Sense and Suitability

Prologue

Emmeline Lockhart’s life teemed with secrets.

Too many secrets for a country gentleman’s daughter, but at least it made her parochial life a little more exciting.

Her smile tipped. Very well—a lot more exciting, in fact.

She tugged at her gloves and stared out into the ballroom, the candlelit chandeliers casting an almost angelic glow across

Lord and Lady Ruthton’s glossy floors. The hosts of the St. Groves Season never failed to fill their palatial home for every

one of the balls they hosted, which was a substantial number for the season. Anyone who was anyone clamored for an invitation

to the parties of the wealthiest and most influential aristocrats of their flourishing spa town.

But tonight one of Emme’s secrets would come to light. A secret she treasured even more than her occupation as a published

author. Tonight she would finally become engaged, putting all the nasty rumors of clandestine meetings and covert affections

to rest. Tonight Simon Reeves, cousin to the Viscount of Ravenscross, planned to ask her to marry him.

Her!

A woman without rank or riches.

And though her family was highly respected within St. Groves, they held no esteem in the larger world, so the entire romance

proved every bit as fantastical as the fairy stories her mother used to read to her.

Men like Simon didn’t marry lower gentry.

Especially not lower gentry with an insignificant dowry and a scandalous secret profession.

Perhaps if she had written books more sanguine and suitable for gentlewomen—like the anonymous author of Pride and Prejudice—her work might be more accepted by society.

But her first two stories involved pirates, kidnappings, and other sensational

exploits wholly improper for a gentlewoman to read, let alone write about.

And perhaps she hadn’t counted the cost of such a secret when her cousin Thomas convinced her to submit one of the stories

she’d only ever shared with her family. Danbury and Sons had taken the book and, upon Emme’s insistence and Thomas’s keen

business sense, chosen to keep the authorship of the story shrouded in mystery. Not even her family knew of the first publication,

or her newly submitted second.

And neither did Simon.

Her heart fluttered at the very thought of him.

And their engagement needed to begin with complete honesty, despite her fear of his response to her secret. She had every

intention of divulging her career to him once they were sequestered alone from the public’s hearing. If they determined to

keep her writing a secret, it wouldn’t dampen his reputation at all.

They could just go on as they were in all of their delightful affections.

And though she had very few dealings with many of his relations, especially his cousin the Viscount of Ravenscross, the title

carried esteem she never wished to sully.

“She’s already putting on airs,” came a loud whisper to her right.

Two ladies, Mrs. Wheaton and Mrs. Low, stood near the archway where Emme waited, doing very little to hide the object of their

conversation.

“It truly is appalling the way she’s practically thrown herself at him.”

Emme increased the speed of her fan to cool the heat in her face and turned her attention away from the women. She’d never once thrown herself at Simon. Stumbled into him, perhaps. Crushed a foot once or twice. But never thrown anything at him, herself included.

In fact, if they hadn’t chosen the same hiding spot while attempting to avoid unwelcome suitors, they would likely have never

met at all. Rank ruled—quite literally, in some respects—but especially in the social world. Her smile spread at the memory

of their amusing attempt to remain hidden and avoid scandal.

That one unexpected meeting began a humorous rhythm of consecutive encounters, which slowly grew into a friendship and then . . .

something even sweeter than friendship.

All the rumors of the determined flirt, Simon Reeves, melded into an awareness that beneath the dashing facade lay a faithful

heart worth the loving. And despite every sensible notion, every caution of society, every inward warning at the implausibility

of the match, Emme had given her heart to him.

From all accounts and to her utter surprise, he’d responded in kind.

However, over the last few weeks, their clear preference for each other had become more apparent, which no doubt led to the

newest rumors swirling about the ballroom. Emme hated being the topic of conversation.

“She’s only a distraction for him until he finds a more suitable bride. Everyone knows he has no plans to marry until later,

as he’s so frequently professed,” one of the ladies said.

Emme had heard those rumors too. Recognized the stories of Simon charming one lady after another with no real design to match

himself to any of them.

But he had told her he meant to propose. Tonight.

Professed how she’d redirected his course.

Her face warmed as she smiled. And he’d told her he loved her.

“It would not be prudent to align himself with someone so beneath him,” the other woman responded. “A motherless country gentleman’s daughter? Lord Ravenscross would never approve.”

Emme raised her fan to shadow her grin. But Lord Ravenscross had, by some miracle. In fact, Simon’s cousin cared very little

for the romantic entanglements of his uncle’s eldest son, so without any resistance whatsoever, Simon was moving forward with

his plans for tonight, where he promised to meet her in the Ruthtons’ garden by the waterfall to make everything official.

She’d become his wife.

An elevation for her family, for certain, but even more than that, a perfect match for her heart.

After all, he wasn’t a viscount, so at the foundation of rank, for the most part, they were the same: He was a gentleman’s son and she

a gentleman’s daughter.

“Once he drops her, she’ll be ruined. Everyone will know she’d chased after him and been found wanting.”

Emme stepped away from the women, waving her fan in time with her pulse. She’d fought the worries of his future regret in

the inequality of the match, wondered if he’d come to rue her lack of wealth or connections. But he’d quelled her doubts at

every turn, promising her that their future happiness would overcome any of the social ramifications.

And he kept proving to be the veritable hero of any good novel.

She sighed. Only her hero wasn’t reserved to the page.

The clock chimed the hour, and she turned her attention to the room. She’d not seen Simon since her arrival, but he often

arrived late. In fact, she wondered whether he may already be waiting for her in the garden. With a rather saucy glance back

to the gossipmongers, Emme slid down the hallway and out onto the steps of the veranda, breathing in the cool March air.

What a glorious way to end her very first St. Groves Season.

She’d barely made it to the steps into the garden when someone called her name.

Turning, she found a manservant approaching at a clipped speed. How very odd. How had he known where to find her?

And then something much less warm and delightful than her previous feelings quivered in her chest.

“Miss Lockhart?” He paused, still in the light of the doorway. “Miss Emmeline Lockhart?”

Her throat tightened. “Yes.”

With a bow of his head, he offered her a card. “For you, Miss.”

Hesitantly, she took the card, and the man removed himself back into the house. She slid her finger beneath the seal of the

envelope and stepped forward into the light glowing from the doorway. The note held only a few words in a dearly familiar

hand, but nothing about those words felt dear.

Everything has changed. Please forgive me.

S.