Page 68 of Sense and Suitability
“How many new tenants do you expect?” Will asked, his curiosity keen.
Ah, yes. This purpose and camaraderie had been what Will had needed all along. “I wish for more, but for now, we have four of the ten families provided by Mr. Bridges, all of whom are seeking immediate residence. I’ve also written to a few former tenants, hoping they might be willing to return to their places now that I am Viscount of Ravenscross. They’ve likely established themselves elsewhere, but it never hurts to try.”
Silence fell as Will appeared to consider this. Over the last few days, the boy seemed to have aged years, but not in a burdensome way. More in the direction of maturity and—dare Simon think it—confidence? Yes, perhaps a little.
Simon would continue the dialogue if it meant bringing the boy out of his shadowy reclusion and into the light and breath of thereal world. He’d been so busy with his bachelor life first and then the estate business, he’d failed to share affection with these younger siblings. The age difference likely helped with the distance.
But he was their surrogate father now, and he would not repeat the same absence or disgrace of that man. No, if he had anything to do with it, their futures would be different. The very thought of Mr. John Dashwood fromSense and Sensibility—that self-important man, indifferent to the true concerns of his half sisters—nearly had Simon groaning for two reasons. One, Dashwood was an atrocious figure, and Simon would never accept any comparison to him. Two, why, of all things, had that novel come to mind just then?
“Did Father gamble away all the money?” Will’s quiet question brought Simon back to the present. He turned to look at his youngest brother.
He supposed directness was in order.
“No, not all.” Simon glanced ahead as the cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Morrison came into view. “After settling his debts, I attempted to invest the remainder to keep it safe, but it is truly my inheritance from Mother that has supported us the past two years.”
And it would not last forever.
“And it’s not enough?”
How much should he reveal? Simon shrugged. The boy had already seen more than he should through observation alone. “Not at present, no. We lack the investments to secure more income, and much of the revenue we once had from rents has dwindled.” He forced a smile. “But those finances will grow. They must. Though not quickly enough to meet Aunt Agatha’s demands or the needs of the present.”
Which, of course, meant Simon would be attending the theater with Miss Clayton on Thursday.
It was quite possible that Alfie and Fia developed a lifelong friendship over collecting insects rather than strawberries. Alfie, only five years Fia’s senior, recognized that she’d replaced him as the youngest of the group and set about leading her along and pandering to her as if he were her very own brother. The boy, with his brown curls and hazel eyes, had always had a deep affection for younger children, and Emme smiled at his ability to exhibit his patience and attention to little Fia, who drank in Alfie’s devotion.
His patience was in much less supply during lessons... and tidying up.
After a few stiff exchanges with Mrs. Thornbury, Emme offered Aster a grateful smile as her sister launched into a rather animated conversation about all the places Mrs. Thornbury had traveled in her life. From what Emme overheard at a distance, the woman’s younger years swarmed with travel since she’d been married to a navy captain, so Aster was at her most inquisitive.
Remarkably, the tight lines around Mrs. Thornbury’s face began to soften by degrees—whether from the sweetness of the strawberries, the reminiscences of her adventurous past, or Aster’s infectious enthusiasm and attentiveness was anyone’s guess. Whatever the reason, Emme was glad to see the transformation. She recalled how Simon, when they were courting, had spoken fondly of his aunt, so Emme knew there had to be more to the woman than frowns and ultimatums.
So it was that Emme found herself in Charlotte’s company the most, or as a matter of fact, Charlotte seemed to follow Emme wherever she went.
And the younger girl offered some delightful conversation, speaking of her horse, her nearest siblings, and of course, her favorite books. It was clear that Charlotte Reeves desperately sought a female companion, or perhaps, more to the point, an elder sister.
“Do you think Mrs. Patterson can find a use for all these strawberries?” Emme asked as she dropped another plump berry into thenearly overflowing basket. “She’ll have enough to supply the entire village—and perhaps another basket or two, if your aunt and my sister can ever stop talking long enough to pick some.”
Charlotte’s smile came slowly, but it lit her eyes. “She’ll make jam and cakes, provided we don’t eat them all first. But you’re right, Aunt Aggie’s basket is suspiciously empty.” She cast a glance toward the animated figures of Mrs. Thornbury and Aster, whose conversation seemed to have reached a particularly enthusiastic pitch. “They seem far better suited to conversing than harvesting.”
“That much is plain.” Emme chuckled, glancing toward the horizon where the afternoon sun bathed the fields in golden light. “Give Aster her drawing pencils or a willing conversationalist, and she’ll happily forgo any sort of outdoor labor. Still, if good conversation is all it takes to win Mrs. Thornbury’s favor, then I am perfectly content to let Aster wield that particular talent.”
Charlotte’s smile brimmed even wider, and more quickly. A very good sign. “It does seem to be working. Aunt Aggie rarely speaks so freely of her past. Your sister must be rather charming.”
“Charming,” Emme agreed, doing nothing to hide the humor in her voice. “And entirely shameless in her curiosity. Aster has always had a knack for asking questions no one else would dare.” She turned back to her occupation. “But I am fond of strawberries and do not think one can have too many.” She pinched the green off the top of one and popped it in her mouth. “They are my favorite fruit.”
Charlotte’s smile fell as she turned back to her work. “My mother and older sister shared a fondness for strawberries. We used to grow our own.”
Emme hesitated, letting the silence linger, unsure if the girl would say more. There was no telling what the Reeves children had witnessed or endured in the months after their father’s death, followed so swiftly by their mother’s. Simon’s insistence on discretion had succeeded almost too well, leaving space for all manner of rumors.
“Do you have any strawberry patches now?” Emme prodded gently.
Charlotte picked another few strawberries, deliberately keeping her gaze averted. “We used to have them, but... but...” The girl seemed to measure Emme and then returned to the strawberry plant. “Not since Mother.”
The loss squeezed from the girl’s words. Emme kept her eyes on the fruit she was gathering, appearing absorbed in the task. Charlotte, she suspected, would not welcome pity or undue attention. “Perhaps you could plant a new patch in her honor?”
The girl’s gaze came up. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Well,” Emme replied lightly, “I happen to know a thing or two about it. My mother and I planted strawberries at Thistlecroft when I was a little younger than you. With the weather being as it is, there’s still time to plant for next spring. If you’d like some guidance, of course.”
