Page 77 of Sense and Suitability
Miss Clayton was an excellent match for Lord Ravenscross.
Emme repeated the sentiment to herself, as though it could somehow make it truer, the image of Simon sitting next to the quiet young woman at the theater ever fresh in her mind. They made a charming pair—both handsome and composed. Their children would be stunning.
Her throat tightened. Surely, if she called upon her most sensible side, as Elinor Dashwood might, she could accept what must be. It didn’t dull the sting of knowing that someone else would capture his fancy, that someone else would claim the future she’d imagined. Yet there was some small comfort in the knowledge that Simon was doing what was best for his family and his legacy. For future generations. It didn’teraseher heartache, but it softened it.
Especially the part about the children.
Miss Clayton would be permissive but kind. And they needed kindness.
She probably wouldn’t know what in the world to do about Blast or Charlotte’s outspoken nature, but at least she could help offer some stability for the entire family. That would have to be enough.
And Emme would go on, finding another dream, another path. Still, there was a part of her that longed to mourn with all the fervor of a fictional Marianne so the world might see just how thoroughly she understood the plight of the brokenhearted. But what would that signify?It would change nothing, and it would profit her nothing—save for a headache and a concerned visit from St. Groves’ Ladies Society.
However, even from her perch in the theater, she could tell Simon wasn’t really applying himself to the wooing process. He’d done a much better job with her. The right looks, the dedicated attention, the smiles. Her pulse quivered into a faster pace at the memory of basking in those smiles. He’d given her one when he’d walked her to the house from his carriage yesterday. Emme had felt something pass between them. Aster had even noticed it.
Oh, she must stop this torture. Besides, if Aster’s perception was accurate, Emme was only complicating matters for Simon by her insistence on helping. As delightful as resurrecting his feelings for her sounded in the moment, in reality it would only prove much more difficult for both of them, especially when he needed to marry someone rich!
No, if she cared about him and his family at all—charitably or otherwise—she needed to distance herself.
Her mother’s sister had long wished for Emme to visit them in Yorkshire, an invitation Emme had not acted upon. Perhaps now was the perfect time. A lengthy trip, long enough to help Simon develop an alliance with a bride and for Emme to move forward with whatever plans she chose to make without him.
Yes. The idea took root. It was a good choice—for both their sakes.
“I would encourage both you and your sister to wear your hair higher on your heads.” Aunt Bean’s voice broke into Emme’s thoughts as she swept into the parlor without ceremony to continue another husband-catching lesson. Evidently, Emme’s behavior in helping Simon and avoiding other suitors hadn’t encouraged Aunt Bean’s confidence, so the Lockhart girls required further instruction.
Emme really should apologize to Aster.
“The higher the hair, the more elegant the neckline, and any man worth having knows the value of an excellent neckline.”
Aster’s laugh burst from her, but she quickly turned it into a cough as Aunt Bean’s attention flashed in her direction. “You must remain healthy, Aster. No man is tempted toward a weak wife who sounds as if consumption is her next illness, unless he’s prone to melodrama or, even worse, requires the constant need to rescue something or other.”
Emme immediately thought of Simon jumping into the pond after her. The vision of his fine form emerging from the water, his hair curling over his forehead, increased the temperature in the room. She shook the image away. Mostly.
But not before lingering on it just enough to encourage a sigh.
Besides, Simon wasn’t prone to melodrama, but having a man who cared for the safety of his family sounded like an excellent trait. Perhaps Miss Lawson would be a better choice for Simon. She was always tripping on something.
“Emmeline.” Aunt Bean rapped her cane against the floor, pulling Emme’s attention back to the present. “Are you listening to a single word of my instruction?”
Emme scrambled to recall Aunt Bean’s lecture. “The importance of necklines?”
Aunt Bean narrowed her eyes before pointing her cane at her. “I believe it is my duty to inform you of some difficulties you, in particular, will face in securing a husband.”
Emme braced herself. The list was likely two pages long.
“First of all, your wayward mind. You must overcome this deficit, at least until matrimony—or perhaps until you produce an heir. After that, I dare say, your husband won’t care a great deal where your attention lies.”
Emme pinched her lips together to contain her grin.
“Secondly, you cannot continue associating with Lord Ravenscross. It will only discourage more appropriate suitors from attending to you. I strongly advise you to avoid him altogether, if possible, and speak only of dull topics in his presence, such as your favorite muslin gown, the meaning of flowers, or the prospective suitors of your sister.”
Aster’s eyes widened, and she shook her head as though to deny any such suitors—or perhaps to protest Emme mentioning any to Simon.
“Some men—blessed few—are truly drawn to a woman of intelligence or wit. I believe Lord Ravenscross may be one of them. To deter further attachment, you must avoid highlighting those qualities. There are many eligible men who would appreciate your pretense of dim-wittedness, for it allows them to feel superior in saving you, of course.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Not to worry. Once you are married and he has ‘rescued’ you from your ignorance, he will congratulate himself on your sudden ascension to brilliance as you manage your new home and entertain your guests as hostess.”
Emme truly had no response to this. Not even in her mind.
Aunt Bean’s low opinion of men was well known, and Emme often wondered how her sons had managed to grow into men at all, given the constant barrage of such thinking. Thankfully, Mr. Bridges hadn’t passed on until all three sons had reached adulthood, so his influence—rational and measured—had managed to temper some of his wife’s more... extreme views. At least that was true of the eldest and youngest. The middle son, Harry, was more inclined to his mother’s disposition.
