Chapter 16
Miss Clayton was an excellent match for Lord Ravenscross.
Emme repeated the sentiment to herself, as though it could somehow make it truer, the image of Simon sitting next to the quiet
young woman at the theater ever fresh in her mind. They made a charming pair—both handsome and composed. Their children would
be stunning.
Her throat tightened. Surely, if she called upon her most sensible side, as Elinor Dashwood might, she could accept what must
be. It didn’t dull the sting of knowing that someone else would capture his fancy, that someone else would claim the future
she’d imagined. Yet there was some small comfort in the knowledge that Simon was doing what was best for his family and his
legacy. For future generations. It didn’t erase her heartache, but it softened it.
Especially the part about the children.
Miss Clayton would be permissive but kind. And they needed kindness.
She probably wouldn’t know what in the world to do about Blast or Charlotte’s outspoken nature, but at least she could help
offer some stability for the entire family. That would have to be enough.
And Emme would go on, finding another dream, another path.
Still, there was a part of her that longed to mourn with all the fervor of a fictional Marianne so the world might see just how thoroughly she understood the plight of the brokenhearted.
But what would that signify? It would change nothing, and it would profit her nothing—save for a headache and a concerned visit from St. Groves’ Ladies Society.
However, even from her perch in the theater, she could tell Simon wasn’t really applying himself to the wooing process. He’d
done a much better job with her. The right looks, the dedicated attention, the smiles. Her pulse quivered into a faster pace
at the memory of basking in those smiles. He’d given her one when he’d walked her to the house from his carriage yesterday.
Emme had felt something pass between them. Aster had even noticed it.
Oh, she must stop this torture. Besides, if Aster’s perception was accurate, Emme was only complicating matters for Simon
by her insistence on helping. As delightful as resurrecting his feelings for her sounded in the moment, in reality it would
only prove much more difficult for both of them, especially when he needed to marry someone rich!
No, if she cared about him and his family at all—charitably or otherwise—she needed to distance herself.
Her mother’s sister had long wished for Emme to visit them in Yorkshire, an invitation Emme had not acted upon. Perhaps now
was the perfect time. A lengthy trip, long enough to help Simon develop an alliance with a bride and for Emme to move forward
with whatever plans she chose to make without him.
Yes. The idea took root. It was a good choice—for both their sakes.
“I would encourage both you and your sister to wear your hair higher on your heads.” Aunt Bean’s voice broke into Emme’s thoughts
as she swept into the parlor without ceremony to continue another husband-catching lesson. Evidently, Emme’s behavior in helping
Simon and avoiding other suitors hadn’t encouraged Aunt Bean’s confidence, so the Lockhart girls required further instruction.
Emme really should apologize to Aster.
“The higher the hair, the more elegant the neckline, and any man worth having knows the value of an excellent neckline.”
Aster’s laugh burst from her, but she quickly turned it into a cough as Aunt Bean’s attention flashed in her direction. “You
must remain healthy, Aster. No man is tempted toward a weak wife who sounds as if consumption is her next illness, unless
he’s prone to melodrama or, even worse, requires the constant need to rescue something or other.”
Emme immediately thought of Simon jumping into the pond after her. The vision of his fine form emerging from the water, his
hair curling over his forehead, increased the temperature in the room. She shook the image away. Mostly.
But not before lingering on it just enough to encourage a sigh.
Besides, Simon wasn’t prone to melodrama, but having a man who cared for the safety of his family sounded like an excellent
trait. Perhaps Miss Lawson would be a better choice for Simon. She was always tripping on something.
“Emmeline.” Aunt Bean rapped her cane against the floor, pulling Emme’s attention back to the present. “Are you listening
to a single word of my instruction?”
Emme scrambled to recall Aunt Bean’s lecture. “The importance of necklines?”
Aunt Bean narrowed her eyes before pointing her cane at her. “I believe it is my duty to inform you of some difficulties you,
in particular, will face in securing a husband.”
Emme braced herself. The list was likely two pages long.
“First of all, your wayward mind. You must overcome this deficit, at least until matrimony—or perhaps until you produce an
heir. After that, I dare say, your husband won’t care a great deal where your attention lies.”
