Page 92 of Sense and Suitability
And yet, the memory of her antics at the theater rose unbidden, warming him in a way that made rationality seem wholly overrated. Add to it her veiled conversation, telling him she’d forgiven him? Well, there was nothing else to do but to attempt to ascertain her feelings.
And if he had to use Lottie as an excuse to do so, well, so be it.
“You cannot be upset with him,” Aster announced, not looking up from her sketch. She lounged on a garden bench near the roses, her lap scattered with pencils and paper.
Emme had spent far too much time in the garden that morning. For some reason, her creativity had dwindled overnight, and unfortunately, it seemed to begin and end at the theater and then the ball.
“I am not upset with him.” She clipped a full chrysanthemum, the shears in her hand as precise as her tone.
“No, of course not.” Aster’s attention flicked up from her drawing. “You’re merely sulking like a governess left out of the nursery party.”
Emme spun around, spectacles nearly toppling from her nose. “I am not sulking!”
“Good, because it would be terribly hypocritical of you.” Aster raised one brow. “You’re the one who sent Miss Clayton his way in the first place.”
“I did no such thing,” Emme countered, her voice lightening as she feigned detachment. Though, in all honesty, she did do such a thing. “And I’m not upset. Miss Clayton is exactly what Lord Ravenscross needs.”
Aster studied her, a smirk tugging at her lips. Very unsisterly of her. “I’m so glad you didn’t take to the stage, Emme. You would have failed miserably.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you’re attempting to look unaffected, you’re doing a poor job of it.”
Emme huffed, looking directly at her sister and snipping an aster bloom with more force than was strictly necessary. “What do you expect me to say? That I’m pining for someone I cannot have? That I wish the world worked differently?” The conglomeration of floral scents wafted on the cool breeze, tousling tendrils of hair across her face. She brushed them back with a sigh. “The truth won’t change thefact that he requires something I cannot provide.” Her voice hitched as she turned back to snip another chrysanthemum, its rich pink hue and voluminous petals offering a charming distraction. “All I can do now is leave to let nature take its course.”
“I understand why you’re leaving, but I don’t like it.” Aster harrumphed, a sound that did nothing to calm Emme’s mind—or heart. “It’s not fair.”
“Not everything can be resolved as neatly as in a novel, I’m afraid. We must accept it... and move on.” Even as she spoke, the words tore at her. Oh, she had wanted to assist Simon, but perhaps more selfishly, she yearned to remain close to him just a little longer. What a dreadful decision! It only complicated matters further. She really should’ve let him alone from the very beginning.
At least when Colonel Brandon asked Elinor Dashwood to talk to Edward Ferrars about a job as curate on his estate, Elinor had possessed undeniable purpose in seeing and helping Edward. Emme had just thrust herself on poor Simon at cost to both of them.
She inwardly groaned. How could she have been so rash? Good intentions without wisdom rarely boded well.
“Can’t there be another way?” Aster’s eyes, which could shift from blue to green with the hue of her gown, studied Emme with evident disapproval. “He still harbors feelings for you. And I know you feel the same.”
“It’s not enough, Aster.” Emme averted her gaze, adding a rose to her bouquet. “Yes, I care for him. But we must accept the reality.” She met Aster’s gaze, her voice dropping to a pained whisper. “We must.”
With a deepening frown, Aster crossed her arms. “Your plight almost persuades me to accept Mr. Todd, who only desires a pretty arm ornament but promises to let me travel the world. Clearly, love need not be a priority.”
Emme’s lips tipped the slightest at her sister’s attempt at levity. “Mr. Todd is old enough to be your grandfather.”
“And yet, that does not detract from my point,” Aster retorted, her brows arching in challenge.
Before Emme could respond, the sound of the garden gate creaking open made them both turn. Simon strode in, his coat undone and his cravat slightly askew—an uncharacteristic look for him, but not one she necessarily disliked. She swallowed. At all.
“Sim—Lord Ravenscross?” Emme corrected herself. “What are you doing here?”
“Pardon my intrusion, but I need to find Charlotte.” He strode toward them, his attention fixed on Emme in such a way that her throat closed just a little.
“What do you mean?” Emme’s face cooled at the statement, nearly losing her grip on her bouquet. “Is she missing?”
Dear heavens! Like Arianna?
“You’ve not seen her?” He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. And still, she didn’t mind the look. “She left a note saying she’d come here to learn how to plant strawberries.”
“I offered to teach her, but I insisted she must ask your permission first.” She sighed, reading the worry on his face. “I assume from your scowl and the desperate flight here, she did not follow my advice.”
The scowl softened considerably. “She isn’t very good at heeding instruction, I’m afraid.”
