Page 63 of Sense and Suitability
“Your choice of suitor,” Aunt Bean continued, “will dictate not onlyyour future comfort but also your legacy. Therefore, it is imperative that you are both strategic and shrewd. The wrong man could ruin you entirely.”
Aunt Bean ensured the full potency of her stare landed securely on Emme.
Emme needed to break the hypnotizing hold. “Define ‘wrong,’ Aunt.”
Aunt Bean sniffed, as if the very question carried an offensive odor. “Wrong, my dear, is any man without title, wealth, or influence. And ideally, he should possess all three in abundance. However”—she added another meaningful look at Emme—“as you have so unfortunately learned from life experience, securing such a man is not as simple as it appears. You may have to settle for two of the three.”
“Of course,” Emme retorted, ignoring the critique. “For what is love without an estate to house it?”
Aster smothered a laugh behind her hand, her sketchbook angled away just enough to reveal a caricature of Aunt Bean dressed as a red-coated soldier. How fitting.
“Precisely,” Aunt Bean said, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Now, allow me to elucidate the five types of gentlemen you must avoid at all costs.”
Emme sat back, fully prepared for the performance. Aster turned her sketchbook over entirely. Truly, this production was too much to miss. And Emme was fully prepared to be slighted by her aunt in at least three of the five “unsuitable gentlemen” listed.
“The first,” Aunt Bean began, holding up a gloved finger, “is the pauper pretender. He may possess a charming face and a fine wardrobe, but his pockets are as empty as his promises. You’ll recognize him by his penchant for extravagant flattery and his reluctance to discuss anything of substance—such as property holdings or income.”
“Ah.” Emme tilted her head in thoughtful pretension. “So we are to ask after his finances in the same breath as the weather?”
“No, of course not.” Aunt Bean’s brows soared upward in indignation. “One must be subtle. You inquire about his family seat or the state of his tenants. A man with nothing to hide will boast freely. One can learn a great deal about a man while letting him boast unchecked.”
“Whereas a pauper pretender will feign modesty,” Aster added helpfully, sending Emme a grin.
“Exactly,” Aunt Bean said, pleased for once. “The second type”—she raised another finger—“is the libertine. He is rakish, untrustworthy, and altogether too appealing. You’ll know him by his devilish smile, his penchant for waltzes, and his tendency to whisper compliments that arejustshy of improper.”
Simon’s teasing smile flashed to mind, heating Emme’s cheeks to the teary point. Oh, heavens, he did wear a rakish smile far too well, though it had been terribly absent since his return to St. Groves. She desperately needed a distraction and quickly cleared her throat. “So, any gentleman who waltzes is suspect?”
“Noteverywaltzer,” Aunt Bean replied impatiently. “But the ones who waltz too well. A proper gentleman is slightly awkward in such a dance—it shows he hasn’t been practicing excessively.”
But she knew many gentlemen of good rapport who waltzed exceedingly well. Thomas, Aunt Bean’s very son, was at the top of the list, and he was no libertine.
“The third,” Aunt Bean continued, her tone growing graver, “is the eccentric. He may have means, but his peculiarities will prove unbearable. Collecting beetles, speaking to plants, or—God forbid—writing poetry.”
“Not poetry, surely!” Emme gasped, looking to her sister for company in the faux horror.
“Is it as dreadful as all that, Aunt?” Aster’s features arranged in an artfully contrived look of concern.
“My dear, it is worse,” Aunt Bean replied with a dramatic sigh. “Only the worst kind of man believes his thoughts worthy ofimmortalization in verse. Beware of poets, Aster-dear. They are not to be trusted.”
Emme dared not look in her sister’s direction for fear of losing all control of her laugh.
“The fourth,” Aunt Bean continued, oblivious to their amusement, “is the brute. Wealth and title are no excuse for uncouth behavior. You’ll recognize him by his lack of manners—interrupted conversations, loud laughter, or a tendency to overindulge at dinner. There is no revulsion as acute as a man who speaks with his mouth full or drinks to the point of delusion.”
Well, Simon didn’t really fit into any of these categories. Of course her heart knew that. She’d forgotten beneath the hurt of his rejection, but his current predicament paired with the memory of their time together... well, perhaps the only two dangers he posed most of all were to himself and to her vulnerable emotions.
“And the fifth?” Aster’s grin crooked for the game of it all.
Aunt Bean’s expression took a tragic turn, and she placed a palm to her chest like the most dramatic of all thespians. “The reformer. He is the most dangerous of all.”
Emme shot Aster a look and then turned back to Aunt Bean. “A man who... seeks improvement?”
“Precisely,” Aunt Bean declared with a solemn nod, before she jolted back to attention. “These are the gentlemen who fancy themselves philosophers or philanthropists. They will expect you to share their lofty ideals, dragging you into all manner of schemes—educating the poor, abolishing taxes, or some other nonsense. Such men make their wives miserable.”
Aster leaned forward, her look of genuine curiosity an automatic warning. “But wouldn’t abolishing taxes and educating the poor be very good reforms?”
The room fell silent. Aunt Bean froze mid-gesture, her eyes widening in absolute shock. “Aster!” she cried, as though her niece hadjust proposed eloping with a footman to open a pie shop in Covent Garden. “Good reforms? It is not a lady’s place to entertain such radical notions, let alone voice them! Clearly, my next lesson must address a woman’s proper concerns—running a home, subduing a husband, and extracting critical information regarding local society.”
Oh, good heavens. Uncle Geoffrey likely died of exhaustion at having such a wife.
