Chapter 15
Simon had taken her advice to read Sense and Sensibility?
Emme took another spoonful of her soup, unable to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. From all appearances, he not only
endured it but also seemed genuinely engaged. What would he think of Edward Ferrars’ secret? Or Colonel Brandon’s steadfast
devotion? Or Willoughby’s betrayal?
Her spoon hovered midair as doubt crept into her satisfaction. Two seasons ago, she and Simon had formed an attachment she
had believed to be one of the dearest of her life. The ton had interpreted their actions—though more restrained than Marianne’s
and Willoughby’s—as a declaration of intent. But like Willoughby, Simon had left her without explanation.
Now she understood the necessity of his actions, yet the sting of disappointment, the whispers of society, and the wound to her
heart remained. Had she unwittingly handed him a book that might cut too close to the quick? She had no intention of hurting
him, especially with fiction!
“What is this I hear of you taking the Reeves children to the Sutherlands’ this afternoon?”
Emme blinked at Aunt Bean’s sudden inquiry. Thus far, their conversation had touched only on the weather, Thomas’s forthcoming
sermon, the Langston boy’s cough, and the state of the roads. All fine topics. Pleasantly safe from Aunt Bean’s critique.
The narrowing of Aunt Bean’s eyes, however, suggested the current topic was anything but safe—for Emme.
“I thought I might do a good turn for the girls, Aunt.”
“Now, Bina,” Father offered, his tone mild but his gaze pointed. “Emme has always been inclined toward acts of charity. Surely
you wouldn’t fault her for such a thing?” He gestured toward Thomas with his spoon. “A most Christian endeavor, wouldn’t you
say, Reverend?”
Thomas’s lips twitched at the timely use of his title before sending a glance to Emme. “Indeed, it is.” He raised a brow.
“Usually.”
“You know I am the very model of charity, John,” Aunt Bean countered, lowering her spoon with a decisive clink. “But one must
not confuse charity with folly. I suspect there is more behind this particular display than meets the eye.”
Emme refused to lower her gaze under Aunt Bean’s scrutiny. “Those girls are in need of a young woman’s friendship, particularly
since their mother can no longer provide it.”
Aunt Bean’s eyes narrowed to such a degree they almost closed. “Attempting to curry favor with your former suitor through
his sisters will not achieve the desired effect. Frankly, I am astonished. Real ladies resort to such schemes only when there
is actually a chance of success.”
“Mother, I must protest,” Thomas interjected, though his tone held more exasperation than outrage.
“Do you not recall what became of you the last time you set your cap at a gentleman well above your station?” Aunt Bean continued,
undeterred. She sipped her wine with deliberate precision, her gaze steady over the rim. “And with the very same man.”
“I am not setting my cap at him.” Emme dabbed at her mouth with her napkin to give her fingers something to do. “I saw a need
and sought to meet it, as a friend might.”
Mostly true, though some of her thoughts about this particular “friend” had ventured dangerously close to the scandalous.
Aunt Bean sniffed, her skepticism unabated.
“Friendship between a single gentleman of title and an unmarried lady of no consequence is folly unless it leads to matrimony, an inheritance upon his untimely demise, or favor with his mother. Since he appears in robust health and his mother is, regrettably, departed, I can only assume your aim is marriage.”
“Mother,” Thomas admonished.
“It is simply the way of the world, dear,” Aunt Bean replied without so much as a glance his way.
“Perhaps we might aspire to something nobler than the way of the world,” Thomas said, leaning back in his chair.
Father muffled a chuckle behind his napkin, though Aunt Bean seemed impervious to her son’s rebuke.
“My intentions”—Emme held Aunt Bean’s stare, refusing to bend—“are purely out of goodwill. Have you considered that possibility?”
Aunt Bean gave a faint, disbelieving snort. “Women in your position, Emmeline, with a prior attachment to said gentleman,
do not squander their goodwill on an impossibility.” She paused briefly. “I hear his estate teeters on ruin, thanks to his
cousin’s unorthodox business patterns and overindulgent spending. With no fortune of his own and little hope of inheriting
from his late father’s dissipations, Lord Ravenscross cannot afford to marry for sentiment, even if”—her lips curled faintly—“such
sentiment existed.”
“Oh, I think sentiment is very much present,” Aster chimed in sweetly, her youthful grin belying the mischief in her words.
“You should have seen how he looked at her.”
Emme shot Aster a warning glance. Not helpful.
“What man wouldn’t show some gratitude for a woman who is taking his siblings from under foot for an entire afternoon?” Aunt
Bean countered with another weighted look at Emme. “Mark my words, he will take your kindness, and you will be left with nothing
for your trouble, just as before.”
