Sense and suitability, p.19
Sense and Suitability, page 19
Simon had spent only a few summers with his cousin, as encouraged by Father under some excuse of building family connection. Not enough to give Simon thorough knowledge of how the estate ran, but enough to bring some awareness of the breadth of the job. Perhaps it was during those visits that Father and Rupert began discussions of shared business ventures.
Father had never discussed such ventures with Simon. And no wonder, from what Simon had unearthed after their passing about the nature of some of their schemes. Smuggling? Exploitation? Even illegal slave trading?
The weight of those wrongs painted Ravenscross’s reputation an even darker hue than the two men’s reputations alone. Their ventures nearly led to the estate’s ruination outright.
And Cousin Rupert clearly hadn’t been focusing on Ravenscross, his tenants, or its future. So Simon’s “inheritance” had been much more of a shackle than a gift.
“You probably wish Teddy were here.” Will’s quiet voice carried over the space between them. “He knows more about these things.”
Teddy had spent far less time with Rupert than Simon, even.
“Perhaps, but he is fighting the French far away, and besides, you have the mind and ability to render welcome service. Should I ever need you to manage anything, you’ll know exactly what it’s about.”
Will sat a little taller, his hesitant smile becoming fuller.
“Do you usually visit the tenants? To collect their rent?”
Ah, he was already embracing the responsibility. “Do you recall Mr. Starnes?”
Will furrowed his brow, considering, before nodding. “The man with the silver hair and white horses?”
“Yes, though he isn’t very old. An illness turned his hair white before his time. At any rate, he is the steward who manages the finances of Ravenscross, as it’s not typically something gentlemen do. Though I’ve done more than my share of it recently.” He paused, his tone growing quieter. “His father was steward before him, so he knows our estate and tenants well.”
Will’s nod encouraged Simon to continue—the additional time with the boy was somehow taking away a little of the melancholy of the last few months. Perhaps, despite the need to marry for money, his family would be all right. Perhaps he could yet make amends for the children’s losses and turn their family around.
“Tenants are a primary source of income for an estate, which is why we’ve been suffering from more expenditures than gains since our cousin’s passing,” Simon continued. “I had no idea of the extent of our cousin’s mismanagement, and I am only glad that we’ve been able to keep the few tenants we have.”
“Why did Cousin Rupert send the tenants away if having them helps provide funds for the estate?”
“Smart boy.” Simon’s compliment incited a glint in Will’s eyes. “I don’t know that he sent them away as much as they left for better places. Near the end of his life, he made impossible demands upon the tenants, which drove them to seek better accommodations elsewhere. Only a few of the more desperate or faithful remained.” He paused, glancing at Will. “And today we’ll be visiting some of them to inform them of new neighbors, who will be arriving soon, as well as assessing two vacant cottages to see if they’re ready for immediate occupancy.”
“Are we visiting all of the tenants?” Will’s eyes widened.
Simon stifled a grin. The poor lad probably thought they’d spend the next three days on horseback appraising properties and meeting strangers—a task neither of them relished. “Not all, but a visit has been long overdue. We’re taking some fresh bread from Mrs. Patterson and some jam Miss Lockhart kindly provided to three of our most veteran tenants before we meet with Mr. Starnes to see if the vacant cottages need any repairs.”
“How many new tenants do you expect?” Will asked, his curiosity keen.
Ah, yes. This purpose and camaraderie had been what Will had needed all along. “I wish for more, but for now, we have four of the ten families provided by Mr. Bridges, all of whom are seeking immediate residence. I’ve also written to a few former tenants, hoping they might be willing to return to their places now that I am Viscount of Ravenscross. They’ve likely established themselves elsewhere, but it never hurts to try.”
Silence fell as Will appeared to consider this. Over the last few days, the boy seemed to have aged years, but not in a burdensome way. More in the direction of maturity and—dare Simon think it—confidence? Yes, perhaps a little.
