Chapter 17
Simon hadn’t intended to be in town this morning.
He hadn’t planned on witnessing Emme and her sister, Aster, strolling alongside the new rector, all engaged in an animated
exchange punctuated with smiles. If not for the errand to collect a package from the post, he might have missed this . . .
charming tableau entirely.
His frown deepened. How delightful.
Did they often walk together? Did Mr. Bridges enjoy the privilege of Emme’s smiles on a regular basis? Could there truly be
merit to Selena’s insinuations that an attachment was forming between them?
Before Simon really understood what his feet were doing, he’d quite intentionally redirected his path to walk directly into
theirs.
The trio came to a halt as he approached, and though heat rose uncomfortably to his face at his unplanned intrusion, Simon
removed his hat and offered a courteous bow, focusing his attention on Mr. Bridges, of course. “Good morning.”
Mr. Bridges raised his brows briefly, his expression settling into a polite smile. “Lord Ravenscross.” He dipped his head.
“A fine morning to you, sir.”
Simon turned his gaze to the ladies, inclining his head again and catching Emme’s wide-eyed reaction.
“I wished to congratulate you, Mr. Bridges, on your first month as rector of Lemmingston. Your reputation for compassion and
eloquence has already reached me.”
“High praise, my lord. Thank you,” Mr. Bridges replied, the corner of his mouth curving with amusement.
“Yet I must ask—why rely on hearsay when you might experience my unparalleled oratory firsthand? Your attendance would doubtless be a boon to the community and might even encourage some of your tenants to return to church.”
“Not to mention, greatly enhance his spiritual life,” Aster added, her large eyes a darker hue than her sister’s, but with
the same intelligence.
A soft snicker came from Emme’s direction, though she quickly covered her mouth with her gloved hand, her expression one of
mock innocence.
Simon cleared his throat and offered Aster a smile. “Miss Aster, your counsel is duly noted. I shall endeavor to attend on
Sunday in eager expectation of being transformed.”
The halts and stops of air coming from his left increased in volume and Simon’s chest tightened. Her laughter—at his expense,
no less—had always been as infuriating as it was endearing. Her humor, her light, and her comfort enough in their friendship
not only to laugh with him but at him only dug into his desire to make her a permanent part of his life.
Surely, with her kindness and selflessness, she’d make an excellent clergyman’s wife. But—he cast a glance at Mr. Bridges,
who was really too handsome and charismatic to be a rector—would she really be happy? Would he engage her wit? Comfort her
in her sadness? Make her laugh?
The thought settled uneasily in Simon’s chest.
Giving her up had seemed possible and necessary when the distance of months and his own stupid rationalization of the situation
kept his mind fully occupied, but the longer he spent time with her, the more his arguments teetered into forcing possibility.
Could he? What sacrifices would he have to make? What promises?
“Ah, well, I don’t know that I’d place my abilities into the transformative category, Lord Ravenscross,” Mr. Bridges offered, his gaze measuring Simon as it had during their first meeting. “But perhaps the Good Book would provide the proper impetus for the right encouragement.”
Whether it was the fact that the man was a clergyman or a possible suitor of Emme’s, Simon wasn’t certain, but something about
Mr. Bridges kept Simon guessing. He was friendly but carried himself with a quiet confidence few men of his age possessed.
An attractive quality in any man, but particularly so for an intelligent woman like Emme. His shoulders slumped.
“Have the new tenants settled in, Lord Ravenscross?” This from Emme, whose smile drew him a step forward.
“Bit by bit, I believe.” He cast his nod to the trio. “The two families who have already moved into the cottages have made
quick work of starting things well, and I mean to have two more cottages ready for occupation by end of next week.”
“Excellent, sir.” The rector’s praise somehow made Simon stand a little taller. Perhaps it was merely because the man had
some sort of special connection with the Almighty. “I shall continue to send more names as you need them, if you wish.”
“I do. As I make the cottages habitable, I have every intention of filling them.” And a genuine smile spread across Simon’s
face, not just at his own pride in his work, but in the welcome light in the rector’s face. He was a good sort. Blast it.
“Thank you.”
“And your family?” Emme continued. “Are they still enjoying the strawberries?”
“Indeed, they are.” His body eased into the dialogue. “And Fia cannot stop singing Alfie’s praises.”
“They did become quick friends, didn’t they?”
His gaze paused in hers. She was beautiful. Absolutely. The light in those eyes, the turn of her chin. He couldn’t pull his attention away.
