Page 90 of Sense and Suitability
Simon’s happiness and her own fragile heart demanded it.
Chapter 19
Aunt Agatha had agreed to meet with Simon alone after dinner that evening.
He would make his case.
He’d dutifully played his part at the last ball, dancing with a veritable parade of suitable options she’d brought before him. Dutifully, he’d returned with his observations—polished, diplomatic, and entirely detached. Yet none of them, not one, could compare to Emmeline Lockhart.
Some had their merits, he supposed. A few came with fortunes large enough to settle Ravenscross’s debts outright; others displayed a measure of charm or kindness. But how could he transfer his affections, like a ledger entry, from one lady to another when his heart so clearly, so immovably, belonged to Emme?
In truth, Simon felt like Edward Ferrars, caught in the aching dissonance between duty and love. He recalled Elinor Dashwood’s quiet anguish upon hearing of Edward’s engagement to Lucy Steele. Elinor’s outward composure had masked a torrent of heartbreak, but Simon suspected her suffering paled in comparison to Edward’s torment—trapped with a woman he could not love, while loving a woman he could not claim.
That would not be his fate.
Not if Aunt Agatha accepted his terms.
And not if Emme would have him.
That morning’s ride to visit his new tenants had only solidified his resolve.
Mr. Chapman and his young bride, Anna—formerly Miss Dean—had taken up residence in a modest cottage at the edge of the estate. They had gone about their union in an unconventional way, eloping to Scotland, much to the shock of her family. Yet as Simon observed their quiet joy, the way they seemed to exist entirely for each other, he couldn’t help but feel humbled. They had no grandeur and no fortune, but their affection for each other was wealth enough.
Then there were the Pooles, who had been tenants for little more than a week. Decades of shared hardships had forged a partnership of seamless understanding. Their cheerful camaraderie, their unspoken harmony in labor and life, was a quiet testament to the power of true companionship. Simon left each visit more heartened by their example than by any encouragement he had offered them.
It was those moments—simple yet profound—that assured Simon he was making the right decision.
The only decision.
Colonel Brandon had been mocked for his steady nature, his lack of flamboyant passions, yet in the end it was his constancy, his unwavering devotion, that laid the foundation for his happiness. Brandon had waited, endured, and hoped.
Could Simon not do the same? Given time, could he not earn his own happy ending?
He had no Lucy Steele forcing his hand, no clandestine engagement threatening to undo him. All he needed was time—just a little more time.
Emme wasn’t merely the best choice for him, she was the best choice for his family and for Ravenscross. As a wife, a guardian to his siblings, and a viscountess, she would bring warmth, intelligence, and resilience to their lives. She would be the anchor they all needed.
The estate was improving. The new tenancy agreements wereyielding profits, modest though they were. The timber management, carefully overseen, had already begun to show promise. Even the wool production—a venture Aunt Agatha had been skeptical of—was on a steady upward trajectory.
If Aunt Agatha could be persuaded to grant him the freedom to delay his choice, he could build enough financial stability to relinquish his dependence on her allowance. They might endure a leaner season or two, but in the end, his decision would secure their future.
Surely Aunt Agatha would see reason. She was a practical woman—sharp-tongued, yes, but not unfeeling. He would present his case with logic, clarity, and with any luck, a measure of humility that might soften her resolve.
This wasn’t merely sentiment. It was strategy. For them all.
Simon straightened his cravat in the mirror over the mantel in his office, holding his own gaze with a promise. Tonight he would make his aunt see.
At that moment the door burst open, and in ran Fia, a cat slung over one arm and a crumpled paper flapping in her other hand. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, her little face scrunched into a frown. It was clear she hadn’t even noticed him.
Midas, the long-suffering feline, hung limply, resigned to the whims of his pint-size captor. The poor creature likely had no illusions left about dignity.
Two more days. Just two more days until Mrs. Lane arrived to impose her miraculous order upon the household. Emma had praised Mrs. Lane’s ability to somehow wrangle chaos into something resembling routine, while still allowing the children their games and whims. Simon raised a thankful gaze to the ceiling.
Oh, happy day.
“Are you looking for me, Fia?”
Her head snapped up, and her face lit with a wide, toothless grin. “Mrs. Patterson said you were here, but then you weren’t.” She shuffledforward, and Simon lowered himself into a nearby chair, bringing himself to her level.
