Page 35 of Sense and Suitability
Emme had never dared ride horseback too near town without a chaperone, but visiting the Deans’ farm kept her near enough to home not to seem too improper.
Just a little.
An acceptable little.
This was her home, after all. The world she’d known all her life—the hillsides, the pastures, the forests, the dales. All of it fit her as comfortably as her favorite gloves. And thanks to her mother’s reputation and her father’s generosity, she was known by most every family in St. Groves, and she knew them in return. Thomas’s decision to ask for her help was not only a compliment but strategic.
She knew this world.
And loved it.
But there were times when she longed for a bit more adventure, beyond the fictional realms she created. Since her mother’s death, her father rarely traveled to London more than once a year and even less to the coast, much to Emme and Aster’s chagrin. She didn’t care to live near the coast, but visiting always brought a sense of grandeur, calm, and unexpected creativity. Perhaps she should encourage Father to take another trip soon—if nothing else, to curb her curiosity about a certain viscount.
Her hurt urged her to flee.
Her curiosity pushed her toward discovering the truth.
And her heart? She wasn’t quite certain.
At all.
Except that discovering the truth might help her find some sort of closure to whatever had happened between the man she’d, well, come to admire, and the one who had left her in the garden.
As Emme approached the Deans’ farm, she followed the lane between a copse of trees. The house, with its regal red brick and stone quoins, stood proudly with a hipped roof, maintaining its pristine appearance despite Mr. Dean’s passing three years prior. Apparently, the patriarch had planned so well for his family of ladies that both the gardener and the steward remained on the books until Mrs. Dean’s death or her move to live with one of her daughters.
The eldest had married two years ago and now lived twenty miles to the east, but the youngest, Anna, had made her debut last season. Emme frowned as she surveyed the windows of the house. As a matter of fact, Emme hadn’t seen Anna at any of the balls this season, and as another young lady who ended last season without a proposal, she had expected the girl to try again.
Had she been ill? Visiting her sister?
Emme deposited Portia in the nearby stables with Mr. Marks,the Deans’ kindly groom, and walked to the front door. The maid announced her presence, and immediately Emme was taken into the arms and conversation of the petite Mrs. Dean.
“Oh, but I didn’t hear your carriage, or I would have greeted you myself.”
Emme grinned and pulled away from the woman’s embrace. “I came on horseback, so no wonder you didn’t hear my approach.”
“Horseback?” The woman’s eyes widened to almost the same roundness as her mouth. “Dear girl, do you think it’s safe to travel alone and on horseback, no less? I’m surprised your father allowed it.”
“It’s scarcely two miles between Thistlecroft and here—hardly a distance to note. Besides, the air is refreshing, and days like this were meant for riding.”
“But alone?” Mrs. Dean tsked, her capped head shaking with disapproval. “Two miles or twenty, it’s enough for a highwayman or thief to make trouble.” She sighed, her disapproving tone giving way to a warm smile. “But I am glad to see you—and to find you so delightfully unmaimed.”
Unmaimed?Emme stifled a chuckle. Mrs. Dean always did have a talent for dramatic turns of phrase.
The woman led her to a cozy sitting room with wide windows overlooking the back garden. Rolling hills dotted with wildflowers stretched toward the horizon, the Deans’ stables and barn nestled comfortably in the scene.
“I am so very glad you’ve come.” Mrs. Dean gestured for Emme to sit at the small table by the window. “You always seem to arrive precisely when my heart needs you most.”
The words, so heavy with emotion, gave Emme pause. It was then she noticed the red rims around Mrs. Dean’s eyes and the tight strain pulling at her usually sunny features.
“Reverend Bridges mentioned you seemed unwell on Sunday, and I had to come.”
Mrs. Dean sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Isn’t he a treasure in a world full of ordinary stones? Such a kind man—attentive and so good-hearted. The sort of man to make a fine husband for a young woman.” She waved her handkerchief in front of her face. “And those eyes.”
Emme’s grin crooked.
“He’s just the sort to do right by a young woman.” At this statement, her voice broke.
Emme covered Mrs. Dean’s hand resting on the table. “Whatever is the matter?”
