Page 13 of Sense and Suitability
Another loss. Another piece of his shattered world he had no power to reclaim.
“Lord Ravenscross.” Benjamin Northrop appeared through the crowd, his grin as irrepressible as ever. In fact, he looked like he wanted to laugh, which for some reason tightened Simon’s posture from toe to forehead in defense. “The hunt begins in earnest now, does it not?”
Simon had the sudden desire to hit his best friend in the chin. “If you’re referring to my search for a wife, Ben, perhaps we could discuss it without the theatrics?”
“Theatrics?” Ben raised his brows, feigning innocence. “I’d never. I’m merely the messenger tonight.”
Simon didn’t trust the gleam in Ben’s eyes, but it proved a helpful diversion from his attention roving back across the room. “What message, precisely?”
“Well...” Ben’s grin widened. “Since you’ve been away from St. Groves’ society for a while and rather occupied—what with your heroic efforts to salvage Ravenscross and raise your siblings—my sister has taken it upon herself to assist.”
Simon’s face went cold as his fingers balled into fists at his side, almost teasing him to act out his desire to place a dent in Ben’s grin. NoraNorthrop—now Chawley—blew into people’s lives with the purpose of a hurricane. Oh, her intentions were good, but her methods... “What have you done?”
“I’ve done nothing.” The man had the effrontery to raise both palms in the air in declaration of his innocence. “But my sister,as I said”—Ben exaggerated his repetition—“has compiled a list.”
“A list?”
“Indeed.” Ben pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, offering it with all the flourish of a courtier presenting a royal decree. “Allow me to clarify: This was entirely Nora’s doing. I am but the delivery boy.”
“And yet you’re enjoying this far too much,” Simon muttered as he accepted the paper.
“You wound me, truly.” Ben smirked, palm to his chest with continued theatrics. “In fairness, Nora claims she’s saving you from wasting time and effort on unsuitable matches. A noble gesture, don’t you think?”
Simon shot him a withering look. “I think meddling is the favorite pastime of women with too much leisure.”
“And my sister is quite at her leisure, so I assure you, she was most thorough. This list”—Ben tapped the paper now tucked into Simon’s coat—“could rival the naval records for precision.”
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what am I to do with this... gift?”
“Why, use it, of course!” Ben gestured to the room. “You’re in desperate need of a wife with a dowry that could outshine the Bank of England. The ladies on Nora’s list meet all requirements: wealth, family connections, and presumably some tolerance for your peculiarities.”
“Peculiarities?” Simon’s brow arched as his glare fixed on Ben, who, predictably, remained unfazed.
“Former rogue, tragic history, lonely guardian of your siblings, vast and haunted country house...”
Simon’s lips twitched in reluctant amusement. “Haunted country house?”
Ben shrugged, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Tragic houses must have tragic ghosts, don’t you know, Simon? Everyone else seems to.”
“And who, pray tell, is haunting my country house this time?” People were exhausting. And he threw Ben squarely into that lot.
“I believe the latest rumor is that the ghost belongs to your mother.”
Simon ran a palm over his mouth, attempting to relax his ever-tightening jaw. “Well then, if Mother is haunting Ravenscross, I do wish she would deign to offer some practical advice while she’s at it.”
Ben chuckled. “Ah, but that wouldn’t suit the Gothic narrative, now would it? A brooding viscount with a crumbling estate, three unruly charges, and a reputation just scandalous enough to make you the toast of the town? Why, Simon, it’s impossible not to find you utterly fascinating.”
Fascinating, indeed. Simon rolled his gaze skyward. Reality and fiction chronicled two vastly different tales. He was well aware of his new reputation: “The Raven of Ravenscross,” they called him. Some of the gossip was close to the mark: ruinous debt, a dilapidated estate, and a viscount whose disposition leaned toward the surly. Other rumors, however, bordered on absurdity. Haunted houses, murdered mothers, and—most ludicrous of all—that he was some kind of vampire. Simon gave his head a slight shake. What a bunch of rubbish. “Am I supposed to thank you for that summary of my shortcomings?”
“I live to serve.” Ben bowed with mock humility. “Besides, as Nora put it, one of these prospects should prove savior to Ravenscross, so what harm could a curated list do?”
Simon sighed, tugging at his cravat. A “savior” for Ravenscross.Heaven, help me.The very idea of marrying for wealth and convenience, rather than affection, struck far too close to the unhappy union ofhis parents. Perhaps that was why he had clung to harmless flirtations and fleeting connections until...
His attention flitted to the dance floor, chest tightening at the sight of her.Shewould not be on the list. No wealth, no status—nothing society deemed suitable for a viscount.
But for him, the man?
A wry laugh escaped before he could stop it. He hadn’t even known he wanted someone like her until she’d come into his life. Witty, kind, companionable—dare he say, a friend?
