Page 50 of Sense and Suitability
Charlotte studied her before offering a reluctant shrug. “I suppose not.”
Emme’s untamed curiosity leapt to fill the pause. “But surely yourbrother’s travels have yielded better prospects for a viscountess? St. Groves’ social pool is rather... limited.”
“I doubt it.” Charlotte’s nose wrinkled with her frown. “The only journeys Simon has taken were to pay off debts or search for Arianna. He’d have done better staying here. We needed him more than she did. Arianna made her own choice. The rest of us didn’t have one.”
Emme blinked, her assumptions crumbling. All the rumors about Simon gallivanting across Europe, womanizing and carousing, were just that—rumors. And Arianna’s disappearance? By her own volition? Had she... run away?
A sudden cry cut through her musings.
“Blast!” Fia’s voice rang out as she dashed down the hall, the unfortunate frog leaping for its life. “Come back!”
Emme exchanged a look with Charlotte, and then they both set off after the little girl, skirts flying as Fia continued her noisy pursuit. The frog sprang toward an open doorway and disappeared under the bed.
“Blast-It-All, get back here!” Fia cried, dropping to her knees to crawl after it.
A highly unladylike snort escaped Emme as she lifted her hem to quicken her pace into the room, only to barrel directly into Mrs. Agatha Thornbury.
“What is the meaning of this commotion?” Mrs. Thornbury’s narrow-eyed glare swept from Emme to Charlotte and then to Fia, who was dropping to her knees by the bed.
“Blast-It-All is running away, Aunt Aggie,” Fia announced as she crawled beneath the bed.
“Blast-It...?” Mrs. Thornbury looked up to Emme for clarification.
“Fia’s frog,” Emme offered with a helpless shrug.
“A... frog.” Mrs. Thornbury pressed a hand to her forehead.“This household is worse than I imagined. Completely ungoverned.” Her sharp gaze skewered Emme. “I suppose you are encouraging this chaos with your rustic manners, allowing children to run amok?”
Heat flared up Emme’s spine, and she straightened her shoulders. “Firstly, Mrs. Thornbury, I am not the children’s guardian, so their behavior is hardly a reflection on me.”
The woman’s brows arched in sudden unison.
“Secondly,” Emme continued, refusing to lower her gaze from the woman, “I am the daughter of a gentleman—albeit a country gentleman—and in my opinion, such roots are no discredit. Country manners have produced many well-bred, practical, and compassionate individuals in the world.”
If Mrs. Thornbury’s brows could climb higher, they certainly tried.
“And lastly,” Emme concluded, barely hanging on to her smile, “you do not know me well enough to judge my manners. I may lack expertise in managing frogs indoors, but I am well versed in caring for children, having raised my siblings after my mother’s passing. A little lightheartedness and imagination”—she gestured toward Fia’s wriggling feet—“frogs included, are healthy for any child. Life will force them into adulthood soon enough.” Her gaze softened as it flicked to Charlotte. “If it hasn’t already.”
Mrs. Thornbury’s sharp scrutiny shifted to Charlotte and back to Emme. The silence was punctuated only by Fia’s muffled struggle with the fugitive frog.
“We met on several occasions a few years ago, did we not?” Mrs. Thornbury’s head tilted in sudden recollection. “Your father is...”
“John Lockhart,” Emme supplied, caught off guard.
“Indeed.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as if rifling through an index of Lockharts.
“I believe you may have been better acquainted with my mother, Eleanor Lockhart.”
“I do remember her, yes.” A fleeting softness graced Mrs. Thornbury’s features. “She was well known for her grace and poise.”
As if pointedly remarking—with Emme chasing a frog through the house in a borrowed gown—that she did not inherit those attributes.
“Yes, and her ready humor,” Emme added, just to feel better about herself. “But perhaps you would have known my father’s sister.” She hesitated, knowing the peril of introducing Aunt Bean’s name into any respectable conversation. “Mrs. Albina Bridges?”
Mrs. Thornbury’s gaze sharpened. “We studied together. She was always quite... ambitious.”
It was Emme’s turn to noncommittally respond: “Indeed.”
Mrs. Thornbury’s appraisal turned more pointed. “I recall you being very efficient at croquet.”
