Page 78 of Sense and Suitability
“I have every intention to give Lord Ravenscross a wide berth from this point forward.” The declaration solidified her plan. Distance. “I... I do wish him the very best of happiness.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Bean grunted in response, a sound more dismissive than contemplative. “The fact that you’re still even remotely interested in his well-being shows either a great deal of stubbornnessor a woeful blindness to the true nature of the social world.” She gave a sharp sniff. “However, if you are determined to turn your attention away from a man who is clearly well above your notice, I would strongly advise against being so particular with the bachelors who remain. All this nonsense encouraged by those dime novels about romance is highly overrated. A woman of strength can manage a marriage just as well without affection. In fact, she’d be wise to choose it, for emotions only cloud one’s judgment and lead to an overindulgence in fainting salts.”
Aster’s cough resurrected.
“The right novels can lead to far better things than that,” Emme shot back before stopping herself. In many ways, her earlier novels would have fit everything Aunt Bean despised in fiction, but this current one of hers... it was different. It hummed with something deeper, with heart, reality, and—dare she say it?—hope. “I’ve read books that made me more compassionate toward others in situations I hadn’t experienced, or helped me find courage when the characters displayed their strength. I’ve even found encouragement when I’ve felt disheartened and—”
“Things better discovered in your Bible than in make-believe stories,” Aunt Bean interrupted with a huff.
“The Bible is one grand story, Aunt Albina. And though it may not be fictional, there is a clear celebration of how stories impact us within its sacred pages. If our Lord can use stories to inspire others, surely He can create authors to do the same.”
“Nonsense,” Aunt Bean retorted with a tap of her cane. “Utter nonsense. No more of that.” She struck the floor again, as if to punctuate her authority. Taking a deep breath—one so exaggerated her bosom shook—she steeled herself. “You’ve distracted me enough from the lesson. How will you ever find a husband if you don’t listen?” Another sigh escaped her, large enough to stir the air. “Let us address the proper tilt of a chin for maximum advantage.”
Emme cast Aster an apologetic look and then closed her eyes. Though most of what Aunt Bean spoke was utter nonsense, a thread of truth wove through the sentiments and confirmed Emme’s thoughts. If Simon still harbored feelings for her, her very presence would only hinder his progress toward finding a more suitable match. So... she needed to focus her attention elsewhere, at the very least to ensure that he would continue his pursuit of Miss Clayton or another young lady.
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, considering the options. Miss Johnson was, of course, a splendid choice with her five thousand pounds and generous annual allowance—though Emme had the distinct feeling that her laugh could scare small children. Still, Fia was old enough to overlook such things, surely.
Stop it!She scolded herself internally. Clearly, it did no good to stay close enough to Simon to know about his life. The temptation was far too great to either help or see him. When he’d been gone those two years, she had almost moved beyond her affection for him.
Almost.
So it was proof enough that time and distance could help remove him from her heart—and hopefully, though the thought was a painful one, her from his.
It was truly time to leave St. Groves.
“Bina means well, you know.”
Emme turned from her writing desk to find her father standing in the open door, his arms crossed and a pipe resting at the corner of his lips. Society may have spurned pipe smoking in public spaces, but in the privacy of their home, it was a familiar comfort.
She smiled in greeting, and he stepped farther into the room, removing his pipe with a small, indulgent sigh. “She will be gone soon.Her daughter is nearing her time of confinement, and then you will not bear the brunt of her goodwill any longer.”
Emme’s grin stretched wider. “I must admit, there are few people who bestow their”—she raised a brow—“goodwill with such fervor.”
Her father chuckled low, the sound filling the room as he leaned against the mantel, the firelight catching his blond hair, now speckled with silver. “I should have encouraged her to leave sooner,” he mused, his gaze softening with the memories. “But your mother always offered such charity to Bina, despite all her idiosyncrasies. She was the most generous of ladies.”
His voice grew tender, and Emme felt that known ache in her chest at the mention of her mother. It had been ten years since her death, yet her father still spoke of her with such reverence, as if his heart had never moved away from its devotion.
Nor would it, she imagined.
Theirs had been a love match and a sweet example of what could be.
His gaze shifted to the envelope on Emme’s desk—the one she’d just finished addressing. Her mother’s sister’s name and address marked the front.
Father raised a brow in silent inquiry.
“I was going to ask you about it before posting the letter.” She sighed. “I’m thinking of distancing myself from St. Groves for a while.” Emme tapped the envelope lightly. “Aunt and Uncle have wanted me to visit for some time, and I never have.”
“Distancing yourself from St. Groves?” He nodded slowly, his gaze holding hers. “Or from a particular someoneinSt. Groves?”
Why she sometimes mistook Father’s reticence to talk about things as a disinterest or unawareness humbled her. He rarely spoke of matters of the heart, suitors, or future marriages, yet this one observation told her he had watched, and understood, far more than he’d ever voiced.
Emme looked toward the window, the long shadows of evening noting the late hour. But she had much more to do. More words to write on this new story that kept pulling at her heart more than any other she’d ever written. “I don’t want to love him, Father. Not at all. It’s been terribly inconvenient to love him.”
He gave a low laugh, though there was no mirth in it. “There are few people I know whose love came in a convenient way. Not real love. It usually sweeps in like a gust of wind, knocking you off your feet.” His voice grew distant with his gaze, and then he turned back to her. “Does he return your affections?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? I can’t give him what he needs, and I’m no viscountess.” She gave her head a little shake, swallowing through the painful admission. “But I do want what’s best for him.”
“As your father, I would attest that you would improve any man, and you are certainly intelligent enough to take on such a role. In fact, you’d only improve whatever house you enter, my dear, pauper or king.”
