Chapter 23
God granted Emmeline a rare mercy by having Aunt Bean whisked away from St. Groves the day after the ball. Not only had the
entire ballroom discovered her secret by two in the morning, but by noon the next day, all of St. Groves was positively humming
with it.
Much to her chagrin, Emme had become the talk of the social season for the second year running—never a promising sign. To
punctuate her demise, Aunt Bean delivered her parting words with all the subtlety of a blunt axe: “Only a miracle could lead to matrimony now.”
Perhaps her future as an independent, unmarried woman had chosen her after all. Her mother’s family in Yorkshire would welcome
her, and there she could recuperate, let the rumors die down, and focus on writing another novel. Perhaps, with enough time
and distance, she could even learn to let go of Simon Reeves.
Oh, but how his words taunted her still, lighting a flicker of impossible hope.
He loved her.
And the way his eyes had gleamed with admiration at the thought of her writing—it had been nothing short of astonishing. Almost
as if he were proud of her. She tipped her gaze heavenward.
Dear God, how could I ever give up such a man?
“I still can’t believe it.” Aster’s voice broke into her reverie. She stood by Emme’s bed as Emme placed her garments into
the trunk. “All this time you’ve been an author and never told me?”
Emme laid her favorite gown carefully atop the others, her throat tightening with another wave of tears. But she had cried enough through the night—enough to wake with puffy eyes and a sore nose. There was no point indulging further.
“I thought, in some convoluted way, I was protecting you and Father.” She sighed, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.
“But now I see I should have told you long ago. Perhaps then we could have written a different ending to this tale.”
Aster joined her, settling close and covering Emme’s hand with her own. “I don’t care what they say. I’m proud of you.” Her
smile was warm, her voice unwavering. “You pursued a dream no one else dared, and you succeeded. That’s remarkable, Emme.”
The praise in Aster’s words soothed her, if only a little. But reality was never so easily dismissed. “I only worry how this
revelation will affect you and Father. Little Alfie is still unaware of such troubles. But I’d never forgive myself if it
hurt any of you.”
“Hurt us?” Aster gave an indignant shake of her head, her honey curls bouncing. “You persist in believing we’re made of glass,
Emmeline. We are not so delicate.”
“I do no such thing—”
“You do.” Aster raised a brow. “You know Father is proud of you. His reputation will survive. His tenants care only for their
work and families, not the contents of ballrooms. And anyone of true importance to us, apart from Aunt Bean, naturally”—she
rolled her eyes—“will behave as proper Christians and move on. Writing novels is hardly an unpardonable sin. Stories are in
the Bible, after all.”
“I hardly think Gothic romances are comparable to Holy Scripture.” The urge to laugh bubbled up, a welcome reprieve.
“But the principle remains,” Aster countered, her grin tipping with mischief. “Stories have power. They speak to people in
unique and profound ways. Perhaps I’ll use Paul’s missionary journeys to convince Father of the merits of travel.”
“I doubt your argument will have the desired effect. Poor Paul’s journeys weren’t exactly triumphs of leisure.” Emme tossed another item into the trunk. “Shipwrecks and floggings are hardly the stuff of romanticized adventure.”
Aster gave an exaggerated huff. “Then I must concoct a better scheme to lure Father away from St. Groves.”
Emme studied her sister, searching for cracks in her carefree facade, but Aster seemed as unbothered as Father himself. “I
only hope my little scandal doesn’t deter any potential suitors for you. At least one of us ought to find happiness in love.”
“Emmeline Lockhart!” Aster’s eyes widened in mock outrage. “If any future suitor is deterred by your novels, then he is plainly
not the man for me.”
Emme’s smile flared. “You’re right.”
“I am.” Aster straightened her spine, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, but then she tipped her head, her gaze catching Emme’s again. “And
I’m right about something else. Your writing wouldn’t have mattered to Simon. He would have married you wholeheartedly—if
not for . . .”
“Money,” Emme finished, her voice soft as she looked away. Simon had been so happy, so determined last night, only proving
Aster’s assertion true. He’d found a way to navigate the demands of his impossible situation to offer her his hand. And she
would have said yes. She would have basked in the beauty of being his wife.
But just as in Sense and Sensibility, money had proven itself a cruel, life-altering force. “The cog that makes the world go round,” she murmured bitterly, shoving
a pair of stockings into her trunk with far more vigor than necessary.
