What shewascertain of, however, was that Owen had no authority over her. She answered to Mrs. Buckley alone and did not need to withstand this examination any longer.
“I am needed elsewhere. Good day, Captain.” She spun on her heel, nodded to Mrs. Rooney, and took off down the corridor before Owen could waylay her again.
If he broiled from her dismissal, he said nothing. Silence reigned in the corridor.
By all accounts, she’d won that round.
CHAPTER SIX
A point to Emma.
If they were keeping score. Which Owen most assuredly wasnot. He didn’t know why he had jumped to his new friend’s defense when Emma had not so much as whispered a negative word about the Yardleys. She had implied that dinner at the Yardleys’ house would not be a comfortable event for Aunt Clara, but that was all.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Owen let out a long breath and looked down the empty corridor the housekeeper and Emma had recently vacated. He was meant to be spending this time familiarizing himself with the state of the accounts, so he would know what Aunt Clara needed most. He had hoped a bailiff would be able to provide him with a basic overview.
He couldn’t very well ask Emma to do such a thing.
Could he?
Not presently. At least not if it meant sequestering himself at a desk with the woman for an hour while she went over the accounts and goings-on in and out of the house. He did not believe he could sit and listen to her speak for so long whilemaintaining composure or sanity. No, someone else would certainly need to do it.
His feet carried him toward the drawing room as he considered the dilemma. In general, Owen wasn’t the sort to grow blustery regarding positions or wave his captaincy about, but in Emma’s presence he couldn’t help but pull rank. She’d sensed it, too, and immediately ran.
As she ought to have done. Owen had no authority over her.
Aunt Clara’s high voice could be heard before he reached the drawing room, sounding desperate and pleading. When he pushed the door open, he found her reclining on the sofa, her head and shoulders propped on a small stack of pillows. Emma kneeled on the floor near her, bathing her forehead with a cloth.
Owen forced his attention on his aunt. A fit of the vapors was, indeed, correct. She was overcome.
A throat cleared behind Owen before he could decide whether to enter the den of feminine sensibility or escape prior to being noticed. Each pair of eyes in the room—Mrs. Bates included—turned to face him. Or rather, faced the butler, who stood in the doorway, his gloved hands folded primly behind him.
“Mr. Graveley is here,” Slater announced. “I informed him I would ask if you are accepting visitors.”
“Oh!” Aunt Clara said, sitting up immediately. Her blotchy cheeks framed widened, glistening eyes. “I cannot very well refuse therector. Pray, bring him here, Slater. Immediately.”
Slater nodded, then left.
“More tea, Mrs. Bates?” Emma asked, gathering her things from the floor.
“Of course,” she said, taking a bowl of water and cloth from Emma’s hands and leaving the room with them.
Emma restored the piled pillows to their natural places and fixed a stray lock of hair in Aunt Clara’s coiffure.
“Do be seated, Owen,” Aunt Clara said. “You are making me uneasy, standing around in that manner.”
“Forgive me, Aunt. I did not know if I should leave you to your visitor.”
“Nonsense. He is likely here with the express purpose to meet you. The moment Prudence left my house yesterday, the whole of Briarstead learned of your arrival, rest assured.”
Owen crossed the room in a long, smooth stride and took a plush red chair facing his aunt. Emma finished tidying and stood near the fireplace when the rector arrived. The man was much taller than Owen expected, with a wide girth. He appeared built for toiling away in a field or smithing, not preaching from a pulpit.
Gads, did the rector even fit in the church?
“Welcome, Mr. Graveley.” Any note of distress vanished from Aunt Clara’s tone.
Owen stood.
“You are the nephew I’ve heard a great deal about,” Mr. Graveley said, crossing the room with a wide smile. He removed his hat, showing dull blond hair that had been recently brushed. “Mr. Buckley used to tell me of your adventures in India.”