Simon would continue the dialogue if it meant bringing the boy out of his shadowy reclusion and into the light and breath of the real world. He’d been so busy with his bachelor life first and then the estate business, he’d failed to share affection with these younger siblings. The age difference likely helped with the distance.
But he was their surrogate father now, and he would not repeat the same absence or disgrace of that man. No, if he had anything to do with it, their futures would be different. The very thought of Mr. John Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility—that self-important man, indifferent to the true concerns of his half sisters—nearly had Simon groaning for two reasons. One, Dashwood was an atrocious figure, and Simon would never accept any comparison to him. Two, why, of all things, had that novel come to mind just then?
“Did Father gamble away all the money?” Will’s quiet question brought Simon back to the present. He turned to look at his youngest brother.
He supposed directness was in order.
“No, not all.” Simon glanced ahead as the cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Morrison came into view. “After settling his debts, I attempted to invest the remainder to keep it safe, but it is truly my inheritance from Mother that has supported us the past two years.”
And it would not last forever.
“And it’s not enough?”
How much should he reveal? Simon shrugged. The boy had already seen more than he should through observation alone. “Not at present, no. We lack the investments to secure more income, and much of the revenue we once had from rents has dwindled.” He forced a smile. “But those finances will grow. They must. Though not quickly enough to meet Aunt Agatha’s demands or the needs of the present.”
Which, of course, meant Simon would be attending the theater with Miss Clayton on Thursday.
* * *
It was quite possible that Alfie and Fia developed a lifelong friendship over collecting insects rather than strawberries. Alfie, only five years Fia’s senior, recognized that she’d replaced him as the youngest of the group and set about leading her along and pandering to her as if he were her very own brother. The boy, with his brown curls and hazel eyes, had always had a deep affection for younger children, and Emme smiled at his ability to exhibit his patience and attention to little Fia, who drank in Alfie’s devotion.
His patience was in much less supply during lessons . . . and tidying up.
After a few stiff exchanges with Mrs. Thornbury, Emme offered Aster a grateful smile as her sister launched into a rather animated conversation about all the places Mrs. Thornbury had traveled in her life. From what Emme overheard at a distance, the woman’s younger years swarmed with travel since she’d been married to a navy captain, so Aster was at her most inquisitive.
Remarkably, the tight lines around Mrs. Thornbury’s face began to soften by degrees—whether from the sweetness of the strawberries, the reminiscences of her adventurous past, or Aster’s infectious enthusiasm and attentiveness was anyone’s guess. Whatever the reason, Emme was glad to see the transformation. She recalled how Simon, when they were courting, had spoken fondly of his aunt, so Emme knew there had to be more to the woman than frowns and ultimatums.
So it was that Emme found herself in Charlotte’s company the most, or as a matter of fact, Charlotte seemed to follow Emme wherever she went.
And the younger girl offered some delightful conversation, speaking of her horse, her nearest siblings, and of course, her favorite books. It was clear that Charlotte Reeves desperately sought a female companion, or perhaps, more to the point, an elder sister.
“Do you think Mrs. Patterson can find a use for all these strawberries?” Emme asked as she dropped another plump berry into the nearly overflowing basket. “She’ll have enough to supply the entire village—and perhaps another basket or two, if your aunt and my sister can ever stop talking long enough to pick some.”
Charlotte’s smile came slowly, but it lit her eyes. “She’ll make jam and cakes, provided we don’t eat them all first. But you’re right, Aunt Aggie’s basket is suspiciously empty.” She cast a glance toward the animated figures of Mrs. Thornbury and Aster, whose conversation seemed to have reached a particularly enthusiastic pitch. “They seem far better suited to conversing than harvesting.”
“That much is plain.” Emme chuckled, glancing toward the horizon where the afternoon sun bathed the fields in golden light. “Give Aster her drawing pencils or a willing conversationalist, and she’ll happily forgo any sort of outdoor labor. Still, if good conversation is all it takes to win Mrs. Thornbury’s favor, then I am perfectly content to let Aster wield that particular talent.”
