The air grew taut. She had not meant to draw attention to the way he had all but abandoned his family. It was none of her concern, and she blushed, knowing it had not been her place to say anything about it.
“I can see that.” He sounded more patient, as though he’d forced himself to take slow, even breaths. “But why you?”
Emma considered the best way to explain. Had no one informed this man that she lived in the house? Who did he think was his aunt’s companion for all these years? Had Mrs. Buckley truly never shared any news of Emma in her letters?
That realization stung.
“I was willing,” she finally said.
He ran a hand through his brown hair. It was in need of a trim, but she liked the golden tone to his skin and the way the sun had lightened his hair. “I do not understand. Yesterday,when I saw you in the road, I thought you—” He stopped, seeming to consider something. “I clearly misunderstood.”
“You thought what?” she prompted.
“It matters not. You livehere.” He shook his head slightly. “Does your husband reside here as well? Why did you not join us for dinner last night?”
“I am not married.” After Owen ignored her final letter, did he truly imagine she would run off and find someone else? In her position, she did not meet eligible gentlemen. She was not eligible herself, hovering on the fringes of society instead of an active member of it as she once was. “I am your aunt’s companion.”
The information seemed to shock him anew. Time passed with his mouth slightly ajar, his incredulity making her skin crawl. He collected himself but held strong to his surprise. “Good gads, for how long?”
“Nine years.”
Owen’s brows hiked up. He stared at her, working something through his mind. “Some of my aunt’s comments are beginning to make far more sense. I had wondered why she would be defensive about her friendship with you. I had not imagined she remembered our hist—” He stopped abruptly, his gray eyes turning steely. “It hardly matters what I believed.”
They were at an impasse. Emma meant nothing to this man anymore. Indeed, he was nearly a stranger. But how his eyes darted about her face, the firm way he held himself, as though maintaining composure, gave her leave to believe he was struggling with this interlude quite as much as she was. The best thing for both of them would be to put their need for interaction to rest. “If you intend to make use of this room, I will vacate it immediately.”
“You will have no need to manage things now that I am here, Em—Miss…Darling.” His voice sounded strained. “You are still Miss Darling, then, I take it?”
“I am. Mrs. Buckley wrote to her solicitor to inform him of your impending arrival, but she gave the date you supplied her for next week. I do not think we can rely on Mrs. Buckley having the funds to hire a new bailiff before that time.”
“Was my uncle very much in debt?”
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“I do not see how she would question whether or not she’d have the funds to do the things the estate needs unless he’d gambled the lot of his fortune away. He was excessively wealthy, from what I recall.”
“You recall correctly,” she said stiffly. Speaking about money so openly felt vulgar, and with this man, of all people, a trifle uncouth. “She has concerns Mr. Buckley left everything to the church for a new organ.”
“Would he do that?” Owen asked.
“I do not believe so. His fortune could buy organs for every church in the county, and he’d still be plump in the pocket.”
“I’d thought so,” he muttered.
“It is true the rector is included as a recipient of the will, but I am doubtful he will inherit the whole of it as she believed.”
“Aunt Clara is excessively conscious of the feelings of others.”
“To an extreme,” Emma agreed. “This is her money, though she will not touch it until the solicitor has given her leave to do so. Otherwise she fears she is possibly stealing from the church.”
“That is absurd.” Owen frowned. “I wish I had been able to return more quickly.”
“You could not help being so far away.”
His gray eyes raked over her face, seeming to soak her in much the same way they had yesterday. He had a frank way of looking at her that unnerved Emma, causing her to feel he could understand her thoughts. But if that was the case, he would know how desperately she wanted to know the state of hisfeelings. Whether he hated her or merely tolerated her like a pet, not bothersome, but not abhorrent.
It was clear he no longer loved her, for if he had, he would have returned when she called off the wedding to Lord Gifford. But instead, Owen only wrote to tell his aunt to cease informing him of the goings-on in Emma’s life, because he’d quite heard enough.
The note Emma had included in that same missive confessing the contents of her heart had gone ignored.
