Page 87 of Sense and Suitability
So that explained the half hour Aunt Bean had spent adjusting Emme’s gown, tweaking a ribbon here and a curl there, all while grinning like a cat with a canary firmly in its sights.
The last thing she wanted to do was cause a scene, but she had to end Aunt Bean’s mission now, especially with Emme leaving St. Groves’ social scene in less than five days. “I’m sorry for all the trouble you’ve gone through, Aunt, but I cannot marry Mr. Marshall.”
Aunt Bean leveled Emme with a look of utter frustration. “You can and you must.”
“No, I do not have to marry someone just because he asks me. Or because he fits some sort of social expectation.”
“A girl in your situation must take what she can, and he is much better than what I expected you to be able to find given your overt flirtation with a certain viscount.”
Emme refused to allow guilt to be her deciding factor and pulled her arm from her aunt’s hold. “If Mr. Marshall asks me to marry him, I will refuse him.”
“Refuse?” Aunt Bean’s voice rose a notch, though she kept her tone just shy of a scene. “Four thousand a year! An estate, respectability—everything you could ever want. He is your rescue.”
Heat burst up through Emme’s chest. “I don’tneedto be rescued.” Emme kept her voice at a much more private volume than her aunt. “Especially by someone who sees me as a convenience or an adornment. He barely knows me, and what he does know he does not particularly like.”
“Those novels of yours have done you an immense disservice.” Aunt Bean’s fan took on the wing patterns of a hummingbird. “Marriage isn’t about liking each other! You think I married youruncle because he was charming?” Her voice dropped, and she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder before continuing in a fierce whisper. “I married him because he had land, connections, and a respectable name. Did I overlook innumerable flaws? Of course. Did he spend more time away than at home? Yes, and the better for it. But I gained security and standing. All the things you’ll throw away with your reckless whims.”
“I suppose I am reckless,” Emme countered. “To prefer true affection over companionable indifference, at best? To seek a little freedom over four thousand a year.”
Aunt Bean snapped her fan shut, pointing it at Emme as though it were a sword. “Freedom won’t save you when the ton finishes devouring you. Have you heard the whispers about you and Lord Ravenscross? Because I have. And they aren’t kind. That man is your ruin, Emmeline.”
Emme’s cheeks flushed, but she refused to let Aunt Bean see her falter. “Lord Ravenscross is an old friend, nothing more. Our shared past lends itself to exaggeration, but as you can see, he’s well on his way to finding a bride”
“Nonsense.” She narrowed her eyes at Emme. “It is as obvious as the exaggerated pineapple on the dining table that you are still very much in his thoughts, but he has no power to do anything about it, does he? Which lends itself to the worst rumors. Whispers have already begun. Speculations about what Lord Ravenscross may offer you instead of a ring.”
The implications scorched Emme’s cheeks. “He would never stoop to malign me in such a way.”
“It doesn’t matter what he will or won’t do. It is all about what people think and”—she waved her fan toward the room—“see. Do you understand?No onewill have you after this.”
“Then no one shall have me,” Emme ground out, lifting her chin, the confession burning through her like fire.
Aunt Bean’s laugh was sharp and mirthless. “You jest, but spinsterhood is not the grand adventure you imagine it to be. It is a slow, cold descent into irrelevance,” she hissed. “You may rid yourself of Mr. Marshall and his ilk, but you will also rid yourself of invitations, allies, and respect. Society is unforgiving to those who break its rules.”
Aunt Bean opened her mouth to say more, but before another syllable escaped, she gasped. The sound was so uncharacteristic that Emme startled, turning toward her. The woman even turned three shades paler, which was a feat of science.
“What isshedoing here?”
Emme followed her aunt’s gaze across the ballroom. There, standing amid a group of similarly distinguished women, was none other than Mrs. Agatha Thornbury, Simon’s formidable aunt.
The emotional ricochet of Emme’s day—the threat of a proposal from Mr. Marshall, Aunt Bean’s relentless critique, and... Simon—had left her reeling. Now, the sight of Mrs. Thornbury only added another wild volley to an already unpredictable match.
She looked rather lovely in her simple blue gown, giving off a much gentler appearance than the almost militant walking suit she’d worn the day they picked strawberries. The look didn’t make Emme feel at ease per se, but it certainly didn’t enhance the tension.
Emme moved her attention from Mrs. Thornbury to Aunt Bean’s vibrating fan, which seemed on the verge of taking flight. “What is wrong?”
Aunt Bean turned to Emme, her expression both incredulous and affronted. “How dare she show her face in polite society? That woman has done more to sully the Thornbury name than a thousand scandals could ever hope to achieve!”
“From what I’ve observed,” Emme murmured, attempting to sort out the dilemma, “Mrs. Thornbury seems to manage herself—and her reputation—quite well.”
Aunt Bean bristled—her feathers, quite literally, ruffling in indignation. “You’ve no idea, Emmeline. No one knows the truth like I do. That she stole a man who I was practically engaged to marry.Stolehim. And then proceeded to marry him within three months’ time. Likely to secure him and spite me. That’s why. That woman—she... she...”
“Yes?” Emme prompted, raising a brow at her aunt’s uncharacteristic floundering.
Without any explanation, Aunt Bean swept forward, her fan snapping open again as she marched across the ballroom, gaze locked on Mrs. Thornbury.
Oh dear.What sort of scene would Aunt Bean create now? The irony was not lost on Emme—the woman who prided herself on instilling decorum in her nieces was about to create a spectacle. Emme was sure of it.
Mrs. Thornbury must have turned at the unmistakable rhythm of Aunt Bean’s cane, the sharpclick-clickcutting through the soft hum of the crowd. If she felt any apprehension, it didn’t show. Instead, Mrs. Thornbury dipped her head, offering a reserved smile that was just warm enough to convey politeness but stopped short of invitation.
