Page 11 of Sense and Suitability
He gave her a half smile. “I’m obliged to say so after earning a bachelor of divinity in addition to my other degree.”
She squeezed his arm with her hand. “You jest, but underneath all your teasing, I know you are really happy.”
He responded with a good-natured shrug, though his eyes betrayed his contentment. As they rounded a curve in the garden path, placing them out of view of the house, he reached into his coat pocket and produced a thick envelope. “Speaking of happiness,” he said, “I thought some additional pin money might benefit you and Aster as you launch into the upcoming season.”
Launch? What a word!But before Emme could reply, Thomas pushed the envelope into her hand. The paper bulged from the contents. “What is this?”
“Money, clearly.” He lowered his voice. “Your earnings.”
“Oh, Thomas!” She pressed the envelope back toward him,glancing around as if the entire household were spying from the windows. “I thought we agreed you’d keep it invested until I was ready to tell Father.”
“It’s been over two years, Emme. Three books. At some point, you must tell him.”
“Must I?” Her grip on the envelope tightened. In reality, how long could she keep this secret from her father?
“Why not? It’s 1813.” His palm came up as if the declaration changed everything. “There aren’t a great many, to be sure, but more women are writing novels than ever. What about that woman who wrote one of your favorite books?Pride and Prejudice? At least she reveals herself as a lady, even if she doesn’t use her name.”
Emme tilted her chin, staring out at the rolling green hills. “Because anonymity suits my purposes. My pseudonym brings no scandal, no suspicion. And with the shadow of my failed seasons still looming, the timing couldn’t be worse. Can you imagine Father dealing with the potential conflict of such information when he’s already shouldering the work of a single parent to three? And after my first season’s disastrous—”
“Mr. Reeves... Lord Ravenscross,” Thomas spat out the correction. “His actions were not your fault and no one of consequence thinks so.” He steadied his serene eyes on her. “The right man will encourage your pursuits, Emme. He’ll support you—writing and all.”
Would it were true. Why did she feel as if young women were poised on the edge of a knife and one wrong step easily led to eternal disaster?
And a well-positioned and respected gentleman supporting a bride who wrote novels? She refrained from rolling her eyes. Not everyone was as clear sighted or open minded as Thomas Bridges.
They walked on in silence a little longer. “I would help you tell your father if you—”
Her palm raised, stopping his words. “Please, Thomas. Not now.Besides, I think I am better off writing for the joy of the story than considering profit and loss. The less I know, the easier it is to pretend that E.K. Winsome is someone else entirely and solely separate from me, which will serve all of us better for Aunt Bean’s husband... catching.”
“Very well. Then I’ll quit my argument for now.” He held her gaze and narrowed his eyes. “For now. But when you are ready, your accounts and”—he gestured toward himself—“your favorite cousin will be at your service.”
The silence slipped between them as they stepped up to the gazebo to take a seat inside. “I do wonder, Emme, if it might not do you some good to write a story with less... shadows.”
She looked up from the envelope she’d just discreetly tucked into her book. “What do you mean?”
“Well, these books by the anonymous lady are laced with real life and humor. They still include the romance you adore but with, dare I say it, a subtlety of heart?” His smile crooked in an encouraging way. “I believe your wit and clever observation of the world around you would fit a similar style.”
Write of real life?Emme frowned and looked back atThe Heroinein her hands. She readied an argument on her tongue for how uninteresting such a book would be, but then her disagreement died when she reflected on bothPride and Prejudiceand her most recent read,Sense and Sensibility. They’d held her interest but also left her with the most glorious sense of happiness at the end. As if she could step right into that story, meet the characters, and engage in conversations.
Could she write something so... familiar?
“Clearly, your current novels are doing well, but perhaps you could think about broadening your skills. Many ladies of your acquaintance are more likely to live lives similar to a country gentleman’s daughter than”—he gestured toward her—“your mysterious Arabella Somersby.”
He referenced the heroine of her latest book and the poor woman’splight from housemaid to stowaway to captive in a castle before finding her dashing romance on the far side of the sea.
“I’ll think about it.” She raised her book to him, nodding toward the envelope. “And thank you for this. I suppose if I am to catch a husband, having a new gown or two would meet Aunt Bean’s approval.” And perhaps help Emme stop pairing each of her current dresses with an event in time associated with Simon. “And Aster would delight in some new things.” She breathed in the plan, especially if it meant promoting her sister. “She captures the room wherever she goes, even when she doesn’t want to. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s not swept up into a lasting romance long before me.”
Thomas’s hand rested briefly on her arm. “Lord Ravenscross does no credit to his sex, so do not measure yourself by his standards.”
Her throat tightened as she absorbed his words all the way down to her wounded heart. How could she have been so blind? Surely, not having a mother to guide her had led to some weakness on her part, but she had been such a fool. In fact, she’d written about such cads in her novels. How had she failed to recognize the signs in real life?
She paused on the thought. Perhaps there was some benefit in writing real life after all. She knew heartbreak. Knew scandal, unfortunately. Could those elements inspire an engaging story that reflected the loves and losses of a regular life?
“I can’t imagine there being a great deal more marriageable options than last year, Thomas.” She forced lightness into her tone. “It’s not London.” With the envelope in hand, however, the heaviness of the daunting task lifted a bit more. “But at least I have options. Marriage isn’t the only path forward, which is always an improvement over feeling desperate.”
“Undeniably.”
“And I’ll play the part for Aunt Bean.”