Emme pinched her lips together to contain her grin.
“Secondly, you cannot continue associating with Lord Ravenscross. It will only discourage more appropriate suitors from attending to you. I strongly advise you to avoid him altogether, if possible, and speak only of dull topics in his presence, such as your favorite muslin gown, the meaning of flowers, or the prospective suitors of your sister.”
Aster’s eyes widened, and she shook her head as though to deny any such suitors—or perhaps to protest Emme mentioning any
to Simon.
“Some men—blessed few—are truly drawn to a woman of intelligence or wit. I believe Lord Ravenscross may be one of them. To
deter further attachment, you must avoid highlighting those qualities. There are many eligible men who would appreciate your
pretense of dim-wittedness, for it allows them to feel superior in saving you, of course.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Not
to worry. Once you are married and he has ‘rescued’ you from your ignorance, he will congratulate himself on your sudden ascension
to brilliance as you manage your new home and entertain your guests as hostess.”
Emme truly had no response to this. Not even in her mind.
Aunt Bean’s low opinion of men was well known, and Emme often wondered how her sons had managed to grow into men at all, given
the constant barrage of such thinking. Thankfully, Mr. Bridges hadn’t passed on until all three sons had reached adulthood,
so his influence—rational and measured—had managed to temper some of his wife’s more . . . extreme views. At least that was
true of the eldest and youngest. The middle son, Harry, was more inclined to his mother’s disposition.
“I have every intention to give Lord Ravenscross a wide berth from this point forward.” The declaration solidified her plan.
Distance. “I . . . I do wish him the very best of happiness.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Bean grunted in response, a sound more dismissive than contemplative.
“The fact that you’re still even remotely interested in his well-being shows either a great deal of stubbornness or a woeful blindness to the true nature of the social world.
” She gave a sharp sniff. “However, if you are determined to turn your attention away from a man who is clearly well above your notice, I would strongly advise against being so particular with the bachelors who remain. All this nonsense encouraged by those dime novels about romance is highly overrated. A woman of strength can manage a marriage just as well without affection. In fact, she’d be wise to choose it, for emotions only cloud one’s judgment and lead to an overindulgence in fainting salts. ”
Aster’s cough resurrected.
“The right novels can lead to far better things than that,” Emme shot back before stopping herself. In many ways, her earlier
novels would have fit everything Aunt Bean despised in fiction, but this current one of hers . . . it was different. It hummed
with something deeper, with heart, reality, and—dare she say it?—hope. “I’ve read books that made me more compassionate toward
others in situations I hadn’t experienced, or helped me find courage when the characters displayed their strength. I’ve even
found encouragement when I’ve felt disheartened and—”
“Things better discovered in your Bible than in make-believe stories,” Aunt Bean interrupted with a huff.
“The Bible is one grand story, Aunt Albina. And though it may not be fictional, there is a clear celebration of how stories
impact us within its sacred pages. If our Lord can use stories to inspire others, surely He can create authors to do the same.”
“Nonsense,” Aunt Bean retorted with a tap of her cane. “Utter nonsense. No more of that.” She struck the floor again, as if
to punctuate her authority. Taking a deep breath—one so exaggerated her bosom shook—she steeled herself. “You’ve distracted
me enough from the lesson. How will you ever find a husband if you don’t listen?” Another sigh escaped her, large enough to
stir the air. “Let us address the proper tilt of a chin for maximum advantage.”
Emme cast Aster an apologetic look and then closed her eyes.
Though most of what Aunt Bean spoke was utter nonsense, a thread of truth wove through the sentiments and confirmed Emme’s thoughts.
If Simon still harbored feelings for her, her very presence would only hinder his progress toward finding a more suitable match.
So . . . she needed to focus her attention elsewhere, at the very least to ensure that he would continue his pursuit of Miss Clayton or another young lady.
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, considering the options. Miss Johnson was, of course, a splendid choice with her five
thousand pounds and generous annual allowance—though Emme had the distinct feeling that her laugh could scare small children.
Still, Fia was old enough to overlook such things, surely.
Stop it! She scolded herself internally. Clearly, it did no good to stay close enough to Simon to know about his life. The temptation