“Yes.” He took a step closer. “You were upset with me last night because I noticed your blush.”
I sighed. “One never enjoys being told they are blushing.”
He considered me carefully. “But does one enjoy being told how endearing they look when they are blushing?” Those dark lashes cast a shadow over his cheek.
“Some might, but I don’t.” I slipped away from him before he could trap me against the stall door. I wiped my hands against my skirts. He had only managed to fluster me a little, which Iwas proud of. “Thank you for showing me the gardens, and the horses, but I think it’s time that I retrieve my brothers.”
“Wait—” Owen grasped my elbow before I could escape. “I cannot allow you to leave until you’ve seen the orangery. Trust me, you do not want to deny yourself the opportunity.”
I turned around. Thankfully, his light expression had resurfaced. This I was more comfortable with. “Fine. But we need to hurry.”
CHAPTER 11
Owen led me across the lawn where we eventually reached the entrance of a long, glass conservatory.
He pushed open the door and gestured for me to precede him. Sunlight streamed through the ceiling and many windows. A long walkway traveled the length of the structure, flanked by marble busts and sculptures, citrus trees, and other large plants. A wooden bench rested against one wall, facing south where it would be bathed in as much sunlight as possible.
Mrs. Berney trailed inside behind us. I knew she was my chaperone, but I was still startled to see her.
Owen walked to the bench. “Would you like to sit down?”
I nodded and took a seat beside him, unable to tear my gaze away from the plump oranges and lemons that hung from the branches. Sheltered from the elements, the fruit could be grown year-round. “I have never seen an orangery.”
He looked at me, half his face in sunlight, half in shadow. “You haven’t?”
“No. It is embarrassing to admit, but I haven’t been outside of Silton in five years. And I have never been to a home as grand as this one, with orangeries and twenty rooms and maids that appear out of nowhere to wait on me.” I laughed.
“You were here once before,” Owen said with a smile. “Or did you forget?”
I swept my gaze over all the trees and sculptures. “I forgot most of the details, I suppose.”
“But not me.”
I cast him a sidelong glance. “I hoped you were one of Mrs. Kellaway’s children who would be ‘away for most of the summer.’”
He tipped his head back with a laugh, crossing one ankle over his knee. “I’m sorry, Annette, but I’m afraid you are trapped here with me.”
There it was again, my Christian name. I should have corrected him, but I found I didn’t mind. The familiarity was warm and inviting, like we might have truly been becoming friends. I hadn’t had one of those in a very long time.
Perhaps Owen’s friendship was another gift Mama and Papa wanted me to enjoy while I was here at Kellaway Manor.
We sat for a moment in silence—not uncomfortable silence, but the relaxing kind. I listened to the birds chirping and the breeze rustling against the glass walls. It was warm and quiet inside the orangery, but the glass ceiling made me feel like I was still outside. I wondered what it would be like in a rainstorm.
I had no desire to break the silence, but Owen’s voice snapped it right in two. “Tell me more about your aunt.”
The question unsettled the relaxation that I had felt just a moment before. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I didn’t want his pity either. “She is very...generous. She took us in out of kindness, and?—”
“That won’t work on me,” he interrupted. “You may have convinced my mother, but I don’t believe it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked sheepishly.
“What kind, generous woman threatens two little boys for being imperfect and sends them off with their sister to change their entire disposition? Please tell me the truth about her.”
His gaze demanded an honest answer. He had behaved decently today; perhaps Icouldconfide in him. I fixed my sights on an orange in a tree across from our bench. It sat far apart from the rest, on the highest branch. It rested singular and defiant, alone and unreachable—just as I was supposed to be.
I stared at the orange instead of Owen, for fear of seeing pity in his eyes. “She is horrible,” I began in a quiet voice. “She spends most of the day out of the house, visiting neighbors or traveling. When she is home, she . . . well, she threatens to throw us out, or starve us.” I swallowed, fighting an unwelcome memory. I continued quickly, trying to dispel the unrest that I could sense rising in Owen.
“Sometimes I fancied the idea of being thrown out. I was certain that I could care for my brothers better on my own, without a penny to my name.” I laughed lightly, though I didn’t feel it. “I have always known that was never truly possible. It is all right, though. We have what we need, and she doesn’t beat us anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they escaped me. I had said too much. I felt Owen’s anger break free and rise into the air between us.