Charlotte’s smile brimmed even wider, and more quickly. A very good sign. “It does seem to be working. Aunt Aggie rarely speaks so freely of her past. Your sister must be rather charming.”
“Charming,” Emme agreed, doing nothing to hide the humor in her voice. “And entirely shameless in her curiosity. Aster has always had a knack for asking questions no one else would dare.” She turned back to her occupation. “But I am fond of strawberries and do not think one can have too many.” She pinched the green off the top of one and popped it in her mouth. “They are my favorite fruit.”
Charlotte’s smile fell as she turned back to her work. “My mother and older sister shared a fondness for strawberries. We used to grow our own.”
Emme hesitated, letting the silence linger, unsure if the girl would say more. There was no telling what the Reeves children had witnessed or endured in the months after their father’s death, followed so swiftly by their mother’s. Simon’s insistence on discretion had succeeded almost too well, leaving space for all manner of rumors.
“Do you have any strawberry patches now?” Emme prodded gently.
Charlotte picked another few strawberries, deliberately keeping her gaze averted. “We used to have them, but . . . but . . .” The girl seemed to measure Emme and then returned to the strawberry plant. “Not since Mother.”
The loss squeezed from the girl’s words. Emme kept her eyes on the fruit she was gathering, appearing absorbed in the task. Charlotte, she suspected, would not welcome pity or undue attention. “Perhaps you could plant a new patch in her honor?”
The girl’s gaze came up. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Well,” Emme replied lightly, “I happen to know a thing or two about it. My mother and I planted strawberries at Thistlecroft when I was a little younger than you. With the weather being as it is, there’s still time to plant for next spring. If you’d like some guidance, of course.”
Charlotte didn’t respond immediately, but Emme could feel the girl’s focus shift toward her, even as she continued gathering fruit. The silence felt familiar—Emme had a younger sister, after all—and she braced herself for the inevitable question.
“Why are you helping us?”
“Why am I helping you?” Emme returned her attention to the fruit she plucked from the current bush, sifting through a suitable answer in her mind. “I should hope I would offer Christian charity to any of my acquaintances who found themselves in need.”
“But I don’t know of anyone who has gone to such lengths for us. Not even Aunt Aggie would offer to find us a governess, and you not only provided one but brought us on this outing with you today.”
The little girl was too astute for her own good, which also led Emme to truly examine her own motives. Was it solely Christian charity? There was, of course, her lingering affection for Simon, but there was more to it. The shared ache of knowing what it was to lose a mother at an impressionable age, perhaps? “Must there be any reason beyond kindness?”
Emme should have known better than to further this subject of conversation, because Charlotte, after only a moment’s hesitation, asked, “Because you’re in love with my brother?”
The question landed with all the bluntness of youth, and Emme’s breath caught. Denying the truth outright would feel dishonest, but admitting too much was unthinkable. She drew a steadying breath and met Charlotte’s gaze with equal frankness. “I do admire your brother greatly—for his resilience, for all he has done to see your family through difficult times. Perhaps that admiration inspires my efforts to help.” She hesitated, then added, “But I also understand the ache of losing one’s mother, and at a similar age to yours.”
Charlotte blinked, and Emme returned her attention to the berries, fearing her confidence might waver. “Every girl benefits from the kindness of someone who understands—someone to, well, commiserate with at times.” She threw the girl a smile.
“Is that why you didn’t tell Aunt Aggie I’d stolen those chickens?”
Emme’s body relaxed at the humor lighting the girl’s eyes. “Having been a young girl who had her fair share of mischief, I felt it better to encourage a camaraderie than a rivalry.”
Charlotte’s own smile flared, a mischievous twinkle in those eyes. “It was very good of you.” Then she turned back to her strawberry bush, adding in almost a whisper. “But Aunt Aggie already knew about the chickens.”
