Chapter 18 #2
There was something almost heroic in the way Mrs. Thornbury met Aunt Bean’s barbs without flinching. Her quiet confidence,
her unshakable composure—it was, Emme thought with reluctant admiration, inspiring.
“Indeed. My nephew persuaded me to rejoin society for tonight. It has been a pleasure to reconnect with old friends—and to meet new acquaintances.”
At the mention of Simon, Aunt Bean’s fan paused midair before snapping shut with an audible click. “Ah, yes. Lord Ravenscross. A young man with many responsibilities—and, one might say, many challenges.”
Oh, good heavens! Emme needed to concoct some plan to get her aunt away from Mrs. Thornbury and further embarrassment. Perhaps this was a perfect
time for a faint?
Mrs. Thornbury’s smile remained in place, though there was an undeniable steel behind it. “Lord Ravenscross bears his responsibilities
with admirable fortitude, though I am certain you, with your extensive experience in such matters, might have a great deal
of advice to offer.”
Emme bit back a smile, silently marveling at how effortlessly Mrs. Thornbury deflected her aunt’s jabs. Truly, if one aspired
to grace under pressure, Mrs. Agatha Thornbury was the pinnacle. Perhaps society brought out her best.
“I would offer advice if it were sought,” Aunt Bean said with a sniff. “But the younger generation often prefers to chart
its own course, heedless of the wisdom of their elders.” At which time, Aunt Bean did nothing to hide her rather pointed look
in Emme’s direction.
Mrs. Thornbury’s gaze flicked to Emme, her expression softening. “Miss Lockhart seems quite capable of determining her own
path. I have always admired a woman with a sense of purpose.”
“Purpose is admirable,” Aunt Bean said, her tone sharpening. “But purpose without propriety is another matter. My niece has
grown beyond her silly connections of youth, and she has no regrets related to previous attachments, I assure you. It is clear
she can do much better.”
“Aunt,” Emme warned, but her intervention was futile.
“And I would encourage her to steer clear of families who seem to inherit poor judgment, deception, and inconstancy in relationships,” Aunt Bean continued, her words aimed like arrows. “I am sure you know such legacies quite well.”
Mrs. Thornbury’s calm remained unbroken as she replied, “Regret, Mrs. Bridges, is a most peculiar thing. Some are plagued
by it; others learn from it and move forward. I suspect Miss Lockhart is wise enough to choose the latter.” Mrs. Thornbury
offered a slight nod to Emme. “From my brief acquaintance with her, I feel she knows her place and her own mind.”
Her place? That, Emme thought bitterly, made Mrs. Thornbury’s opinion of her and Simon’s potential future quite clear. Yet
her own mind was precisely the problem—it knew the painful truth all too well. It was her own heart that was causing the indecision.
Aunt Bean’s lips tightened. “Wisdom in youth is often a matter of luck rather than merit. Tell me, Mrs. Thornbury, did your
husband share your philosophical outlook?”
No! Aunt Bean did not just bring up Mrs. Thornbury’s heartache.
A shadow flickered in Mrs. Thornbury’s eyes, but her tone remained steady. “Captain Thornbury’s outlook was one of optimism
and constancy. He was ever guided by his heart and his sense of honor. A rare combination, I must say.”
Emme’s breath caught. What happened when the heart and honor were in conflict? Did honor always triumph?
The implication was clear, and Aunt Bean bristled. “Rare, indeed. Though one might wonder if such qualities are valued as
highly as wealth and connections. The heart is rarely a trustworthy appendage, except in hindsight.”
“Albina”—Mrs. Thornbury’s tone dipped with tender entreaty—“it was a long time ago. Whatever grievances you may carry, they
do not serve either of us now.”
“Grievances?” Aunt Bean’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I hold no grievances. I merely observe that some choices are made without
proper foresight.”
This conversation really needed to happen elsewhere instead of a crowded room. So much for all those lessons on propriety!
“Your foresight in rejecting him was most acute, I am sure.” Mrs. Thornbury tilted her head, her gaze steady. “But you chose
someone else that better met your desires, which left dear Captain Thornbury to find me.” Her smile softened, though her eyes
remained steel. “And for that, I owe you my most heartfelt gratitude.”
Aunt Bean sputtered a few seconds, the feather in her hair dancing a rather unruly rhythm in response. “Gratitude,” she snapped,
“is an easier sentiment to bear when one has gained everything they wished for.”
“Not everything.” Mrs. Thornbury’s quiet response carried the faintest edge.
In that moment Emme remembered Simon mentioning how his aunt and her late husband had been unable to have children of their
own. And now, to lose someone she evidently loved so dearly—two decades into their marriage—would surely weigh heavily on
a heart.
Loss came in all shapes and sizes, didn’t it? The way of the world.
“Life takes its toll on us all, Albina. You and I are not exceptions. Perhaps it is time to let the past rest.”
