Page 66 of Sense and Suitability
“I financed it as I advised, and it has been an excellent investment.” His grin crooked. “You currently have over three thousand pounds in the funds.”
Emme stopped walking altogether. “Three thousand pounds?”
“In the funds, yes.” There was no mistaking the pride in his eyes. She almost hugged him there on the street.
“That’s over one hundred fifty per annum in income, and the principal continues to grow. It’s not enough to live as you are accustomed, but it is certainly a handsome sum.”
Three thousand pounds? What on earth had Thomas done with those investments? Her mind reeled. One hundred fifty pounds a year might not rival her current lifestyle, but it was hers. Hers alone. With careful economizing, she could live on it—and on her own terms.
“And since you haven’t taken the interest as income,” he added, “I’ve reinvested it to increase your holdings. You should be proud, Emme.”
“Proud?” she repeated, a laugh bursting from her lips. “I suppose I am.” She pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to take it all in. “It’s remarkable. This brings my little stories to life in a way I never imagined, more so even than holding the first bound copy in my hands. And yet...” She shook her head. “I cannot share this with anyone but you.”
“Which is why I bring my highest enthusiasm.”
That something she had chosen to do for the sheer delight of it could yield such an outcome was extraordinary. Of course the income depended upon her continued writing, but for the first time, her future didn’t seem quite so dim. If she didn’t marry, she had a real prospect of independence.
On her own.
Which meant she had greater freedom to marry for love instead of desperation or expectation. “How ironic,” Emme mused. “That this success, which should be a source of pride, could very well ruin my family’s reputation. What if it jeopardizes Aster’s chances for a suitable marriage? And my father—imagine his reaction to learning that his eldest daughter not only earns a living but does so by writing Gothic romances! He can scarcely endure the contents of the scandal sheets most days.”
“Times are changing,” Thomas said gently. “There are more women—even among the gentry—who are finding their way behind a pen. Perhaps, in time, you won’t need to remain a clandestine authoress.”
She offered him a skeptical look but didn’t argue.
He reached into his coat pocket and drew out an envelope. “But the reason I caught you this morning...” He offered her the envelope. “From Danbury and Sons, sending their own praise, I believe.”
She took the envelope with a smile, the flush of pleasure warming her cheeks, and had just opened her mouth to thank Thomas when a third party entered their conversation.
“Good morning to you both.” Miss Selena Hemston’s voice was as sweet as honey, but there was no sweetness in her eyes.
She stepped forward in an exquisitely tailored burgundy walking suit, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight. Her cream spencer jacket, embroidered with burgundy threads up the sleeves, marked her as one of the wealthiest unmarried women in St. Groves. The ensemble was designed for one purpose: to be noticed.
Especially when Emme, in contrast, wore a simple muslin dress and her two-year-old broad-collared pelisse coat. It was a lovely shade of green, Aster had insisted, but even the most charitable would never mistake it for the height of fashion.
“Is it not a lovely day for a stroll in town?” Miss Hemston inquired, as if she hadn’t already decided the answer for herself.
Emme, ever careful not to judge too hastily, nonetheless knew Miss Hemston all too well. They had known each other for years, but not as friends. No, their acquaintance was forged in the social circles of St. Groves—always at a polite distance, as dictated by their differing stations.
“An excellent one, indeed,” Thomas agreed, bowing slightly. “Perfect for a morning stroll.”
“And intimate conversation, it would appear.” Her dark gaze shifted between Emme and Thomas, a serpentine glimmer shining in their depths.
“Pardon?” A warning knot coiled in Emme’s stomach. Miss Hemston had never been one for idle chat with those she deemed beneath her.
“Do not look so surprised, Miss Lockhart,” Selena cooed, her lips curling into something like a smile, though there was little warmth in it. “I couldn’t help but notice how enraptured Miss Lockhart was by your conversation, Mr. Bridges. And exchanging letters? How mysterious. I believe I even overheard the wordclandestine?”
Emme’s blood ran cold. The impertinence of the woman knew no bounds. Any person of respectability would know better than to eavesdrop on an unsuspecting conversation. She sighed inwardly, the memory of her own recent eavesdropping experience still fresh.
Why had neither she nor Thomas considered the risks of conversing in public at this hour? Midmorning in St. Groves was prime gossip time, when the eyes and ears of the town were most alert to any new “information.”
Emme glanced at Thomas, who, ever the diplomat, was already smoothing over the situation with a charming smile.
“I do feel as though every personal visit must seem ratherclandestinein my new role as rector of Lemmingston,” he said smoothly, but sent Emme a knowing glance. No, Thomas was not fooled by Miss Hemston’s charm. “I am often required to act on others’ schedules, rather than my own, as you can imagine.”
“So you write secret letters to Miss Lockhart, is it?” The sauciness in Miss Hemston’s tone stiffened Emme’s spine for a rebuttal, but Thomas took control.
“Of course not.” He chuckled. “A mutual acquaintance of ours, whom I happened to encounter in London last week, asked me to deliver a letter to my dear cousin. I was simply discharging my duties.”