And then he realized in the middle of his adoration, Aster had taken Mr. Bridges’ arm at some point, and they’d begun walking
along the pavement. Simon gestured forward to Emme, who fell into step beside him, her pace deliberately slower, as if inviting
a more private exchange.
His pulse quickened. He shouldn’t want this. Neither should she.
And yet, if he could steal one more moment with her, he would. For however long it lasted.
For a few beats, they walked in companionable silence, the sound of their steps muted against the pavement. Emme’s hands tightened
slightly on her reticule, and Simon wondered if she was deliberating her words as much as he was. It seemed too strange that
he had so much he wanted to express, so many forbidden thoughts and feelings, and yet, he couldn’t.
Shouldn’t.
But they were nearly strangling him to get out.
Clearing his throat, he managed, “I . . . wanted to thank you for your recommendation of Miss Clayton.”
Brilliant, Simon. A masterful way to woo the woman you love—praise another.
Emme’s brows rose. “Truly?”
“You doubt me?”
Her lips twitched, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Well, appearances might suggest otherwise.”
“Is that so?” The sunlight danced across her golden hair, but it was the gleam of mischief in her gaze that truly held him.
From the first time they’d met—when she’d teased him mercilessly in the Ruthtons’ library—she’d been utterly disarming.
She hadn’t known who he was . . . and she’d just been her charming self.
Unlike other women, who charmed with calculated poise, Emme’s wit struck like lightning, quick and natural. She was a force entirely her own.
And heaven help him, how could he marry anyone else?
“How very . . . observant of you.”
One corner of her mouth edged a little higher as she stared up at him and then laughed, shaking her head as she did so. “Was
I so obvious?”
“Painfully,” he shot back. “Especially with those theater glasses of yours.”
And then, to his own surprise, he laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a restrained smile, but an unguarded, genuine laugh—the
kind he hadn’t indulged in for far too long. His body relaxed, his burdens momentarily forgotten in the comfort of their familiar
banter. “I believe some training in covert skills would be in order.”
“Indeed.” She glanced ahead as they continued their walk, the distance between them and Mr. Bridges with Aster widening. “But
how could I help it? The play was diverting enough, but I confess your performance was far more compelling than the actors
on the stage.”
“My performance?”
“Between your rather uninspired courting of Miss Clayton and the grand scene with Miss Hemston during intermission . . .”
“Your theater glasses extended all the way to the lobby during intermission?”
Her smile dropped wide and she looked away, a bloom deepening her cheeks again. “I took a stroll, as many others did, to refresh
myself after sitting so long.”
“And just happened to witness my exchange with Miss Hemston?”
She avoided his gaze, the blush deepening, and his grin only grew.
“It was quite the spectacle,” she admitted. “Poor Miss Clayton looked positively ruffled by Miss Hemston’s theatrics. It was
all very dramatic.”
Why did she care? Unless . . . could the idea of her being jealous hold some truth? He slowed his steps, her reaction feeding a flicker of hope. Perhaps Miss Hemston’s earlier insinuations had been wrong—or intentionally misleading.
“It’s wise to consider one’s options when contemplating matrimony, wouldn’t you agree? Focusing solely on Miss Clayton when
Miss Hemston is so very . . . insistent seems rather inefficient.”
“Inefficient?” Her lovely bottom lip dropped, but she rallied within a second, her cheeks heightened with color. “You’re far
too intelligent to entertain Miss Hemston, Simon Reeves. And you care too deeply for your family to make such an error.”
“Giving my family and estate what they need is of prime importance.” He kept his face forward to hide his growing amusement.
“She brings a great deal of wealth.”
“And an even greater measure of misery,” she shot back, her steps quickening before she turned to face him, her expression
fierce. “She’s selfish and manipulative. Can you imagine how she’d treat Fia and her frogs?”
Simon nearly winced, but her passion kept him entranced.
“And poor William. I don’t know him as well as the girls, but can you even contemplate such a harsh woman in his life? Or
Charlotte! She’d try to hold her ground, but Miss Hemston’s years of practiced haughtiness would crush her spirit entirely.”
He stared at her, his heart nearly leaping from his chest. How could one woman understand his family so perfectly? How could
she care for them as much as he did? He almost grabbed her and kissed her in the middle of one of the main thoroughfares in
St. Groves.
“I must choose someone,” he said, his voice low.