Page 21 of Sense and Suitability
He exhaled sharply. Hehadto conquer this affection for Emmeline Lockhart.
Time had done nothing to strip even a hint of his feelings for her.
Last night, he’d entered the ballroom determined to avoid her altogether. He’d even gone so far as to suggest to a few gentlemen thatthey ought to ask her to dance—anything to keep her occupied and far away from him.
For a time the plan worked. From across the room he tracked her movements like a moth mesmerized by a flame, his resolve weakening with every glimpse. She glided gracefully in her deep green gown, the fabric catching the candlelight with an ethereal glow. At times she followed an older lady—her aunt, most likely—who seemed intent on speaking to every person in the room.
He’d kept out of her line of vision, minimized situations that brought him near her.
And then, like a fool, he’d kissed her.
Kissed her.
Tasted forbidden fruit.
He picked up another nail and beat it until the wood splintered.
The one woman he could see himself spending a lifetime with, and she was entirely out of reach. Not only because she didn’t want him—though her words had made that painfully clear—but because her modest dowry couldn’t begin to address the chasm of debt left by his cousin and father.
For years he’d believed he could choose a wife, a future, based on his own desires.
But his newfound responsibilities stole such a liberty.
Now he had to choose between his heart and the future of his family—a choice that wasn’t truly a choice at all.
“Simon!” Fia’s cry startled him upright.
He turned to find the youngest Reeves entering the stables, dirty, with brambles from the top of her head to the bottom of her petticoat. Scratches marred her cheeks, and tears left streaks through the grime on her face.
She ran straight to him and buried herself into his waist, whimpering against him. His entire body caved around her, pulling the little girl into a protective hold without a thought. Of all the siblings, Fiahad been the one most ready to transfer her sweet affections, embrace the care he wanted to give. Perhaps she needed as much consolation from all the changes as he did.
Simon looked up to find Mrs. Patterson holding on to the doorframe, breaths coming in spurts. “She went chasing the cat into the brambles, sir.” The woman waved a handkerchief, stopping to catch her breath. “And she wouldn’t do anything but come to you about it.”
The words hit Simon with unexpected force. He nodded stiffly, swallowing against the lump rising in his throat. “It’s fine. Thank you, Mrs. Patterson.”
The housekeeper heaved a weary sigh and shook her head. “I’ll prepare some salve for the scratches.”
“I’ll bring her to my study.” The woman gave a curt nod and disappeared from view. Simon scooped Fia into his arms and settled onto a nearby hay bale, cradling her on his lap. “Where does it hurt most, little one?”
She sniffled and looked up at him with wide eyes watery, the scratches welting.Poor lamb.“My cheeks.”
He removed his handkerchief and dabbed lightly at one cheek, then the other. “What were you thinking charging into the brambles like that?”
“Midas got caught.” Her little bottom lip wobbled. “I had to save him. Blasted brambles.”
Correcting her would prove futile at the moment. That cat had more lives than sense. Appropriate that it happened to be Teddy’s cat. Two matching personalities.
“Next time, perhaps you ought to ask for help before launching a rescue mission.” He tipped her chin up to dab at a scratch across her nose. “Rescues usually work better when there are more hands to help.”
How he would appreciate a few extra hands in his life right now. Then his mind went to the blasted marriageable ladies list, and he paused on the thought. Or the right hands, anyway.
Fia sniffled again and reached into her pocket. Simon braced himself. With Fia’s penchant toward finding animals, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but then she drew a pink rose forward. “Midas found this in the bushes. It’s one of Mama’s roses.”
“It is.” Simon’s throat pinched. His mother had loved roses. Fragile yet beautiful, they reminded him of her—a beauty too delicate to endure the thorns set against her in such a harsh reality. They’d overtaken her.
With the way of the world and the current status of his life, he had to secure a bride with more strength of character than his dear mother, if nothing else but to survive his siblings.
“Can we put it on her grave?”
