Page 109 of Sense and Suitability
“Hurt us?” Aster gave an indignant shake of her head, her honey curls bouncing. “You persist in believing we’re made of glass, Emmeline. We are not so delicate.”
“I do no such thing—”
“You do.” Aster raised a brow. “You know Father is proud of you. His reputation will survive. His tenants care only for their work and families, not the contents of ballrooms. And anyone of true importance to us, apart from Aunt Bean, naturally”—she rolled her eyes—“will behave as proper Christians and move on. Writing novels is hardly an unpardonable sin. Stories are in the Bible, after all.”
“I hardly think Gothic romances are comparable to Holy Scripture.” The urge to laugh bubbled up, a welcome reprieve.
“But the principle remains,” Aster countered, her grin tipping with mischief. “Stories have power. They speak to people in unique and profound ways. Perhaps I’ll use Paul’s missionary journeys to convince Father of the merits of travel.”
“I doubt your argument will have the desired effect. Poor Paul’s journeys weren’t exactly triumphs of leisure.” Emme tossed another item into the trunk. “Shipwrecks and floggings are hardly the stuff of romanticized adventure.”
Aster gave an exaggerated huff. “Then I must concoct a better scheme to lure Father away from St. Groves.”
Emme studied her sister, searching for cracks in her carefree facade, but Aster seemed as unbothered as Father himself. “I only hope my little scandal doesn’t deter any potential suitors for you. At least one of us ought to find happiness in love.”
“Emmeline Lockhart!” Aster’s eyes widened in mock outrage. “If any future suitor is deterred by your novels, then he is plainly not the man for me.”
Emme’s smile flared. “You’re right.”
“I am.” Aster straightened her spine, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, but then she tipped her head, her gaze catching Emme’s again. “And I’m right about something else. Your writing wouldn’t have mattered to Simon. He would have married you wholeheartedly—if not for...”
“Money,” Emme finished, her voice soft as she looked away. Simon had been so happy, so determined last night, only proving Aster’s assertion true. He’d found a way to navigate the demands of his impossible situation to offer her his hand. And she would have said yes. She would have basked in the beauty of being his wife.
But just as inSense and Sensibility, money had proven itself a cruel, life-altering force. “The cog that makes the world go round,” she murmured bitterly, shoving a pair of stockings into her trunk with far more vigor than necessary.
“Only in part,” Aster replied, deftly retrieving Emme’s latest publication from the bed. She waved it aloft like a victorious knight’s sword. “Even in these romances—”
“They are fiction, Aster.”
“But just as I was saying about stories,” Aster countered, “these romances are based on truth. And now that I know who the author is, I’m more certain of it.” She paused to point the book at Emme like a preacher delivering a sermon. “Once you get past the ghosts and pirates, your stories reveal the strength of the human spirit, the beauty of a generous heart, and the persistence of faithful love. Those things are as true today in your heartache as they were last night during Simon’s declaration. The tenets are true.”
Oh, how Emme longed to believe that this pain was merely a stopping point on the road to her happily ever after. That the fragments of truth hidden within her fiction could lead to something sweeter than this very real heartache. Tears pricked her eyes, but she managed a smile for her sister. “How is it that you’ve gained such great wisdom?”
Aster’s grin broadened as she held up the book. “Reading.” She chuckled. “And watching you.”
Emme snatched the book Aster kept wielding toward her. “Me?”
Aster tucked her feet beneath her as she settled on the bed. “Simon’s behavior two seasons ago deserved your rejection. I was furious on your behalf. Furious with him.” Her frown deepened, and a single dimple emerged in her cheek. “Though you tried to hide it, I knew he’d broken your heart, and I wanted him to suffer for it.”
“Aster!” Emme laughed despite herself.
“It’s true. I may have even despised him for a time and concocted a plan to poison him. Or at the very least, abandon him in a forest in the Himalayas.”
Emme let out a full laugh at her sister’s absurdity. “Good heavens! Poor Simon.”
“And that’s exactly what convicted me most.” Aster shot up, gesturing toward Emme. “Your compassion and sympathy toward him when you should have been more furious than I was. Something inthe way you believed in him, even when he appeared to be a rake. Well”—her expression softened—“it humbled me. It reminded me that we often don’t know the full story of a person. And perhaps kindness is a better choice than vengeance.”
“Wisdom, indeed.” Emme chuckled. “Thomas would highly approve of your newfound piety.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “There are still far too many ungenerous thoughts in my head. For example, I briefly redirected my poison plan to Miss Hemston after hearing about her behavior last night.”
Emme shook her head in mock reproach. “I’m grateful your plans remain purely theoretical.”
“You’re one to talk,” Aster teased, gesturing toward the book. “You’ve written about poisons, kidnappings, and murders—”
“For fictional people.”
