Chapter 1 #2
husbands, if you do say so yourself.” He studied his mother, the gleam in his eyes in contrast to his complacent grin. “But must we discuss matchmaking
upon our first arrival at Thistlecroft?”
“How can we not?” Aunt Bean’s entire body stiffened so fast that her hat shook. “We have much to repair!”
Thank you for the reminder, Aunt Bean. Yet another barb to stick into Emme’s lingering incompetence. But she’d learned her lesson. Do not trust intelligence, handsome
features, and a quick wit.
Or excellent dancing skills.
And delightful conversation.
Or a tender heart.
She nearly groaned. What on earth was left to rely upon?
“This is of utmost importance to Emmeline’s future and weighs heavily on her father’s mind.”
It was unlikely Father spent a great deal of time considering his daughters’ futures, but of course Father could be easily swayed into worrying about something or other, especially to ensure Aunt Bean’s speedy departure.
How the woman winkled her way into an invitation in the first place probably involved a little bullying, a heavy dose of guilt, and a massive amount of sweets.
“You haven’t even met the prospects yet.” Thomas cast a sympathetic look in Emme’s direction. “There may not be a decent fellow
in the lot.”
“We are in St. Groves, Thomas.” Her nose rose even higher, if that was possible. “Not some backwater country parish. There
are plenty of eligible men who will do for Emmeline.” Her hawk eyes returned to Emme. “Whether Emmeline will do for them is
why I am required.”
After another dramatic second of scrutiny, Aunt Bean released Emme from her gaze and stepped, cane in rhythm, to finally be
poised in a chair. Seated was a much too relaxed word for Aunt Bean’s position.
“Whether Emme will do for them?” Thomas’s brows rose in exaggerated mock horror before he turned. Cradling his chin with his
thumb and forefinger, he examined Emme, his gaze glimmering like the mischievous boy he used to be. “Well, her eyes are tolerably
large and her nose has an acceptable slope.” He waved a dismissive hand toward her, the dimple in one cheek the only mark
of his teasing. “But there is the question of her chin.”
Emme nearly lost complete control of her laugh. Thank God for Thomas and his desire to keep the conversation away from the
past. Oh, how she’d missed him. Apart from her sister, Aster, he’d been her dearest friend in all the world. “Ah yes, many
a marriage has been ruined over an imperfect chin.”
“Chins are in fashion, I am told. And yours is suitable enough.” Aunt Bean squinted in focused study of the offending protrusion. “But your nose is rather fine too, despite being marred by those unsightly freckles. The waters in Bath would do wonders for your complexion, Emmeline.”
Emme bit her smile into submission. Thank the Lord she wasn’t wearing her spectacles to complete the ensemble of inadequacies.
“I have heard similar tales.”
“She’s not too tall,” Thomas interjected with a lopsided grin. “And she does read devotionally.”
Emme rolled her eyes. Trust her cousin to weave such nonsense into her aunt’s relentless critique.
“I have every confidence we will secure an excellent match now that I am here to set things right.” Aunt Bean raised her cane
like a pointer. “We start at a disadvantage, naturally, but despite the mishap of your first season, followed by an unfruitful
second, your reputation has only been slightly tarnished. Mercifully, no true scandal has occurred, even if its stench remains.”
How reassuring. No true scandal—only mortifying humiliation and the lingering ache of a shattered heart. But what were those
trifles when set against the towering edifice of matrimony?
“A woman grows wiser and stronger when thwarted in love,” Aunt Bean added, as though dispensing great wisdom. “And the further
we stay from scandal, the better your prospects. A faded rose is still a rose.”
Encouragement clearly wasn’t Aunt Bean’s natural gift.
“Mother,” Thomas drawled, “I do believe you’re verging on sentimental. None of us are prepared for such a shift.” With a sly
glance at Emme, he added, “However, if I must indulge this rare moment, I’d say Emme’s finest qualities are her quick wit
and her good heart.”
