Page 58 of Sense and Suitability
Had he only recently said that very same thing to Fia?
“Y-yes.” Simon shook his head to clear it, gesturing to the chairs. “Of course. Please, do sit.”
Simon kept his focus on the rector, though he could feel Emme’s gaze on him. Evidently, her presence made him both nervous and an imbecile. Not exactly the mental state he needed for this conversation.
“Miss Lockhart is eager to be of service to your family and has, perhaps”—Mr. Bridges sent Emme a look that incurred an exasperated sigh from her—“moved forward with more zeal than necessary.”
She shot Mr. Bridges a frown, which nearly brought a grin to Simon’s lips. Why was it so tempting to provoke her indignation? He quickly schooled his features, determined to regain his composure. He needed to marry—quickly, even—if only to avoid further complications with Emmeline Lockhart.
It was a terrible reason to marry, but there it was.
“Forgive me for my forthrightness, my lord,” Mr. Bridges continued. “I understand these are private matters, and I do not wish to pry, but MissLockhart and I have a few very practical solutions for you to consider. If you will allow us.”
“Solutions?” Simon’s voice was flat, though inwardly he bristled. As if he hadn’t racked his brain for every conceivable answer from every possible angle.
“It is no secret you have found yourself in a difficult financial situation.” Emme’s voice was soft, almost consoling. There was no pity in her eyes, but compassion?
His body stiffened at the reminder—or perhaps at the unexpected solace he saw in her gaze. “And how do these matters involve the two of you?” he asked, his tone sharper than intended. Their visit, and especially this line of conversation, was entirely improper.
Well, perhaps not from a clergyman, but certainly from Miss Lockhart!
There. Referring to her as “Miss Lockhart” rather than “Emme” helped create a distance in his mind. This was Miss Lockhart, the country girl currently prying into his personal affairs. Not Emme, his former...
He refused to finish the thought.
Mr. Bridges, oblivious to Simon’s inner conflict, pressed on. “I can only imagine the weight of responsibilities that have fallen upon you since inheriting your title. Doubtless, you are exploring ways to address your estate’s financial concerns.”
Simon leaned back in the chair, the space between them now tinged with cool detachment. “I am, but I am still uncertain how those matters concern the two of you.”
“Of course.” Mr. Bridges’ jaw tightened, a clear sign Simon had struck a nerve. “Have you considered taking on tenant farmers? I believe your cousin did so during his time, but not... near the end?”
“The numbers had dwindled considerably over the last year of his life,” Simon replied. “He wasn’t the most generous of masters.”
“But you’re not him,” Emme quickly interjected.
Simon closed his eyes for the briefest moment.Miss Lockhart. Not Emme.
“It happens there are several families within the parish who could benefit from tenancy,” Mr. Bridges continued, clearing his throat. “Take Mrs. Dean’s daughter and her new husband, for example. They need work and a place to live. A section of your fallow land could be farmed, providing produce for Ravenscross, income for you, and a home for them.”
Simon regarded the rector, the suggestion digging uncomfortably into his pride. He had entertained the idea briefly, but larger ventures had seemed more pressing. Still, with assistance, this could yield a modest, steady income. “You could provide me the names?”
“Indeed, sir.” Mr. Bridges’ expression relaxed, almost imperceptibly. “Within the week, if you wish.”
Simon’s pride took another hit, but it had become so bruised of late, the sting was less severe. “Thank you both for the suggestion and your assistance.” His gaze flickered toward Miss Lockhart.
Despite Mr. Bridges’ delivery, the idea had been hers, hadn’t it? She had seen Ravenscross’s struggles firsthand, understood its needs. And despite having every reason to avoid him, she had come—with baskets, ideas, and jam, of all things. His pride crashed to smithereens.
“There is another matter.” Mr. Bridges gestured toward Miss Lockhart, who immediately leaned forward in anticipation.
“I’ve written to my former governess, Miss Lane, to inquire if she is looking for employment. She is a fine lady, matronly in manner, who has... personal experience”—she shrugged apologetically—“with girls who may find themselves in more mischief than usual.”
Simon froze. She must have heard Aunt Agatha’s ultimatum. There was no other explanation for her suggestion. He had not mentioned the need for a governess to anyone but Ben. What else had she overheard?
“If she responds favorably, shall I arrange for you to correspondor perhaps interview her?” Mr. Bridges interjected smoothly, steering the conversation into more conventional waters. His tactful phrasing underscored an unspoken understanding—Simon couldn’t correspond directly with Emme.
“I would be grateful, thank you.”
Emme’s smile was immediate, bright enough to light her eyes. “Your sisters would benefit greatly from her guidance. And it would relieve you of the burden of overseeing their education.”
