stood there for a moment, taking in the unexpected turn of events. The door had barely clicked shut when he stumbled back into his office, his breath escaping in a soft laugh. Then he collapsed back into his desk chair and raised his gaze to the heavens, his heart full, his hopes even fuller.
Tomorrow night at the ball, no matter what it took, he was going to ask Emmeline Lockhart to be his bride.
Chapter 21
Clearly, possible scandal was not enough to deter some men from their unwanted pursuit.
Emmeline’s shoulders stiffened at the thought of Mr. Rushing.
He was relentless.
And unnerving.
And completely dismissive of her disinterest.
She had managed to avoid dancing with him for the first half hour of the ball, even going so far as to accept the offer of the septuagenarian widower, Mr. Roth, who’d mistaken her attempt to hide behind him as a subtle request for a partner. The smile on his face had been her reward, and despite the social faux pas in the elegant Assembly Room, she couldn’t truly regret it. The elderly gentleman may have been several decades her senior, but he was nimble on his feet, and his attentions kept her safely on the opposite side of the ballroom from Mr. Rushing.
The latter had already secured one unpleasant dance, gripping her far too tightly. Each word he slurred was laced with whiskey, and he made certain to lean in so close that Emme felt as though she were being swallowed whole by the overpowering scent of alcohol. She had no idea what the dance must have looked like from an observer’s perspective, but she’d leaned back so far at one point, she thought she’d almost gone horizontal.
Oh, if only Thomas were here to rescue her! He had come to her aid at two previous balls, but he’d been called away to visit a sick family.Most of her other dance partners had already been claimed, and she could hardly blame them.
And Mr. Marshall, who had clearly heard of her intent to refuse an offer from him, had only regarded her with glares from the opposite side of the room, which meant he would not be a possible partner to escape Mr. Rushing.
She sighed, resolutely avoiding Mr. Rushing’s gaze. At least this would be her last ball in St. Groves for a while. In her absence, she hoped he would find someone else to unnerve. Most likely at this point in her third season, he thought her desperate enough to succumb to his... charms.
She hoped never to be that desperate.
But where to hide now? She glanced around the ballroom for any route of escape. The lights flickered in the grand chandeliers above, casting a glow over the swirling couples, but her focus was locked on the man moving toward her with single-minded fervor. Perhaps finally, she’d found a perfect time for a solid faint.
Her pulse quickened as he closed the distance. She scanned the area around her, looking for a soft spot to land should she decide to take such drastic action.
Mr. Rushing’s grin twisted with ruthless interest, the glimmer in his eyes promising the verbal battle ahead.
Before she could summon an excuse—or muster the courage to swoon—a dark figure stepped in, cutting through her view of Mr. Rushing. The air around her shifted, warmed by the sweet leather and fresh cologne that heralded only one man.
Simon.
He looked maddeningly handsome, dressed to perfection in a black tailcoat and matching trousers, with a dark blue waistcoat that almost matched his eyes. But what truly disarmed her was thewayhe looked at her—not with the gawk of Mr. Marshall, nor with predatory intent, like Mr. Rushing—but with something infinitelymore dangerous. Tender, warm, and so full of unspoken emotion that she dared not meet his gaze for too long, lest fainting become a genuine possibility.
“Miss Lockhart.” His voice was low as it wrapped around her name like a caress. “I believe you promised me this next dance.” Simon smoothly extended his hand as he cast a cool, dismissive glance at Mr. Rushing.