“Only in part,” Aster replied, deftly retrieving Emme’s latest publication from the bed. She waved it aloft like a victorious
knight’s sword. “Even in these romances—”
“They are fiction, Aster.”
“But just as I was saying about stories,” Aster countered, “these romances are based on truth. And now that I know who the
author is, I’m more certain of it.” She paused to point the book at Emme like a preacher delivering a sermon. “Once you get
past the ghosts and pirates, your stories reveal the strength of the human spirit, the beauty of a generous heart, and the
persistence of faithful love. Those things are as true today in your heartache as they were last night during Simon’s declaration.
The tenets are true.”
Oh, how Emme longed to believe that this pain was merely a stopping point on the road to her happily ever after. That the
fragments of truth hidden within her fiction could lead to something sweeter than this very real heartache. Tears pricked
her eyes, but she managed a smile for her sister. “How is it that you’ve gained such great wisdom?”
Aster’s grin broadened as she held up the book. “Reading.” She chuckled. “And watching you.”
Emme snatched the book Aster kept wielding toward her. “Me?”
Aster tucked her feet beneath her as she settled on the bed. “Simon’s behavior two seasons ago deserved your rejection. I
was furious on your behalf. Furious with him.” Her frown deepened, and a single dimple emerged in her cheek. “Though you tried
to hide it, I knew he’d broken your heart, and I wanted him to suffer for it.”
“Aster!” Emme laughed despite herself.
“It’s true. I may have even despised him for a time and concocted a plan to poison him. Or at the very least, abandon him
in a forest in the Himalayas.”
Emme let out a full laugh at her sister’s absurdity. “Good heavens! Poor Simon.”
“And that’s exactly what convicted me most.” Aster shot up, gesturing toward Emme.
“Your compassion and sympathy toward him when you should have been more furious than I was. Something in the way you believed in him, even when he appeared to be a rake. Well”—her expression softened—“it humbled me. It reminded me that we often don’t know the full story of a person.
And perhaps kindness is a better choice than vengeance. ”
“Wisdom, indeed.” Emme chuckled. “Thomas would highly approve of your newfound piety.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “There are still far too many ungenerous
thoughts in my head. For example, I briefly redirected my poison plan to Miss Hemston after hearing about her behavior last
night.”
Emme shook her head in mock reproach. “I’m grateful your plans remain purely theoretical.”
“You’re one to talk,” Aster teased, gesturing toward the book. “You’ve written about poisons, kidnappings, and murders—”
“For fictional people.”
“Ah, well. Semantics.” Aster winked and stood, leaning over to press a kiss to Emme’s head. “I’ll leave you to your packing,
but I must confess—I am envious of your journey, even if it’s only to Yorkshire.”
Yes, her sister’s wanderlust was disappointed yet again. “I would prefer a very different reason to leave than this and one
in which you could accompany me, I assure you.”
“I know.” She looked down at Emme, a sad acceptance on her face. “But someone must stay with Father.”
Emme nodded. “Perhaps he can come with us next time.”
“Perhaps.” Aster sighed, leaning her head against the bedpost and staring at Emme. “I will miss you terribly.”
Another pang pinched at Emme’s already bruised heart. She’d never left home without her family, and certainly never for a
long a time as this was likely to be. “I will write to you.”
Aster’s brows rose in tandem. “Every day?”
Emme laughed softly at her sister’s pleading expression. “If there are interesting things to share every day.”
Aster grinned, then turned toward the door. “You know how in your books, near the end, things seem hopeless? The hero is on the brink of death, the heroine is succumbing to her injuries, and the storm threatens to bring rescue too late?”
Emme merely raised an unimpressed brow. It seemed drama ran a little too thick in the women of their family.
“But in the end, good prevails,” Aster said as she opened the door, pausing in her exit. “Truth wins. The hero and the heroine
find each other.”
Emme braced herself against the fanciful notion. Simon had to make choices that would determine feast or famine for his family,
prosperity or ruin for his name. “Aster, I cannot continue to hope—”
“Your heroine, Lilith,” Aster interrupted, her tone firm, “would remind you, dear sister, that there is always a reason to
hope.”
And with that, Aster left the room, her statement floating in the air like a melody just out of reach of identification. Emme
looked down at the book in her lap, smoothing a hand over the dark cover.
Always a reason to hope?