Page 107 of Sense and Suitability
His aunt’s insistence upon the need to avoid scandal at all costs drifted back to him. He’d assured Aunt Agatha that Emme’s character was beyond reproach. But now...
Simon shoved the doubts aside and quickened his pace, pushing through the garden door into the cool night air. The garden stretchedbefore him, bathed in faint moonlight and the softer glow spilling from the ballroom windows—a tranquil scene entirely at odds with the storm inside him.
He’d barely reached the first hedgerow when Emme stepped out from the shadows, her golden curls spilling over the deep red of her cape. His heart calmed at the sight of her, as if her very presence could mend the cracks in his composure.
“I thought... I wasn’t certain if you’d—”
“I would never leave you without a word again.” He captured her hands in his, drawing her close. “I’ve learned to trust not only your strength but my own a little more since then.” His earlier joy flickered back to life as he gave her hands a squeeze. “I’m afraid my excitement at finally being able to ask for your hand may have taken you by surprise.”
“It did.” She nodded, the moonlight softening her features into something ethereal. But her smile faltered. “And I... I don’t understand. How can you be free to make such a decision?”
“As I told you, Aunt Agatha and I came to an agreement on what constitutes a ‘suitable’ bride, and to my astonishment, we agreed.” He laughed, still overwhelmed at the prospect of loving her openly and freely. “The money was only part of it. Your sterling character and impeccable reputation were what truly convinced her.” He shrugged, adding with a teasing grin, “Though I suspect my admiration for you played a modest role as well.”
“My reputation?” The growing smile on her face froze. “Simon, there is something I must tell you.”
The look in her eyes stopped his breath, and in that moment, he knew. Selena’s claims were true.
“You must understand, I never thought...” She pulled her hands from his and glanced away. “It all started before I even met you. And then, on the night you’d planned to propose, I was goingto tell you, thinking it wouldn’t matter if we kept it a secret.” Her voice trembled, every word draining warmth from his body. “But when you didn’t come, and I thought it was over, I didn’t see the point in confessing.”
“No,” he whispered, stepping closer, though her words felt like a chasm opening between them. “You’re a writer?”
She blinked up at him, her expression raw. “I would never have kept it from you if I’d known—” Her voice broke, and she looked down, twisting her hands together before meeting his gaze again. “Don’t you see? When I thought I’d lost you, my secret didn’t seem to matter anymore. Writing became my solace. I never imagined...”
The impact of her confession struck him like a physical blow, shattering the future he had so carefully envisioned. After all the heartache and loss and misunderstandings, he’d confidently projected the perfect scenario of revelation, proposal, and consequent wedding, but now the unexpected news before him derailed everything else.
“You write what sort of novels?” The question spilled out before he could stop it, absurd and inconsequential under the weight of everything else.
Her brow furrowed as if the question pained her. “Gothic novels. My first three were Gothic.”
“Three?” The word burst from him, disbelief mingling with something dangerously close to admiration. “You’ve published three novels?”
Of course it made sense now. Her cleverness, her wit, her impassioned defense of novels and of women pursuing their own paths—it had always been more than abstract principle. She had been defending herself.
“If I thought giving up writing would change our future, I’d do it without hesitation,” she said, her voice shaking. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she stepped closer. “But if the truth of my authorship comes to light, it’s too late to undo what’s already been done. I’ve published three, Simon. And I finished a fourth last night.”
“You’ve written another?” How could her words stir both pain and pride? Emme, like the author ofSense and Sensibility, had written books that the world read. “And... how have they been received?”
She blinked up at him, her brows squeezed together. “Received?” She gave her head a little shake, as if trying to collect her thoughts. And rightly so—her confession derailed all his hopes for their future and he’d, like a fool, asked about her writing? “Very well, from what I understand, but I hope to do better with my future trajectory, if given the chance. My newest story is... is more like what you’ve been reading.” Her tears shimmered again as she searched his face. “If I’d known my future held you, Simon, I might have chosen differently.”
Differently? Than writing?
His shoulders slumped under the weight of it all. Why should she have to choose? Blast the social rules that made her talent a liability. Blast the expectations that threatened to destroy their hopes. And blast Selena Hemston for her meddling, for her petty jealousy that had exposed Emme’s secret, likely already spread through the ballroom.
“I love you, Emme.” He reclaimed her hands, holding them tightly. “But I don’t know how... I don’t know what we can do.”
“You... you still want to marry me?” Her voice trembled with a hope that reignited his frustration at the absurdity of society’s expectations.
“Of course.” He squeezed her fingers, offering her a smile he scarcely felt. “I’m not surprised that whatever cleverness comes out of that remarkable mind of yours has turned a profit. You’ve always been extraordinary. This only proves it more so.”
“Oh, Simon.” Her voice broke, a tear slipping down her cheek like a silver thread in the moonlight.
“But,” he admitted, his voice dropping, “I don’t know how to fix this for us. In a few years, perhaps Aunt Agatha’s funds won’t hold such sway, but right now... it’s an impossible position.”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice raw with resignation.
“Emme... do you understand, the future I’d hoped for us—it all hinged on avoiding scandal. And if Miss Hemston knows...”
“Then the truth is already out.” She squeezed her eyes closed, giving freedom to a few more tears, and then with a shivering breath, she raised her gaze back to his. Something in her expression stilled him. “I must sever this association your name has with mine, Simon. I must, for your sake and for your family.”