Emme’s laughter bubbled up, and with it, her resolve to continue helping the Reeves children. Simon, as a romantic prospect, was lost to her. But doing a good turn for a man she so highly regarded and his siblings she was beginning to care for? That, at least, remained within her power.
“I should like very much for you to teach me how to plant strawberries,” Charlotte announced, a little challenge in her look.
Ah, she didn’t believe Emme’s request was in earnest? Well, Emme saw the request for what it was. More than just mere curiosity—it was an olive branch. Perhaps even a plea for the companionship and guidance of an elder sister.
“I have some seeds at the ready.” Emme covered Charlotte’s hand with a gentle squeeze. The girl’s smile flared, bright and unguarded. “Speak to your brother and see if he might spare you on Saturday afternoon.”
Charlotte’s expression shifted—wide-eyed surprise, as though the touch had been both unexpected and welcome—and then, a look of . . . longing?
Oh, dear child.
How long had it been since the girl felt such affection? Such care?
Emme turned back to her work just to compose herself.
The afternoon sped forward with continued conversations of lighter topics. Alfie and Fia gathered enough insects to colonize the back garden, and Aster’s guileless interest even encouraged Mrs. Thornbury to laugh on two occasions.
Overall, Emme would call the outing a complete success.
When the time came to leave, Emme was surprised to find Simon himself, along with his driver, at the helm of the carriage.
For a journey requiring six passengers, the arrangement should have been tedious at best. But with three of the travelers being children, they all fit snugly yet comfortably, and the short drive to Thistlecroft passed in pleasant company. Fia praised Alfie and his knowledge of insects, while Aster launched into an impressively thorough explanation of Egyptian pyramids. Mrs. Thornbury added her own sly remark about visiting Egypt before Napoleon’s campaign, prompting an avalanche of questions and admiration that carried them all the way to Thistlecroft.
It truly had been a good afternoon, on all accounts.
Simon helped Aster from the carriage and then offered his hand to Emme. She shouldn’t have hesitated to take it, but he caught her faltering and raised his gaze to search her face. The last time he’d touched her hand to assist her from a carriage, she’d felt the connection from their fingers to her toes, and the reminder of not having him for her own only made such touches more difficult.
Ridiculously difficult, in fact.
Summoning a smile, she placed her gloved hand in his, acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers as they closed around hers. When her feet touched the ground, she managed a steady breath and a polite nod of thanks, quite proud of herself for such masterful composure.
“I trust Will enjoyed his time with you while we were away?” Emme asked, slipping her hand from his and strolling toward the house.
“He did, though I’ve promised him his share of strawberries once the baskets arrive at Ravenscross,” Simon replied, falling into step beside her.
“He should be quite satisfied then, as we picked three baskets.” Emme grinned up at him, only to falter as she caught the tender expression in his eyes.
Oh, why couldn’t he be a very unlikable rogue? It would make things so much easier.
Simon looked away first, clasping his hands behind his back as their pace slowed. “Thank you for providing this diversion for my sisters.”
The low timbre of his gratitude sent warmth rising up her neck, and she suddenly understood why fans were such an indispensable accessory in courtship, especially with voices like his. “It was truly my pleasure. And you should hear from Mrs. Lane within the next few days. She seems most eager to learn more about the position.”
“I look forward to meeting her. With your recommendation, I daresay she’ll be more than suitable.”
“All that remains, then, is finding a suitable bride,” Emme said lightly, tilting her head with exaggerated cheer. “Miss Clayton is an excellent option, my lord.”
If looks could render a woman breathless, his certainly did. His gaze held hers for a moment too long, the humor fading into something . . . far too intimate. So intimate, in fact, that her breathing stalled altogether.
He cleared his throat and gestured with his chin in the direction toward town. “To that end, I plan to attend the theater tomorrow evening.”
Why did being in Simon’s presence or thinking about him lead to a war of emotions? She blamed that covert kiss on the balcony.