Thomas’s gaze searched Emme’s, voicelessly seeking her mood, so she offered a small smile in return.
Her good heart proved all too naive, leaving her wiser only in the art of heartbreak.
However, her experiences had at least lent a certain realism to her fictional tales of rakish heroes, dashed hopes, and clandestine liaisons turned disastrous.
She sighed. While her modest ventures as a novelist fell short of true disgrace, the revelation would hardly enhance her standing,
especially in the wake of her first season’s embarrassment. Aunt Bean, she suspected, would be positively apoplectic if the
truth ever emerged.
With Thomas’s help, she had kept her little profession hidden by granting him full control of her business affairs. No one
thought twice about a man negotiating contracts and royalties, after all. She didn’t even know how much she’d earned from
her three books, only that the reviews had softened considerably since her debut effort.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Thomas,” Aunt Bean declared with the finality of a gavel. “Her best feature is her two thousand pounds.
It may not be as enticing as some other ladies’ fortunes, but I feel we can use her first season’s . . . misstep . . . and
last season’s reticence to evoke the proper amount of sympathy for her marital plight. It is understandable that Emmeline
should fear stepping back out after the blemish to her reputation, which will only increase compassion from the mothers of
sons in want of a wife. Her excellent family”—she raised her chin with pride at full tilt—“should elevate her to a competitive
standing with at least one marriageable gentleman of the gentry.”
Now she felt like the mare in a horse race.
“I have made a list of some of the most suitable candidates,” Aunt Bean continued, extracting a carefully folded slip of paper
from her reticule and handing it to Emme with the air of a royal decree.
“A list?” The word burst from Thomas. He cast his mother a sharp glance. “Really, Mother, is this necessary?”
“Emmeline did not have my guidance the last two seasons and look how those turned out,” she replied with unshakable conviction.
“I shall steer her toward men who are not only upstanding but also well within her means. One of the difficulties with your first seasons, Emmeline, was that you aimed too high above your station, dear girl.”
Emme did not feel very “dear” at the moment. “He was a gentleman, Aunt Bean . . . Albina,” Emme corrected. “We are of the
same station.”
Though the word gentleman was perhaps a generous stretch. Simon Reeves had charmed her with kind words, unexpected attentions, and stolen moments:
a carriage ride alone and—heat rose to her cheeks—a near kiss in the garden.
He had made her believe he cared.
Cared enough for . . . forever.
Then he’d left her to deal with the consequences: whispers of impropriety, the sting of being deemed “tainted,” and the bruising
weight of a broken heart. She should have known better. Simon’s reputation as a flirt was well documented, his name even linked
with the likes of the infamous Selena Hemston on one occasion. It seemed he lived up to the charm without any intention of
hurting or truly pursuing the ladies involved. And yet, she had foolishly believed he’d been different with her.
That he’d . . . loved her.
Aunt Bean, of course, referred to Simon’s newly altered position. When he had courted Emme, their social difference had been
present but not insurmountable. He was simply the heir to a modest estate. Yet everything had changed with the tragic deaths
of his father and cousin. Now Simon was the Viscount of Ravenscross, the inheritor of an ancient title, an expansive estate,
and, if rumor held true, significant debts. His responsibilities—and expectations—had grown exponentially.
“A man in Lord Ravenscross’s position will only trifle with the heart of a girl with a mere two thousand pounds,” Aunt Bean
declared, punctuating her words with an imperious wave of her finger. “He will marry someone much richer. So keep your head
this season, Emmeline, and do not let yourself be drawn into another . . . dalliance.”
“You have no worry on that score.” Emme’s words escaped with more force than she intended, her face flaming. “If I never see him again, it will be too soon.”
Aunt Bean’s dark eyes narrowed. “Do you not read the society pages?”
All heat drained from Emme’s face as she looked from Thomas to Aunt Bean. “What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it that Lord Ravenscross is back in St. Groves and in search of a wealthy wife.”