Chapter 11
“Would you mind repeating that?” Thomas stared at Emme, his brow growing more creased by the second.
“We should help Lord Ravenscross and his family.” Emme picked at a piece of lint on the settee before raising her gaze to
Thomas’s. “How could we not at least try after all we’ve discovered about their situation, Thomas?”
“We?” His blond brows hitched upward.
“He is one of the flock in your parish, isn’t he?”
“A viscount in financial straits is rather different than a farmer’s widow, Emme.” Thomas took a few steps closer to her and
rested his hand on the back of the chair nearby, as if bracing himself. “I’m not certain how welcome my help might be.”
“That’s all the more reason to help.” She waved a hand toward him, her voice firm. “He’s not the sort to ask for it, but that
doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. And he’s not just a viscount. He’s also a son, grieving the loss of so much, carrying the
weight of responsibility for his family. He could use some encouragement and guidance, I’m certain of it.”
“Emme, I don’t know that it’s wise for you to get involved.” His knowing look caused her to glance down at the lint again.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
His sigh filled the room. “Lest you forget, cousin-dear, he is the man who slighted you, left you to fend for yourself among the social pariahs, and broke your heart. You may not have the clearest vision on this.”
“Or my vision is very clear because of it,” she shot back, only to meet his knowing look.
She immediately found the lint incredibly interesting again.
“He must make a practical and responsible decision, not a sentimental one, Emme.”
Thomas didn’t have to go about reminding her. Her heart knew the sting all too well. “Perhaps because I understand Lord Ravenscross
better, because I’ve seen past the aristocratic facade to the man beneath”—an unbidden vision of him in the damp shirt from
the pond came to mind, but she shook it off—“I know how best to help him. And . . . well, he has a good heart, and he’s found
himself in a bad spot. Those poor children, Thomas. I don’t want to see him or his family suffer any more than they already
have.”
Her breath caught in her throat. It was the first time she’d voiced it, this understanding, this admission. And it shook her,
because it meant that somewhere along the way, she’d truly forgiven Simon Reeves. How could she feel a twin sense of freedom
and grief at the same time? Her heart knew it had to let go, yet still, a part of her wept.
Was that why she wanted to help him so much?
“Emme, in most cases, your desire would be admirable, but with him—”
“How can you say that? You’re a clergyman, for heaven’s sake.” She sent a pointed look from his toes to his hatless head.
“You should applaud my decision, especially with someone whom I would have considered nearer my enemy only a few months ago.
Where is all your talk about loving one’s enemies and forgiving others?”
“He has friends. He doesn’t need you getting involved—”
“But I am his friend too,” she said, cutting him off, the acknowledgment settling deep. “I heard his aunt’s ultimatum and met the children. And I have a very real way we can be of assistance. Besides, he may be more inclined to take advice from a man of God.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes, his skepticism clear. “My position is not a game card, Emme. Not everyone is eager for a visit from
a man of God.” He leaned forward slightly, his sigh revealing the first cracks in his resistance. She thought the “man of
God” bit might help her cause, and she shot a glance heavenward in gratitude.
“What exactly are you proposing I do?”
Her smile wavered wide. “Nothing outrageous. Quite the opposite, in fact. Small, sensible acts in keeping with your station.”
She raised her hands in a placating gesture, as if soothing a skittish horse. Surely Thomas would see the wisdom in her plan.
“Encourage him in subtle ways—gifts for his larder, which I mean to provide. And perhaps you might help me persuade him to
allow his younger sisters an outing or two under my care. It would provide them a touch of a lady’s influence and grant him
some relief.”
Not to mention, it might keep Charlotte from her light-fingered tendencies.
Thomas tilted his head. “These are tasks you could manage without my involvement.”
“I cannot visit him alone,” she pointed out, her gaze lifting to meet his with unspoken pleading.
His lips thinned. “What else?”
“I want you to help me convince Simon to take on a tenant farmer or two.”
“A tenant farmer? Emme, it is his business what he does with his—” Thomas’s words faltered as understanding dawned on him.
“You’re thinking of Mrs. Dean’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement,” she said.
“They need a place to live and work, and Simon needs income and produce. His cousin’s poor reputation likely left him with few recommendations for tenants.
” Perhaps her idea wasn’t so far-fetched after all.
In fact, she was beginning to feel a little giddy about it all.
