Page 75 of Sense and Suitability
And Emme had insisted on Miss Clayton as a choice, but instead of drawing his emotions further away from a very unsuitable match, the only thing it seemed to do was drive deeper the painful clarity of how no one else could ever be Emmeline Lockhart.
As the first act ended and the curtain fell, Simon turned to Miss Clayton. “Are you enjoying the performance, Miss Clayton?”
The woman turned her face to him, her smile already in place. “Oh yes. Quite.”
A turn of silence followed, and Simon prodded a little further. “And what have you enjoyed thus far?”
“The acting is fine.” She nodded. “And of course I have enjoyed the costuming.”
He pushed his smile wider just to try and encourage her to talk. “Yes, the embroidery, I believe.”
“Oh yes.” Her eyes lit. “I’ve been fascinated with embroidery since I was a girl. I’ve never been very good at it, but I do so admire it.”
Simon nodded, though his knowledge of embroidery was limited to the fact that it was something he thankfully never had to endure himself. He wasn’t sorry for that, but Miss Clayton seemed to notice something behind him and blushed, quickly turning back to him. “But you were speaking of the play, of course. Not embroidery.”
Simon studied her a moment, then glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Mrs. Clayton’s pointed expression toward her daughter. Once she noticed Simon’s attention, she feigned ignorance, but Simon was no fool. Was the mother coaching the daughter along?
“Have you enjoyed the storyline of the play?” Simon turned his body slightly to keep Mrs. Clayton in his periphery.
“I have,” Miss Clayton replied with another wide smile, though it faltered slightly as her brow furrowed. “Though I must admit, I was having some trouble following along with the banter. Sometimes it sounds as if the characters are rather rude to each other, yet the crowd laughs all the same.”
“Indeed,” Simon agreed, watching Mrs. Clayton’s movements from the corner of his eye. “The humor does tend to be rather sharp.”
“But I adore funny plays,” Miss Clayton added quickly, her cheeks flushing. “So much wit, don’t you think?” She forced a small laugh at the end, as if to emphasize her point.
Good heavens, the poor girl either was so nervous that she had to rely on her mother for help with the conversation or lacked the wit to form her own opinions entirely. Yes, she appeared compliant and subdued—qualities Ben had once insisted were ideal in a wife—but Simon knew better. He wanted more.
Emme would have challenged the themes of the play, sparking a lively debate over the characters’ choices, and pointed out some of her favorite humorous exchanges.
Simon’s chest tightened again. But desperate viscounts, it seemed, had to make practical choices.
The orchestra resumed, playing a light melody to accompany the intermission, and the audience began to rise from their seats. Simon stood, offering Miss Clayton his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the hallway?”
Miss Clayton nodded graciously, slipping her hand onto his arm. “How kind of you, my lord.”
They moved into the bustling corridor, mingling with the other attendees, the murmur of voices and rustle of gowns filling the air. Simon made polite conversation with Miss Clayton as they walked, but the comparison with Emme kept distracting him from his focus. There was something both absurd and endearing about her blatant attempt to observe him from afar. Did she doubt his ability to court a woman? Or was she merely assessing the success of her matchmaking scheme?
Or—his thoughts rushed to a halt—could Emmeline be jealous?
He frowned, shaking the thought from his mind. No, of course not. The entire idea to court Miss Clayton had been hers, after all. Jealous women didn’t orchestrate such things, did they?
“Lord Ravenscross.” Selena Hemston appeared at his side, her presence commanding as always. “How delightful to see you this evening.”
Simon straightened, his face and expression cooling as he dipped his chin. “Miss Hemston.”
Selena offered him a slow, practiced smile, the kind that was meant to disarm, to charm. And she was charming, in her own way—polished, confident, and unmistakably beautiful. She knew how to dress to turn heads, and tonight was no exception. Her deep red gown shimmered in the candlelight, and her dark hair was styled to perfection, every curl a testament to her calculated allure.
“Are you acquainted with Miss Clayton?” Simon turned toward the young woman on his arm. “Miss Clayton, this is Miss Hemston.”
Selena trailed an unwelcome look over the woman. “I believe we’ve met once or twice before.”
Miss Clayton wilted beneath the stare. “Good evening, Miss Hemston.”
If Selena could reduce the woman to a mere shadow of herself with a look, a few weeks with Simon’s siblings would utterly annihilate her.
Miss Clayton’s attention shifted to something behind Simon, and she gave a polite curtsy. “I shall leave you to your conversation. I should greet my father before the next act begins.”
She slipped away, leaving him alone with Selena, whose smile only deepened, feline in its satisfaction. “I couldn’t help but notice you and Miss Clayton,” she purred. “Such a practical choice for you, wouldn’t you agree?”
