Owen drew silent. “Very well. I will see you at the houseshortly.” He pulled himself into his saddle and took off, riding toward Buckley Place at a fast clip.
Emma watched him go, fighting the strange urge to cry.
CHAPTER NINE
Mr. Hobbs setup his materials in the drawing room. The only people invited to the reading of the will were Mrs. Buckley, Owen, and the rector, but Mrs. Buckley insisted that Emma be at her side. In fact, Emma had not left Mrs. Buckley’s side since returning from Briarstead a few hours earlier. She was glad for the distraction.
They gathered later that afternoon before dinner. Mrs. Buckley could not eat. Her stomach was so full of nerves already that she wanted the will read before the meal. Owen had not complained when the plan was presented to him, and when a groom took a letter to Mr. Graveley, the rector replied that he could arrive at five o’clock.
He was exactly punctual.
Mr. Hobbs wore round spectacles that made his eyes smaller and was missing most of the hair from the top of his head. He brushed over what little he had left, which had the effect of making his ears look larger. Shuffling papers on the small writing table near the window, he assured himself they were in the correct order as the recipients of Mr. Buckley’s will took their seats. The sofa and chairs had been moved to form a line infront of the solicitor’s workspace. A small table was set before the sofa Mrs. Buckley and Emma sat on, laden with a tea service.
“Thank you for coming, Rector,” Mrs. Buckley said. “May we pour you a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
Mrs. Buckley nodded to Emma, who poured the tea and prepared it the way Mr. Graveley liked. She did the same for Owen but found she could not look at him when she handed him the cup. The conversation from earlier played over in her mind, and she wondered whether she had believed it carried more significance than it did or if Owen had been trying to tell her something. Furthermore, how would she feel if he had?
Mrs. Buckley accepted her teacup with tremulous hands, drawing Emma back to the present. It hardly mattered. She couldn’t abandon her now.
“Shall we begin?” Mr. Hobbs asked, affecting a smile that looked unnatural. He appeared more accustomed to concentrating than anything else, and he returned to it immediately as he read the beginning of Edward Buckley’s Last Will and Testament, signed and updated two years before his death.
“To the rectory of All Saints Church of Briarstead, in the name of the rector, I bequeath funds to purchase a new organ, selected by Clara Buckley, to replace the organ currently within All Saints Church of Briarstead.”
Mrs. Buckley looked directly at Emma, giving her a knowing look before her warm smile turned to Mr. Graveley. “I had wondered if he would do this. He had mentioned the state of the current organ on more than one occasion, and music was important to him.”
Mr. Graveley tilted his head, looking kindly at her. “It is a most generous thing. I am touched by your husband’s kindness, Mrs. Buckley. The parish will be blessed by your goodness.”
Mr. Hobbs looked on, waiting for the conversation to end.When he felt it had concluded, he cleared his throat. “Next, to my wife, Clara Holmes Buckley, I bequeath my collection of Shakespeare’s books, my pocket watch, the Buckley Bible, and my hunting dogs.”
The room went utterly silent as they waited for Mr. Hobbs to continue, but he only blinked at the group seated on the sofa and chairs facing him. He was finished with her portion. A few trinkets, the family Bible, and three animals. That was the full extent of Mr. Buckley’s bequest to hiswife?
The color drained from Mrs. Buckley’s face. Her cup rattled against its saucer as the reality of what was missing from that list crashed down upon her.
Emma reached for the cup and took it from Mrs. Buckley, placing it on the tea tray. She enveloped the woman’s hand with both of her own, waiting for the solicitor to continue.
“Surely there is more,” Owen said.
“Yes.” Mr. Hobbs looked down at his paper. “Finally, to my nephew, Owen Buckley, I leave my estate in its entirety and all remaining possessions. Thus I declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, revoking all former wills. In witness thereof, I here set my hand and seal this fourteenth day of March, eight?—”
“There is nothing else?” Owen asked, doing nothing to temper his tone.
Mr. Hobbs lowered the paper. “I am afraid not.”
Owen stared at the man in stunned silence. “But the will does not mention funds.”
“They are included in all remaining possessions, sir. The entirety of Mr. Buckley’s income will go to you.”
Mrs. Buckley leaned back against the sofa. “It would appear I was right to wait to continue the repairs after all.” She infused her voice with a note of lightness. “You ought to be able to choose a style that suits your tastes. You may not like the spindles Edward had made.”
Owen stood abruptly. “This is nonsense, Aunt Clara. You will be selecting the spindles. This is your home.”
“I’m afraid it is not anymore.”
“Ridiculous,” Owen said.
Emma released Mrs. Buckley’s hand, conscious of the audience they had in the rector. He was not a gossip, but some of the women in his household were. “Shall we adjourn to the dining room, Mrs. Buckley, and continue this conversation after we’ve all had time to consider things?”