“And as rector, you’re aware of others in need.
It’s a practical solution that benefits more than just Lord Ravenscross. ”
Thomas studied her, his skepticism giving way to a wry grin. “I see your plotting isn’t confined to your novels.”
“Stories are everywhere.” She offered him a pleased smile. “Why not use them to work toward better ends?”
Thomas regarded her thoughtfully again, and then, with a resigned bend of his shoulders, he moved to the seat beside her.
“You must realize, Emme, he can’t choose you for his bride, no matter what you do.”
Oh, she knew. The truth had settled over her long ago, and though it ached, it no longer cut as sharply. Perhaps her resolve
to help had dulled the pain. “I’m not ignorant of the world, Thomas. Lest you forget, I am embroiled in Aunt Bean’s rather
inventive campaign to find me a suitable match.” She squeezed his hand, her smile tinged with humor. “It was a fanciful notion
to think a country landowner’s daughter like me could aspire to marry the nephew of a viscount. Even less so now that he’s
inherited the title.”
She exhaled, the weight of reality pressing firmly against her. “I know he cannot choose me, even if he wished it. But that
does not mean I cannot help.”
“I think,” Thomas said slowly, shaking his head, “you show much more Christian charity in this moment than I would.”
She chuckled. “Then perhaps extending a little benevolence toward him might ease your ire.”
“I still wish to throttle the man,” he muttered.
“Then do it with a dose of charity,” she teased, giving his hand another squeeze. “Your protective instincts are clouding
your godly ones.”
“I’ve been practically a brother to you. It is my right.”
“And I’m grateful for it, most of the time.”
His grin widened as he released her hand. “Most of the time, we aren’t discussing your former suitor. It makes for far less agreeable conversation.”
“Then perhaps”—she scooted to the end of her chair, her anticipation nearly shaking her body—“you’ll find my next proposal
more to your liking.”
“Oh no,” he groaned. “More magnanimity? I suspect the wrong family member joined the clergy.”
“Would you truly wish to hear me preach a sermon?”
He gave her a hard look, a twinkle lighting in his eyes. “Complete with adventure, dangers, mystery, and romance? No, because
you may very well show me up, and then I’d have no income.”
“Unlikely,” she retorted with a snicker, rising to her feet as Thomas did the same. “You are an excellent preacher and, usually,
the one proposing acts of service and magnanimity.”
“For good or ill, I believe you’re particularly inspired in this case.” His frown deepened, so she pressed forward quickly
with her idea.
“I’ve written to Miss Lane to see if she is currently seeking employment.”
“Miss Lane?” Both of his brows rose in unison. “Your former governess?”
Emme nodded. “With her mother having passed away three months ago, she may be ready to resume a position somewhere. I know
her mother did not leave her very much money, and she’d be an excellent recommendation for Lord Ravenscross.”
Thomas regarded her for a long moment before shaking his head. “You truly are relentless.”
“Determined,” she corrected, unable to tame her smile. “And entirely justified.”
“Certainly, if anyone knows how to guide fanciful and headstrong young girls into womanhood, it would be the indomitable Miss Lane.” Thomas braided his hands behind his back and started down the hallway toward the door, Emme at his side. “Do you think Lord Ravenscross will agree?”
“Well . . .” Her grin spread as she followed him to the entryway. “It would be very practical and responsible for him to do
so.” She quoted back his earlier words.
Thomas shot her a mock glare. “I shall remember never to give you ammunition.”
“So you will go with me to Ravenscross tomorrow?”
He paused at the threshold, his expression turning serious as he studied her face. “I will. But Emme, this is not one of your
stories. The daring hero will not abandon his responsibilities for the lesser-known and poorer damsel. He will choose for
status, money, and family. Are you prepared for that reality?”
She held his gaze, embracing reality with a painful hold. “I am.”
He nodded and opened the door. “Then I believe I can help you.” He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly. “As long as there
are no other surprises.”
“I think those are quite enough, and then I’ll know I did my part.”
“More than your part.” He searched her face with complete skepticism. “And that is all?”
She shifted her gaze away from his. Why was he asking her that as if she weren’t being completely forthright? “Of course.”
“Just be careful, Emme,” Thomas said, his voice low and steady. “Putting your heart on the page is one thing. But placing
it close to someone who has already wounded it? That is far riskier. Take care not to step into a situation that breaks it
all over again.”