Page 30 of Sense and Suitability
“Well spoken, again.” Simon’s smile faltered. What was Mr. Bridges hinting at?
“If you enjoy those sentiments, Lord Ravenscross, imagine how compelling my sermons could be.” His steady green gaze didn’t waver, but his mouth twitched in amusement. “All are welcome, even the most wretched... of the aristocracy.”
Simon had expected the sentence to end predictably at “most wretched,” but the twist amused him. Then, catching the look in Mr. Bridges’ eyes, he swallowed his laughter. Ah, so Mr. Bridges knew the rumors too? Typical man of the cloth to rush to judgment.
“I’ve not been greatly impressed by your predecessors. They were quick with brimstone rather than mercy, especially for those who needed it most, including the wretched aristocracy.”
A glimmer lit Mr. Bridges’ eyes. “I haven’t been impressed either,but it means the bar is set low enough for improvement.” A shadow fell over the man’s countenance for a brief moment. “And we all have feet of clay, my lord, rank notwithstanding.”
Simon gave a nod, noting the man with renewed interest. “A soured reputation certainly leaves a great deal of room for improvement.”
“Humbling too, I should think.” The man rallied a crooked smile. “For those clearheaded enough to learn from it.”
A rector who was not only astute and personable but clever too. An interesting addition to Greenleigh. “My mother often said humility was the best soil for wisdom to take root.”
Mr. Bridges studied him. “A shrewd observation.”
“Learned from trial, I suspect.” The memory sobered him. His mother, who’d lost heart and fortune yet kept her smile for her children. He’d never treat a woman as his father had. Better never to give his heart at all than to trifle with another’s.
“Most wisdom is, I hear.” Mr. Bridges’ hand rested on his chest, as if the words were personal. What trials had this man faced? Some secret lingered behind that smile; Simon would bet on it. “I hope you take such advice seriously.”
The man did know something. “I would not claim to be a paragon of virtue, Mr. Bridges. I believe you may be very aware of that.” He raised an eyebrow, holding the clergyman’s gaze. “But I am certainly wiser now than I was two years ago, through the very means my mother suggested.”
Mr. Bridges’ eyes narrowed a moment. “Should you be in search of a balm of comfort”—his grin crooked anew—“or wish to critique my expositional abilities, I hope to see you in church, my lord.” He took a step back. “I have it on high authority,” he said as he glanced upward, “that church can be a place for those seeking a new direction and fresh start. One must, however, be humble enough to admit it.”
Simon glanced back, seeing Mr. Bridges look past him towardthe library doors again. Could Mr. Bridges know of Emme’s presence there? Surely not! Unless he was one of the suitors from whom she hid? But even in their brief acquaintance, Simon found nothing to fault in Mr. Bridges, who would be a fine match for Emme in wit and reputation. She deserved more than a dull companion. And Mr. Bridges carried himself with dignity, another point in his favor for Emme, er, Miss Lockhart.
But surely a rector wouldn’t partake in a secret rendezvous.
“I look forward to the opportunity, Mr. Bridges.”
“Good evening, my lord.” Mr. Bridges bowed and turned back toward the ballroom without another word.
Simon followed at a slower pace, contemplating an escape from the bustle of the ballroom to leave altogether. He paused at the threshold, the room as grand as any in London, perhaps even grander. And it was packed.
Full of the crème de la crème of the town, down to the lesser gentry.
“She’s on the shelf and we all know it,” a woman’s voice hissed to his right.
A large fern obscured his view but did nothing to muffle the words.
“Except her, of course,” another lady replied, her voice laced with laughter. “With her younger sister married only last spring and her elder expecting a child soon, it’s clear which daughter is not the favored one of the Hemston family.”
Hemston? Simon raised his attention to the room, his gaze landing on Selena, who stood too close to Mr. Banbury, her lavish gown accentuating all of her luxurious curves. She came with a sizable dowry and the Hemston name. Surely some desperate buck would take her, infamous temper and all.
Simon’s shoulders tensed at the thought. Even in dire straits, he wasn’t that desperate. Her temper and emotional volatility werelegendary in town, though it couldn’t be easy watching one’s younger sister marry before oneself.
He recalled her challenge.
Her determination.
Could her threat truly have nettles? His own situation was far from enviable. Indeed, he was more vulnerable to losing everything than he had ever been.
Finances were perilously low.
His family teetered on the brink of anarchy.
And his estate stood on the precipice.
