Once he made sure everything was well in order here.
“How do you take your tea, Captain?” Emma asked.
Did she forget? Or was she avoiding the reminder of their past? “Cream, no sugar.”
A flash in her green eyes spoke of recognition, or perhaps he was searching for it. He accepted the cup once it was ready, sipping the warm liquid and letting it slide down his throat. Conversation progressed around him, making him feel like a stranger in a place that had once been his home.
His eyes tracked along the sofa and fell upon Emma, studiously listening to Aunt Clara give an overview of the lavender tincture her dear friend had recommended to help with her nerves and how little it had been helping thus far. Emma patiently nodded along. Her pink lips were pressed together, her green eyes focused. She sat at attention, back straight and neck curved slightly, inclined toward Aunt Clara.
How would it feel to live at the mercy of another? Emma had always been wildly independent. When he’d known her before, her vivacious spirit rivaled her desire to be out of doors, and the combination led to many hours spent together under the sun.
Now she moved at the whims of someone else, little better than a servant. And all these years he’d believed she was married to a baron, bearing the name of Lady Gifford and holding court in a glorious estate on the other side of Briarstead. Owen was still wrapping his mind around the fact that she was never married.
“It has only been two days,” Emma said. “We ought to givethe tincture more time before deciding it is not the thing for you, Mrs. Buckley.”
“Good advice, Miss Darling,” Mr. Graveley said, smiling widely. “Now, do tell me what I can report to my wife. You know my entire household is full of women who are eager to hear of your well-being when I return from visits to Buckley Place. It is a miracle I make it here alone.”
Her smile was warm, reaching through Owen’s chest and taking his heart in its grip. She would not even look at him, but still he could not help but feel caught within her grasp. “You may report that I am exceedingly well.”
“Glad I am to hear it.”
“How is your wife?” Emma placed her teacup on the table.
“I thought she might be coming down with a touch of a cold, but nothing came of it. Mary fixed her a nice calf’s foot jelly and bone broth, and she was fit again the following morning.”
“She has the strongest constitution,” Aunt Clara said with feeling.
“It is to be admired,” Emma agreed.
“I look forward to meeting her,” Owen said once the attention shifted his way. He felt he needed to add something to the conversation.
“We shall invite you to the rectory to dine. Mrs. Graveley will enjoy that immensely.”
Owen couldn’t help but notice Emma’s eyebrows lift slightly in amusement, and he wondered what warranted that reaction.
“Speaking of dinner engagements…” Aunt Clara shifted on her seat. “While you are here, Rector, I would like to ask your advice.”
“Of course.” He set his empty cup on the table and settled his attention squarely on her, his large hands clasped together. “Shall we speak privately?”
“This is my family,” she said warmly, looking to Emma and Owen. A frown settled in between her eyebrows. “I have beeninvited to a number of dinners and parties of late, but I have yet to put off the blacks entirely. It feels…wrong. We’ve not yet read the will. Things are not settled here. Once I do put mourning off, it will be as though…well, I cannot explain it entirely, but I am not ready.”
“You feel disrespectful attending dinners in your mourning clothes?”
“I do not wish to cause offense.”
“It is a dilemma.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Have you considered half mourning?”
She sighed heavily, looking to Emma. “That was suggested to me already.”
“It is good advice.” Mr. Graveley winked at Emma. “I am afraid you must decide between going on as you are in the clothing you choose to wear or altering your wardrobe to befit the station you find yourself in. Either way, your friends understand your heart, Mrs. Buckley. No one will believe you to be disrespecting Mr. Buckley by attending a dinner with friends or throwing a small party to celebrate your nephew’s return.”
“How did you know? That is the very thing I wish to do.”
“Aunt, you mustn’t,” Owen said, startled. It was the verylastthing he wanted, to be paraded in front of Briarstead’s set of elderly women. “We have more important things to attend to here than celebrating an arrival that surely onlyoneperson is glad of.”
“Two,” Mr. Graveley corrected. “I am very happy to have you here, Captain.”
Owen suppressed a chuckle. “My opinion stands.”