The barb might have struck deeper if Emme still nurtured hopes of marrying Simon.
But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Truly, there was no way forward for them.
Which meant her charity was entirely . .
. well, mostly . . . charity. She almost smiled at the realization—Aunt Bean’s criticism lacked its usual sting.
“Did you find the Sutherlands well?” Father redirected smoothly, tipping his glass toward Emme. “I believe Cook has prepared
a dessert using some of your spoils.”
Emme thanked Father with a grateful smile.
“Strawberry trifle, I believe,” he continued, patting his stomach. “And I, for one, plan to benefit from Emme’s goodwill in bringing those strawberries for our enjoyment.”
“I second that, Uncle,” Thomas added, turning to Aster. “Aster, how did you enjoy your visit to the Sutherlands’?”
“Exceedingly.” Aster dabbed her serviette against her smile. “Mrs. Thornbury was a wealth of information—she’s traveled more
places than I’ve even read about.”
“Mrs. Thornbury?” Aunt Bean’s head jerked up with such suddenness, the feathers on her head gave a violent shake in protest.
“Do you mean Mrs. Agatha Bennett Thornbury?” The name was produced with enough venom to add a little hiss on the sibilant
sounds.
Aster froze, her cheer dimming under Aunt Bean’s thunderous glare.
“Bina, there is no need to—” Father began, but Aunt Bean plowed ahead.
“No wonder Emmeline is behaving so rashly!” She shook her head, her feathers quivering with each emphatic motion. “That woman
is notorious for stealing eligible gentlemen right from under more deserving ladies’ noses. Spending time in her company has
clearly influenced our dear Emmeline.”
It was remarkable how Aunt Bean could distort the meaning of the word dear in the way she spoke it.
Thomas groaned, while Aster exchanged a wide-eyed look with Emme.
“That was years ago, Bina,” Father said. “And—”
“And,” Aunt Bean interrupted, “she ruthlessly pursued a man already interested in another woman.”
“As I recall”—Father stared at his sister meaningfully—“the lady in question did not return his attentions, which led him
to look elsewhere for a bride.”
Aster’s eyes widened further, and Emme felt her own mirroring the expression. What on earth was this thinly veiled conversation
referencing? A former suitor of Aunt Bean’s?
She glanced at Thomas, who had taken to massaging his temples.
“But if I’d known!” Aunt Bean burst out, her indignation bubbling over. “If I’d known he’d become a wealthy naval captain,
I might have mustered a great deal more interest!”
The table fell silent. Even the servants at the sideboards seemed to pause.
Aunt Bean surveyed the room, her indignation faltering in the oppressive quiet. Finally, as if the silence itself challenged
her, she declared, “John, I forbid you to allow Emmeline any further association with that family. Their lineage is riddled
with villainy! From the late Lord Ravenscross’s excesses to the current Lord Ravenscross’s fickleness, they are nothing but
a blight on society.”
“Bina, you are letting ancient grievances cloud your judgment,” Father said, which, coming from him, was practically a rebuke.
Had Aunt Bean once fancied Mrs. Thornbury’s husband? And regretted slighting him now?
“Mark my words, Emmeline.” Aunt Bean’s gaze bore into her. “Any continued involvement with that family will ruin your reputation—and when it does, I will not vouch for your matrimonial or social future.”
Emme sat in bed later that evening, absorbed in Maria Edgeworth’s The Absentee. The tale offered more than a commentary on one woman’s relentless pursuit of status and its ruinous effects on her weak
husband’s finances; it also provided a poignant exploration of estate management and a charming glimpse into the lives of
ordinary Irish folk.
It was another quiet encouragement for Emme’s current novel-writing endeavor.
A soft rap at the door pulled her from the page. Before she could respond, Aster slipped in, her hair wound into cloths for
curling. She crossed the room with soundless steps and perched on the end of Emme’s bed, her expression pensive. “Do you think
Aunt Bean could still be in love with Captain Thornbury?”
Emme placed her book on the bedside table, a grin pulling at her lips. “I think Aunt Bean may still be in love with the status
and money Captain Thornbury would have brought to her, not necessarily Captain Thornbury himself.”
“It is rather difficult to imagine Aunt Bean in a swoon from love.” Her smile flared for a moment before she leaned in. “I
asked Father more about the story after Thomas and Aunt Bean left. Evidently, Captain Thornbury—though not yet a captain at
the time—was merely a merchant’s son with his looks and charm as his chief assets. Aunt Bean, as you know, was a gentleman’s
daughter, though not an especially wealthy one.”