Page 57 of Sense and Suitability
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Mrs. Patterson?”
She turned back with pale brows raised in expectation.
“Thank you for taking such good care of this household.”
Her entire expression froze for a moment, save for a few rapid blinks. Then she pressed a fist to her chest and nodded before closing the door behind her. His words hung in the air, a simple truth that sank into him more than he’d expected. How long had it been since someone had shown true appreciation for the woman?
Two years ago, he would have scarcely noticed her presence, as most servants were meant to be invisible. But since his world had turned upside down, his perspective on everything had shifted.
One trial after another, each pointed to his own insufficiency—hisweakness, his lack of wisdom, and the wounds of his own emotions. All those friends who’d once filled his life, aside from Ben, had vanished when his cousin’s death had cast a shadow over the entire Ravenscross reputation. Slowly, Simon had come to appreciate the dedication of the few who remained, and the humbling of his pride—though brutal—had pulled out the poison of his father’s stubborn blood, bit by bit.
He glanced out the window as sunlight attempted to break through the ever-pervading clouds. Why, he wondered, did the deepest lessons always come through the harshest trials?
A quiet laugh escaped him. Probably because he was the greatest fool of them all, and only the sharp blade of suffering could cut away the disease that ran through his family line. He brought his gaze back to the sky.
“Then cut away, for I would not wish to be like my father.”
He sealed the letter to Mr. Tarleton, dropping it on the platter in the hallway on his way to the drawing room. The timber would provide some financial relief for Ravenscross, but it would take time. Perhaps securing another deal, like offering a portion of the estate for grazing or timber rights to neighboring farmers, could help as well. But the idea of Emmeline Lockhart returning to his house after the fiasco two days ago both puzzled and—perhaps—terrified him.
What in the world had brought her back?
They’d courted for only three months, yet he’d learned swiftly that once Emme set her mind on something, it became a matter of when, not if, she saw it through. Arriving back at his house with the clergyman—of all people—meant she’d brought someone to support whatever scheme she had in mind.
A tiny sliver of hope tried to resurrect itself, but Simon swiftly quashed it.
He opened the drawing room door and entered, his gaze immediately finding Emme. It never failed. Even at every ball and gathering,he always sought her first. He noted her clothing, her position, the subtle clues in her demeanor. And there she stood by the window, sunlight catching the rose hues of her blue gown as if she had stepped directly from a dream into his home.
His breath hitched. Despite it all, she’d found her way beneath his skin, into his bloodstream, coursing through him like breath and soul. How was he to still this longing? Now that he had held her again, kissed her, breathed in the scent of her?
How?
It would require, at the very least, the amputation of his heart.
And yet, he must. He must silence the heartbeat for her. Disconnect the gravity pulling him to her.
He shifted his attention to Mr. Bridges and nodded. “Welcome to Ravenscross.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Mr. Bridges dipped his head and then sent a glance to Emme. “We hope we are not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Simon replied, though the words were only half-truth. Her presence always unsettled him. “What can I do for you both?”
“We’ve come bearing gifts and... ideas.” Emme stepped forward, a large and laden basket in her arms.
Oh dear, shedidhave a plan!
“This holds various jams, a ham, and some freshly baked bread, compliments of Thistlecroft.” Her smile bloomed. “And I just delivered a wonderful selection of fresh eggs to Mrs. Patterson in order to keep Charlotte from becoming... inventive again.”
Simon stared at Emme for a full five seconds as the full weight of her words settled. She’d brought a food basket? Like one might bring to a sick widow? For some reason, he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or... amused.
“And I thought, if you’re amenable to it, I could take the girls out on a few excursions over the next weeks.” She thrust the basket toward him, her smile nearly theatrical in its brightness. “It wouldgive them something to do outside of Ravenscross, and perhaps they could benefit from a bit of female company?”
Simon’s usually adept grasp of the English language was sorely tested in this moment. Emmeline Lockhart’s words seemed to fly at him from unexpected directions, leaving him struggling to keep up.
“Emme, you are confusing the poor man.” Thomas stepped forward, deftly rescuing Simon from his turmoil by taking the basket—which Simon had yet to receive—and setting it neatly beside one of the high-backed chairs. He turned to Simon, his expression steady, a calm anchor amid the storm of Simon’s scattered thoughts. “Would you mind if we took a seat, Lord Ravenscross? Miss Lockhart has apprised me of certain matters and believes we may offer some assistance—or, at the very least, guidance—should you wish it.”
“Rescues usually work better with more hands,” Emme offered, looking a little less confident than she had only a moment before.
