“Yes. It is.” He wore a faint scowl.
I smiled, hoping to turn this into a lighter conversation. “How so?”
He looked exasperated. “Since the day you arrived, you have givenmethe impression that you would rather avoid attention and flirting from gentlemen.”
I laughed. “Well, I suppose it depends on the gentleman.” The remark spilled out before I realized how it would sound. Regret flooded through my chest, but I couldn’t erase what I had just implied.
Owen looked down at the table. “Of course.” His jaw tightened, and several agonizing seconds passed. “When you meet the right man, his attention won’t be so difficult to bear.”
My heart pounded. I felt the frantic need to apologize, but I didn’t trust myself to phrase it without making matters worse. My defenses had been raised earlier that day, and I hadn’t yet taken them down. And now, it seemed that I had offended him.Owen, offended? It seemed impossible, until I looked at his face again. His jaw was still tight.
Confusion made my head spin. Had I been too quick to believe Lady Pembury? If his attachment to her daughter was true, then why did Owen seem so curious about my courtship plans? And why did he seem so upset?
I could simply ask him about Charlotte. I could obtain the truth from him right then. A gathered every ounce of courage inside me and turned to face him.
Just as I did, he stood from the table. “I have a few visits to make this afternoon.” His voice was abrupt. “Please excuse me.”
I sat back in stunned silence as he left the room, the door closing forcefully behind him.
Peter and Charles glanced up at his departure, a smear of berry jam on Charles’s lips.
I held perfectly still, a pinch of ache in my heart.
I wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened, but it felt like I had made a horrible mistake, one that would be difficult to reverse. A lump formed in my throat. It wouldn’t be wise to wearpink ever again. Every time I did, I lost something very dear to me. But this time, it felt like my own fault.
CHAPTER 23
The evening was much like the one before. Owen didn’t join us for dinner, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was the reason. I had been reliving our conversation in the library all day, and the more I did, the worse I felt.
What if Owendidn’thave a previous attachment? I had believed a piece of unproven gossip for long enough to snub him and any feelings he might have had for me. I had made it sound like I would welcome any man’s attention before his, and after watching me with Mr. Baines at the party, he had plenty of evidence to support it.
I retired to my room early, my mood far too dreary to even enjoy Mr. Everards poor attempts at singing.
I hardly slept that night, and restlessness pulled me from my bed the moment the sun touched my window. Today was the day that everyone would arrive. Today was the day I would reclaim control over my heart. The firm thought sent a heavy stone of ache to thud in my chest. It beat at my ribs like a thousand barbed fists. But I held onto it, hoping that perhaps it could replace my heart all together, whisking away every emotion into its hard, stony walls before I could discover a way to feel them.
I would have to keep my heart distant if I wanted to gather evidence of my own by observing Owen and Charlotte together. I needed to know if he was truly attached to her…or if he was fully in love with her. I hardly knew what I would do with that information, but I would go mad if I didn’t learn the truth.
Lizzie came in early to help me get ready. After she left the room, I lingered a moment in the chair before the mirror and listened to the birds outside my window. Their chirps held notes—high, resonating sounds—but when they merged together, they held no melody. They were like lonely pieces of sound searching for a place to belong among the bushes and trees and endless grey morning sky. Their noises entered my ears, scratching at my soul with uncertainty. I was weak, and I hated myself for it. I wished that I could stay in this chair forever and not have to see what awaited me on the main floor.
I would have to present myself well to Mrs. Kellaway’s family. I would have to face Charlotte, who I hoped was very different from her mother. Worst of all, I would have to face Owen after I had insulted him the day before.
My gaze was pulled to the mirror, to my face and my wavy hair lost between light and dark. Taking a slow inhale, I began mentally assembling my defenses, piece by piece, layer after layer, from my head to my toe to my heart, until I was sure that even the deepest pair of blue eyes couldn’t pierce it.
It was too early for breakfast, and my brothers were still asleep, so I considered wandering outside while I waited. As I stepped down the last few stairs, a dismayed voice echoed off the walls. “Blasted boy!”
I stopped, bewildered. Mrs. Kellaway was marching across the floor from the drawing room, still in her nightdress, with tight rags wrapped atop her head. She hadn’t seen me. I considered sneaking back up the stairs, but was stopped when I saw Mrs. Everard trailing behind her.
Mrs. Kellaway sighed. “Why would he run off without a care about seeing his own brother, sister, and father welcomed?”
Mrs. Everard placed an austere glance on her daughter. “Now, Catherine, you are overreacting. In my opinion, the boy may have finally come to his senses. Given the circumstances, he should have visited a long while ago, if only to keep himself acquainted with the place.”
Mrs. Kellaway stopped, crossing her arms. “I didn’t even have the chance to tell him that Charlotte was coming here with Alice today. Lady Pembury will think that I arranged his departure to prevent a proposal.”
Mrs. Everard scoffed. “How much credibility do you truly give Lady Pembury’s claim? My assumption is that she heard the recent gossip about Willowbourne, and is only now sending her daughter to ensnare Owen.”
“That is possible,” Mrs. Kellaway said. “But Alice has always wanted Owen to court Charlotte, and she has claimed to notice something between them in the past. Have you seen how beautiful and accomplished Charlotte has become? She is truly incomparable, even in London.”
Mrs. Everard pursed her lips. “Even if that is true, I strongly suspect Owen’s affections lie elsewhere.”