Aunt Bean sputtered, her voice tangled in her protest, but Mrs. Thornbury did not wait for a response.
“Miss Lockhart.” Mrs. Thornbury turned her attention fully to Emme, her smile welcome. “You remind me very much of your mother.
She, too, had a remarkable strength of character. I am certain you will navigate these waters with grace, no matter what the
gossips say.”
Emme inclined her head, uncertain whether to be encouraged or chastened by the comment. Mrs. Thornbury’s words, though kind,
carried an unmistakable point in them.
With a polite nod to Emme and a final deliberate glance at Aunt Bean, Mrs. Thornbury stepped away, leaving the elder woman
to stew in the wake of her remarks.
But Emme wasn’t finished. How could she leave Simon’s aunt to think Emme held any similar view to her own aunt?
It was only a moment before Emme followed. “Mrs. Thornbury,” she called softly, hastening after her. “I must apologize for
my aunt’s remarks. Her opinions are her own and do not reflect mine.”
Mrs. Thornbury’s brow arched slightly. “Do they not?”
“No.” Emme’s cheeks warmed beneath the woman’s steady gaze. “I hold Lord Ravenscross in the highest esteem.”
Mrs. Thornbury’s expression revealed nothing, though a flicker of interest danced in her eyes. “The highest esteem,” she repeated, her tone so neutral that it left Emme wondering whether she was amused or incredulous. “So much so that you
would assist in finding him a bride?”
The question, posed with disarming calm, caught Emme off guard. Still, she refused to look away. “Yes, though not solely for
his sake. His siblings—his family—deserve security and comfort. A strong and thoughtful alliance would provide that.”
Mrs. Thornbury regarded her, the silence stretching just long enough to make Emme’s pulse quicken. “A strong and thoughtful
alliance,” she echoed softly. “Indeed, you are not wrong. But you must know, Miss Lockhart, that the history you share with
my nephew is not easily forgotten—by society or by Simon himself.”
Emme straightened, refusing to let the words unnerve her. “I understand the risks of gossip, but I assure you, my intentions
are honorable. It is because of our shared history that I wished to help. I understand . . . him and the situation with a
unique perspective.”
But even her attempt at an explanation failed to convince her own heart.
She’d offered, in part, with selfless motivation, but in hindsight she’d wanted to be near him—and perhaps somehow make amends for all the horrible thoughts she’d had about him in his absence, before the truth of his situation became clear.
She almost laughed in her realization. “Helping him find happiness offers me some measure of perspective as well. It’s terribly inconvenient for my own hopes.
But I see the good of it for everyone involved, especially Lord Ravenscross. ”
Wasn’t that the essence of love? To find joy in another’s happiness even at the cost of your own heart?
Something shifted in Mrs. Thornbury’s gaze—so slight Emme might have imagined it. “Your loyalty to him is . . . notable. And
yet, loyalty can be misconstrued. Have you considered that your efforts, however well-meaning, may complicate his path forward?”
Emme merely nodded her head in assent. She hadn’t voiced her plans to anyone but Father and Aster. “I plan to leave St. Groves
by the end of next week.”
Mrs. Thornbury blinked, the faintest hint of surprise softening her reserve. “Leave?”
“Yes.” She forced a smile. “It has never been my intention to cause rumors or to distract. I have family up north I’ve neglected
far too long. A lengthy visit will do me good.”
The older woman studied Emme, her gaze probing. “You are leaving St. Groves,” she said slowly, “for my nephew’s sake?”
“It is the choice of a . . . friend.” Emme lowered her gaze, the bridge of her nose tingling with warning. “A friend who wants
what is best for him and his family.”
At the sudden silence, Emme raised her gaze and found the woman studying her with an unreadable expression. Finally, Mrs.
Thornbury’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “You are an intriguing young woman, Miss Lockhart. I can
see why my nephew speaks of you with such admiration.”
Emme’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Mrs. Thornbury inclined her head, her voice returning to its composed,
measured cadence. “I do hope your path leads you to happiness, wherever it may take you.”
The words, though kindly meant, were like a dagger to Emme’s chest. She nodded politely, refusing to betray the sudden pain coursing through her. “Thank you.”
Barely waiting to regain her composure, Emme fled around the corner of the hallway into a small alcove. Fresh evening air
wafted in through the open window, carrying the scent of hyacinths—likely the blue ones the groundskeepers nurtured at the
base of the Assembly Room stairs. A humorless laugh shook from her. Blue hyacinths meant sincere care.
Sincere. And if she cared sincerely, she knew the good of her choice.
Emme exhaled, sagging against the wall and stilling the tears threatening release.
She’d experienced almost every imaginable emotion within the span of an hour.
No wonder she detested balls.
But amid the turmoil, a quiet certainty settled within her, ringing louder than any whispered gossip or distant sweet memory.
Goodbye, St. Groves.
Simon’s happiness and her own fragile heart demanded it.