Page 34 of Sense and Suitability
“If he ever was one,” Thomas added. “I suppose that’s something for the next Lady Ravenscross to sort out and address.”
She felt his gaze on her profile, and her cheeks heated.
“Which, after being slighted by him, I can only assume willnotbe you.” His tone remained light, but she felt the prick of his implications.
“Of course not. I just feel as though something is unfinished between us, and I can’t be settled about it. That’s all.”
“More fodder for your fictional devices then, I’d say.”
She flung him a glare. “Not everything I’ve written in those books is based on my life, Thomas.”
“I should hope not.” His brow rose, a glimmer deepening his eyes. “There are too many intrigues and murders to be based on any one person’s life, especially a young woman of your situation. If I thought any such inspiration came from your own life, I should not only pray harder for you but remove your siblings and father from the house at once.”
“You’re hysterical.” She shook her head and guided Portia forward. “But I should tell you, I’ve taken your advice.”
“Very wise. Of which of my many suggestions have you acquiesced?”
“I’m only tiptoeing into the idea, mind you, but I’ve started structuring a story with less Gothic tones and more”—she gestured toward the countryside—“home.”
“Ah.” His brows rose with sudden interest. “And how does it go?”
“I’ll let you know.” She shrugged. “I’m still trying to find my story within it.”
“It will come, Emme.” He flashed her a grin. “You only need therightinspiration.”
At the crest of the hill, the view of St. Groves unfurled before them in all its glory. She instinctively brought her horse to a stop. Old buildings of yesteryear intertwined with newer constructions, reflecting the town’s recent resort status. The Royal Crescent, the Guild Hall, the Pump Room, and, of course, the newly built Ruthton Cross Hospital. The small town of a decade ago had yielded to industry and tourism, and a little part of Emme grieved the loss.
Yet the influx of excitement and new faces did bring with itmany opportunities for observation. And observation, as always, led to stories.
“Are you certain you don’t mind visiting Mrs. Dean in my stead?” Thomas’s question pulled Emme from her thoughts. “Until I have a conscientious Mrs. Bridges to assist me or become more acquainted with my parishioners, I feel less prepared to meet some of the needs specific to the fairer sex. And Mrs. Dean was highly distraught on Sunday.”
Emme’s attention shifted immediately to the small farm just outside of town, where Mrs. Georgia Dean lived. A widow, Mrs. Dean had been left a comfortable income by her late husband that would support her and her two daughters for the rest of her life. After her death, the land would pass to a distant cousin. However, the dear woman, though kindhearted, was known for her dramatic responses to the slightest provocation.
As well as her excellent hats and murderous hen.
Quite the combination of attributes, but country life afforded all sorts.
Emme knew poor Thomas had likely been flummoxed during his first visit, though he certainly hadn’t left without a wealth of biscuits, lavish compliments, and a full recounting of Mrs. Dean’s life.
“I don’t mind at all.” Emme had been preparing herself all morning for the extensive visit. “Most of the time her distress is easily remedied with a visit and some homemade strawberry jam.” Emme patted the basket. “Strawberries are her weakness, so you’ll know for future reference.”
“Well, Mrs. Dean and I are sure to get along just fine, for strawberries are my weakness too.”
“Either you’ll get along famously or be in competition—especially when we visit Mr. Sutherland’s garden party. His family’s strawberry beds are quite the legend.”
Thomas’s smile stretched wider, inspiring her own. Emme wasn’t closely acquainted with many men—her circles were typically composed of women—but Thomas set an excellent example of what a good man should be. Not that she wanted a rogue of a man, but knowing her own faults, measuring up to someone like Thomas in marriage seemed rather impossible.
If her future husband was a little bad, at least the expectations as a wife would feel more manageable. “Where are you off to anyway?”
“The Lennoxes.” He gave his brows a triumphant wiggle. “I’ve been invited to tea.”
And the couple were certain to lavish Thomas with praise, food, and the exquisite comfort of their new townhome. “How you must suffer for your profession.”
“To the heart.” He pressed a palm to his chest, then adjusted it to his stomach with a feigned thoughtful expression. “Or... to the gut?”
Emme laughed. “Don’t become too arrogant about an invitation, Reverend Bridges. The Lennoxes have three daughters who are in desperate need of husbands.”
Leaving Thomas with a pained look, she tossed a grin over her shoulder and guided Portia toward the path outside of town as Thomas took the direction into St. Groves.
