Page 59 of Sense and Suitability
Simon looked down briefly, gesturing toward her with a slight nod. “You’ve... put a great deal of thought into this.”
“Well, once the idea occurred to me, I couldn’t rest until I’d thought of potential solutions.”
“A regular hazard of any friendship with Emmeline Lockhart,” Mr. Bridges said, his lips twitching into a smile.
They exchanged a look—a shared understanding—that tightened something in Simon’s chest. How close were they?
Why had Emme asked Mr. Bridges to escort her here today and present this plea? Was it simply because Mr. Bridges, as one of the clergy, would be more easily accepted into Ravenscross? Or was there something more between them?
Hadn’t Mr. Bridges been going toward the library at the Ruthtons’ where Emme was hiding when Simon had first met him? Heat seeped from his body. Could they have been meeting in secret?
And hadn’t he observed the rector and Emme dancing together on more than one occasion?
A sharp heat crept up Simon’s neck, his chest tightening further.
“There is one more matter on which I feel I can provide assistance,” Emme said, drawing his attention back to her. Her fingers were twisted together in her lap, the slightest ink stain visible on one edge of her palm. It was the twisting of her fingers, though, that truly caught his eye. She only did that when she was nervous.
Extremely nervous.
“You do?” Mr. Bridges looked over at her.
She raised her chin, another warning sign. “I do.” She drew in a breath. “Considering the circumstances in which you find yourself, and the restricted timeline, I would like to help you find a suitable bride.”
Chapter 12
“What?”
Both Thomas and Simon jerked their heads toward Emme, staring at her in unison.
And her resolve floundered entirely.
Of course the very barriers that had caused her to second-guess their fledgling connection two seasons ago were now even more insurmountable. A newly titled viscount, laden with debt, did not marry a woman of middling fortune and modest social standing—especially not one who scandalized society by writing shocking novels under a pseudonym. A viscount needed wealth, position, and an impeccable reputation.
It was how the world worked. She’d accepted that.
Her body sagged with a sigh. Until Simon had swept into her life and made her believe in more.
She nearly laughed aloud. Thomas was right; she wasn’t living in one of her stories. She should have held fast to her resolve not to meddle, to avoid Simon Reeves at all costs.
Then she’d seen Simon’s reluctant gratitude, and she’d caught sight of Charlotte peeking shyly from behind a shelf at the back of the room—a much more experienced eavesdropper than Emme had ever been—and she realized something simple yet undeniable: She was uniquely positioned to help Simon secure a “suitable” happiness for his future.
But as the two men stared back at her, both wide-eyed andslack-jawed, she warred between backing out of the plan or forging ahead into the madness of it. One look into Charlotte Reeves’s large round eyes secured the decision for her.
She had to help him.
No, them.
“I am in a unique position to offer my assistance,” she said firmly, summoning confidence she didn’t wholly feel. “I know most of the ladies of the ton and have the freedom to converse with them in ways gentlemen cannot.”
“Emme, we never discussed you offering to—”
“For example,” she said, ignoring Thomas entirely, fixing her gaze on Simon. There was no turning back now. “Miss Lanard, whom you danced with at the Ruthton ball, is the very picture of poise in the ballroom. However, she’s an inveterate gossip in private, a trait that would bring untold misery to your household.”
“Emme, this is not your—”
“And Miss Pool,” she pressed on, “is generous with compliments in public and makes conspicuous visits to the sick, but she treats her servants abominably and the poor even worse when there is no one to witness her ‘charity.’ Did you know that?”
Thomas sighed audibly, but Emme refused to be deterred. She held Simon’s gaze, searching for a flicker of understanding. He stared at her as if she had grown horns from her head.
