Chapter 10 #3
the chaos within him. He had seen Emme off only an hour before, yet her image remained vivid—hauntingly so.
There she had stood, wearing his sister’s dress, her golden hair damp and slightly disheveled, the wide depths of her eyes
searching his.
And her touch—his fingers fisted at the thought of it. That brief, searing connection as she pressed her hand to his lingered
with him, heavy and impossible to shake.
It was as though, in that single moment, she had said goodbye.
Charlotte had, of course, wasted no time in recounting her and Emme’s conversation with Fia about the frog and the ensuing confrontation with Aunt Agatha.
The sparkle in his sister’s eyes as she spoke of Emme’s defense had said much.
It hadn’t been Emme’s words alone that had earned Lottie’s admiration—but had it also been the presence of another young woman? A female mentor for his hurting sister?
“If you’re trying to avoid Emmeline Lockhart, you’re doing a remarkably poor job of it,” Ben remarked from the chair opposite,
his words no help at all. He’d arrived a little after Emme had left, passing the carriage as he’d come to the estate, so of
course Simon had told him of her . . . unexpected visit.
Simon’s attention snapped to his “friend,” who lounged as though he had not a care in the world. “Did you hear anything I
just said? It was an accident, plain and simple. The last thing I wanted was to see her here.”
In fact, seeing her in his home, with his siblings, made everything worse. She fit too well. Brought too much light. Sprinkled
her loveliness within the lonely walls.
He didn’t need to have that vision in his head.
Nor the sensation of her in his arms, the soft curves of her body shivering up against him.
“I heard”—Ben relaxed back into his chair—“something about your thieving sister, some chickens, and a swim in the pond with
your favorite heroine.” He paused, adding a shake of his brows. “Very romantic. I daresay your life is nearly novel-worthy.”
Simon sent Ben a warning glare, which only bounced off the man’s self-satisfied grin. A bruised eye would do a great deal
to alter his smug expression. Perhaps a broken nose too.
“Come now. It has all the best parts of those novels. Hero’s noble sacrifice for his family, faced with financial ruin, having to choose between love and duty.” He waved toward the door, as if to conjure up someone. “You’ve even got the tragic heroine in the mix.”
“If I had the money to spare, I’d pay you to leave right now.”
Ben chuckled, entirely unbothered. “Your house is teeming with characters waiting to be written. Speaking of, I ran into the
infamous Aunt Agatha as I came in. She gave me a look that could freeze the Thames in mid-July.” He forced an exaggerated
shiver. “I can’t fathom why she doesn’t like me. I’m rather charming, if I do say so myself.”
Simon, at that moment, found himself fully sympathizing with Aunt Agatha. “Aunt Agatha has little patience for charm, as you
well know.”
“Her loss then.” Ben reclined farther, crossing his arms with a smirk. “I’d be an asset to any dinner party, charming as I
am. Is she always so . . . glacial?”
Simon’s attention fastened on the note on the side table. “I’ve known her softer side, though I’ve not seen it for a few months.”
“Ah.” Ben sat up, grinning. He always grinned when Simon was on edge. “Why do I get the sense she’s complicated matters for
you?”
Simon growled, the sound unintentionally revealing.
“And . . .” Ben drew the word out, his grin turning positively wicked. “What is her current method of torture?”
Simon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “An ultimatum actually. I’m tasked with hiring a governess and finding a wife—without
causing a scandal—before the end of the season.”
“What?” A laugh burst from Ben. “And if you fail, will she send you to bed without supper?”
Simon leveled a glare in his direction. “She’s offering an allowance, one that would grant me a bit more freedom to save the
estate.”
“Is it really as bad as that, Simon?” Ben’s expression sobered. “That you must accept her terms?”
Simon rubbed at his temples, the weight of the situation pulling at him like a physical ache. “My cousin was thorough in his debts, my father very close behind.”
Ben winced. “Good heavens.”
“And Aunt Agatha,” Simon continued, “is dangling just enough of an allowance to keep Ravenscross afloat. She’s made it clear—if
I don’t find a bride by the end of the season, she’ll end her allowance.”
“No wonder you’re in a devil of a mood.” Ben gave a low whistle, shaking his head. “A bride? By the end of the season? It’s
absurd.”
“Unfortunately, what I really need is time.” He ran a hand over his face, giving his head another shake. Time to watch his
current ventures expand. Time to see how his investments grow. “Time to make good decisions, not just practical ones.”
An uncharacteristic frown played over Ben’s features as he studied Simon. “On second thought, practicality doesn’t suit you
at all.”
“I’m afraid that what suits me,” Simon replied dryly, “is a dowry large enough to save Ravenscross without delay.”
Ben’s grimace deepened, before recovering with a glint to his eyes. “Well then, if practicality is all you need, then Mrs.
Tewksbury is an obvious choice. She has a fortune, is pleasant enough, and I hear she’s rather fond of gardens. You do have
a garden, don’t you?”
Simon scowled. “Mrs. Tewksbury is twice my age.”
Ben waved off the comment with a casual flick of his wrist. “Details.”
“And I would like an heir,” Simon added. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Tewksbury is not an option.”
“Then there’s Miss Moss, of course.” Ben’s grin returned, this time brighter. “Didn’t you already dance with her? Perfectly
amiable, lovely hair, and—most importantly—no scandal attached to her name.”
Ah, his friend was trying to lighten the mood. Simon raised a brow. “Miss Moss barely said two words the entire evening.”
“Precisely,” Ben countered, his grin widening. “Think of the peace and quiet she’ll bring to your life.”
Simon chuckled despite himself. “Indeed. I shall move her to the top of the list.”
Ben stood, clapping Simon on the shoulder as he passed. “Well, I’d offer more advice, but I believe you’re beyond saving.”
Simon squinted up at him. “Your encouragement knows no bounds.”
But the levity had ebbed. Even Ben’s steps carried a heaviness as he moved to the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced
back, his expression unusually grave.
“I know I tease about practicality,” he began, hesitating before meeting Simon’s gaze. “But you’re a good man. One of the
better ones, despite my otherwise deplorable taste in friends.”
Simon’s lips twitched at the poorly veiled compliment.
“And I don’t want to see you . . .” Ben faltered, his tone softening. “This is your life, Simon. ‘Until death do us part’
can be an awfully long time with someone you neither respect nor care for.”
The warning struck low and firm, tightening Simon’s chest.
Ben patted the doorframe, a flicker of his usual grin returning. “My father once told me that when choosing a bride, I should
at least find someone I could stand to be in the same room with.”
“Very practical.” Simon shook his head, his gaze traveling back to the fire. Low expectations, low results?
But Ben’s lingering silence pulled Simon’s attention once more, his friend’s expression uncharacteristically earnest. “But
I’d say it is even better if you can find someone who makes you forget there’s a room at all.”
With that, Ben stepped out, leaving Simon alone with the gravity of his words. Ben’s mother had been a silly, selfish woman
who’d cast a shadow over the entire household until her death. Simon had no intention of following such a path.
If he were to choose a bride, it would need to be someone he could trust—or at the very least tolerate without constant friction.
But truly respect? That was a high bar in his world.
And yet, only one person came to mind. One person who, against all logic, tempted him to forget not only the room but his very reason for being there.
Simon’s lips finally gave way to a faint smile, but it was a sad imitation, lacking the joy it once carried.
What he’d hoped to bring to this family two years ago had to die.
What he needed to bring to this family now must remain his focus.
And he prayed to see Emmeline Lockhart as little as possible during his search because no bride should ever have to compete
with another woman for her husband’s heart.